"THE DOUBLE" is a short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky. The story, as translated by Constance Garnett, has been adapted for the stage.
A VERY FANCY—EXTRAORDINARILY FANCY—PARTY IS UNDER WAY. EVERYONE IS THERE. GOLYADKIN IS HUDDLED IN A DARK CORNER.rewind
GOLYADKIN: I’m all right, though. I can take care of myself.
GOLYADKIN SITS IN SILENCE.
GOLYADKIN (cont.): Why shouldn’t I just go in? Didn’t everyone else? I don’t dare… not because there’s anything I don’t dare, but just because I don’t care to, because I prefer to be in hiding.
GOLYADKIN’S THOUGHTS: Why not wait? Villèle himself had waited. But what does Villèle have to do with it?
GOLYADKIN: How does Villèle come in? But how am I to… to go and walk in? Ech, you dummy! You silly fool, you silly old Golyadkin—silly fool of a surname!
GOLYADKIN WALKS TOWARD THE DOOR OF THE PARTY.
GOLYADKIN: Should I go in or not? Come on, should I or not? I’ll go in… why not? All ways lie open to the bold!
GOLYADKIN STARTS TOWARD THE DOOR, THEN SUDDENLY RETREATS INTO THE DARK CORNER AS MORE PARTYGOERS ARRIVE.
GOLYADKIN’S THOUGHTS: No. Ah, now, somebody’s coming in? Yes, they’ve come in; why did I dawdle when there were no people around? Even so, shall I go and slip in?... No, how to slip in when a man has such a temperament! Gah, what an abyss of lowness! I’m a chicken! Fearfulness—that's our specialty, for sure! To be abject on every occasion is our line: no need to ask us about that. Just stand here like a post and that’s all! I'd be drinking a cup of tea at home right now… It would be nice, too, to have a cup of tea. If I come home late, Petrushka will complain, maybe. Shall I go home? Damnation take all this! I’ll go and that’ll be the end of it!
GOLYADKIN TAKES OFF HIS COAT AND HAT AND THROWS THEM INTO THE CORNER. HE WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE LIVING ROOM. NO ONE IS DANCING.
GOLYADKIN: If I fail, I don’t lose heart. If I succeed, I persevere. Here goes!
GOLYADKIN MILLS ABOUT THE PARTY, OFFERING CONGRATULATIONS AND WELL WISHES TO EVERYONE. THEY DON'T ACKNOWLEDGE HIM, OR MAYBE THEY'RE LAUGHING. GOLYADKIN SEES ANDREY FLIPPOVICH AND LOOKS AT HIM IMPLORINGLY. ANDREY LOOKS AT GOLYADKIN.
GOLYADKIN (cont.): (barely audible) This is rather concerned with my domestic circumstances and my private life, Andrey Flippovich. It is not an official incident, Andrey Flippovich…
ANDREY: (half-whispering) For shame, sir, for shame!
GOLYADKIN: (whispering) I’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Andrey Flippovich.
GOLYADKIN LOOKS AT THE CROWD OF PEOPLE.
GOLYADKIN (cont.): (whispering) Why, it’s all right, it’s nothing, gentlemen! Why, what’s the matter? Why, it might happen to anyone.
GOLYADKIN TRIES TO LEAVE. EVERYONE IS STARING AT HIM. HE STANDS IN A CORNER AND LEANS ON THE BACKS OF TWO CHAIRS, TRYING TO LOOK CONFIDENT. A TALL, HANDSOME OFFICER STANDS NEXT TO HIM.
GOLYADKIN (cont.): These chairs, lieutenant, are intended, one for Klara Olsufyevna, and the other for Princess Tchevtchehanov; I’m taking care of them for them.
THE MAN TURNS AWAY. GOLYADKIN LOOKS AT THE OTHER PARTY-GOERS.
GOLYADKIN’S THOUGHTS: That gentleman has a wig on, and if he takes off that wig he will be bald, his head will be as bare as the palm of my hand.
HE LOOKS UP.
GOLYADKIN'S THOUGHTS (cont.): What if that chandelier were to come down from the ceiling and fall on the company? I’d rush in immediately to save Klara Olsufyevna. ‘Save her!’ I’d say. ‘Don’t be alarmed, madam, it’s nothing, I’ll rescue you, me.’ Then…
GOLYADKIN SUDDENLY NOTICES GERASIMICH WALKING STRAIGHT TOWARD HIM.
GOLYADKIN: Do you see, Gerasimich, you go and tell them—do you see the candle there in the chandelier, Gerasimich? It's going to fall. So, you know, you must tell them to see to it; it really will fall down, Gerasimich…
GERASIMICH: The candle? No, the candle’s standing straight; but somebody is asking for you, sir.
GOLYADKIN: Who is asking for me, Gerasimich?
GERASIMICH: I really can’t say, sir, who it is. A man with a message. ‘Is Yakov Petrovich Golyadkin here?’ he said. ‘Then call him out,’ he said, ‘on very urgent and important business…’ you see.
GOLYADKIN: No, Gerasimich, you are making a mistake; in that, you are making a mistake, Gerasimich.
GERASIMICH: I doubt it, sir.
GOLYADKIN: No, Gerasimich, it isn’t doubtful; there’s nothing doubtful about it, Gerasimich. Nobody’s asking for me, but I’m quite at home here—that is, in my right place, Gerasimich.
GOLYADKIN LOOKS AROUND. EVERYONE IS WATCHING HIM.
GOLYADKIN (cont.): No, my dear fellow, no one’s calling for me. You are mistaken. I will say more: you were mistaken this morning, too, when you assured me… dared to assure me, I say, (raising voice) that Olsufy Ivanovich, who has been my benefactor for as long as I can remember and has been like a father to me, was kicking me out at the moment of solemn family rejoicing for his paternal heart. I repeat, my friend, you were mistaken. You were cruelly and unpardonably mistaken.
GERASIMICH: I doubt it…
THE ORCHESTRA STRIKES UP A POLKA. EVERYONE STARTS DANCING. IN THE CHAOS, GOLYADKIN EXTENDS A HAND TO KLARA OLSUFYEVNA. SHE TAKES IT, AS IF INSTINCTIVELY. GOLYADKIN DANCES CLUMSILY. KLARA OLSUFYEVNA SHRIEKS, AND THE CROWD CARRIES GOLYADKIN AWAY FROM HER. THE ORCHESTRA GOES SILENT AND EVERYONE IS SHOUTING.
GOLYADKIN: (muttering) Why not? The polka, so far, at least, as I could see, is a new and very interesting dance, invented for the amusement of the ladies… but since things have now taken this turn, I’m ready to join.
GOLYADKIN TRIES TO DANCE, BUT THE CROWD CARRIES HIM TO THE EXIT. SOMEONE THRUSTS ON HIS COAT AND HAT, AND THEY PUSH HIM OUT THE DOOR.
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