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diff --git a/2480-h/2480-h.htm b/2480-h/2480-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..421c60e --- /dev/null +++ b/2480-h/2480-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15167 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Under Western Eyes, by Joseph Conrad + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Under Western Eyes, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Under Western Eyes + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #2480] +[Last updated: July 28, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER WESTERN EYES *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + UNDER WESTERN EYES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by JOSEPH CONRAD + </h2> +<div class="middle"> + <p> + <br /> <br /> “I would take liberty from any hand as a hungry man would + snatch a piece of bread."<br /> —Miss HALDIN <br /> <br /> + </p> +</div> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> PART FIRST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART SECOND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART THIRD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART4"> PART FOUR </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + PART FIRST + </h2> + <p> + To begin with I wish to disclaim the possession of those high gifts of + imagination and expression which would have enabled my pen to create for + the reader the personality of the man who called himself, after the + Russian custom, Cyril son of Isidor—Kirylo Sidorovitch—Razumov. + </p> + <p> + If I have ever had these gifts in any sort of living form they have been + smothered out of existence a long time ago under a wilderness of words. + Words, as is well known, are the great foes of reality. I have been for + many years a teacher of languages. It is an occupation which at length + becomes fatal to whatever share of imagination, observation, and insight + an ordinary person may be heir to. To a teacher of languages there comes a + time when the world is but a place of many words and man appears a mere + talking animal not much more wonderful than a parrot. + </p> + <p> + This being so, I could not have observed Mr. Razumov or guessed at his + reality by the force of insight, much less have imagined him as he was. + Even to invent the mere bald facts of his life would have been utterly + beyond my powers. But I think that without this declaration the readers of + these pages will be able to detect in the story the marks of documentary + evidence. And that is perfectly correct. It is based on a document; all I + have brought to it is my knowledge of the Russian language, which is + sufficient for what is attempted here. The document, of course, is + something in the nature of a journal, a diary, yet not exactly that in its + actual form. For instance, most of it was not written up from day to day, + though all the entries are dated. Some of these entries cover months of + time and extend over dozens of pages. All the earlier part is a + retrospect, in a narrative form, relating to an event which took place + about a year before. + </p> + <p> + I must mention that I have lived for a long time in Geneva. A whole + quarter of that town, on account of many Russians residing there, is + called La Petite Russie—Little Russia. I had a rather extensive + connexion in Little Russia at that time. Yet I confess that I have no + comprehension of the Russian character. The illogicality of their + attitude, the arbitrariness of their conclusions, the frequency of the + exceptional, should present no difficulty to a student of many grammars; + but there must be something else in the way, some special human trait—one + of those subtle differences that are beyond the ken of mere professors. + What must remain striking to a teacher of languages is the Russians’ + extraordinary love of words. They gather them up; they cherish them, but + they don’t hoard them in their breasts; on the contrary, they are always + ready to pour them out by the hour or by the night with an enthusiasm, a + sweeping abundance, with such an aptness of application sometimes that, as + in the case of very accomplished parrots, one can’t defend oneself from + the suspicion that they really understand what they say. There is a + generosity in their ardour of speech which removes it as far as possible + from common loquacity; and it is ever too disconnected to be classed as + eloquence.... But I must apologize for this digression. + </p> + <p> + It would be idle to inquire why Mr. Razumov has left this record behind + him. It is inconceivable that he should have wished any human eye to see + it. A mysterious impulse of human nature comes into play here. Putting + aside Samuel Pepys, who has forced in this way the door of immortality, + innumerable people, criminals, saints, philosophers, young girls, + statesmen, and simple imbeciles, have kept self-revealing records from + vanity no doubt, but also from other more inscrutable motives. There must + be a wonderful soothing power in mere words since so many men have used + them for self-communion. Being myself a quiet individual I take it that + what all men are really after is some form or perhaps only some formula of + peace. Certainly they are crying loud enough for it at the present day. + What sort of peace Kirylo Sidorovitch Razumov expected to find in the + writing up of his record it passeth my understanding to guess. + </p> + <p> + The fact remains that he has written it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Razumov was a tall, well-proportioned young man, quite unusually dark + for a Russian from the Central Provinces. His good looks would have been + unquestionable if it had not been for a peculiar lack of fineness in the + features. It was as if a face modelled vigorously in wax (with some + approach even to a classical correctness of type) had been held close to a + fire till all sharpness of line had been lost in the softening of the + material. But even thus he was sufficiently good-looking. His manner, too, + was good. In discussion he was easily swayed by argument and authority. + With his younger compatriots he took the attitude of an inscrutable + listener, a listener of the kind that hears you out intelligently and then—just + changes the subject. + </p> + <p> + This sort of trick, which may arise either from intellectual insufficiency + or from an imperfect trust in one’s own convictions, procured for Mr. + Razumov a reputation of profundity. Amongst a lot of exuberant talkers, in + the habit of exhausting themselves daily by ardent discussion, a + comparatively taciturn personality is naturally credited with reserve + power. By his comrades at the St. Petersburg University, Kirylo + Sidorovitch Razumov, third year’s student in philosophy, was looked upon + as a strong nature—an altogether trustworthy man. This, in a country + where an opinion may be a legal crime visited by death or sometimes by a + fate worse than mere death, meant that he was worthy of being trusted with + forbidden opinions. He was liked also for his amiability and for his quiet + readiness to oblige his comrades even at the cost of personal + inconvenience. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Razumov was supposed to be the son of an Archpriest and to be + protected by a distinguished nobleman—perhaps of his own distant + province. But his outward appearance accorded badly with such humble + origin. Such a descent was not credible. It was, indeed, suggested that + Mr. Razumov was the son of an Archpriest’s pretty daughter—which, of + course, would put a different complexion on the matter. This theory also + rendered intelligible the protection of the distinguished nobleman. All + this, however, had never been investigated maliciously or otherwise. No + one knew or cared who the nobleman in question was. Razumov received a + modest but very sufficient allowance from the hands of an obscure + attorney, who seemed to act as his guardian in some measure. Now and then + he appeared at some professor’s informal reception. Apart from that + Razumov was not known to have any social relations in the town. He + attended the obligatory lectures regularly and was considered by the + authorities as a very promising student. He worked at home in the manner + of a man who means to get on, but did not shut himself up severely for + that purpose. He was always accessible, and there was nothing secret or + reserved in his life. + </p> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + The origin of Mr. Razumov’s record is connected with an event + characteristic of modern Russia in the actual fact: the assassination of a + prominent statesman—and still more characteristic of the moral + corruption of an oppressed society where the noblest aspirations of + humanity, the desire of freedom, an ardent patriotism, the love of + justice, the sense of pity, and even the fidelity of simple minds are + prostituted to the lusts of hate and fear, the inseparable companions of + an uneasy despotism. + </p> + <p> + The fact alluded to above is the successful attempt on the life of Mr. de + P—-, the President of the notorious Repressive Commission of some + years ago, the Minister of State invested with extraordinary powers. The + newspapers made noise enough about that fanatical, narrow-chested figure + in gold-laced uniform, with a face of crumpled parchment, insipid, + bespectacled eyes, and the cross of the Order of St. Procopius hung under + the skinny throat. For a time, it may be remembered, not a month passed + without his portrait appearing in some one of the illustrated papers of + Europe. He served the monarchy by imprisoning, exiling, or sending to the + gallows men and women, young and old, with an equable, unwearied industry. + In his mystic acceptance of the principle of autocracy he was bent on + extirpating from the land every vestige of anything that resembled freedom + in public institutions; and in his ruthless persecution of the rising + generation he seemed to aim at the destruction of the very hope of liberty + itself. + </p> + <p> + It is said that this execrated personality had not enough imagination to + be aware of the hate he inspired. It is hardly credible; but it is a fact + that he took very few precautions for his safety. In the preamble of a + certain famous State paper he had declared once that “the thought of + liberty has never existed in the Act of the Creator. From the multitude of + men’s counsel nothing could come but revolt and disorder; and revolt and + disorder in a world created for obedience and stability is sin. It was not + Reason but Authority which expressed the Divine Intention. God was the + Autocrat of the Universe....” It may be that the man who made this + declaration believed that heaven itself was bound to protect him in his + remorseless defence of Autocracy on this earth. + </p> + <p> + No doubt the vigilance of the police saved him many times; but, as a + matter of fact, when his appointed fate overtook him, the competent + authorities could not have given him any warning. They had no knowledge of + any conspiracy against the Minister’s life, had no hint of any plot + through their usual channels of information, had seen no signs, were aware + of no suspicious movements or dangerous persons. + </p> + <p> + Mr. de P—- was being driven towards the railway station in a + two-horse uncovered sleigh with footman and coachman on the box. Snow had + been falling all night, making the roadway, uncleared as yet at this early + hour, very heavy for the horses. It was still falling thickly. But the + sleigh must have been observed and marked down. As it drew over to the + left before taking a turn, the footman noticed a peasant walking slowly on + the edge of the pavement with his hands in the pockets of his sheepskin + coat and his shoulders hunched up to his ears under the falling snow. On + being overtaken this peasant suddenly faced about and swung his arm. In an + instant there was a terrible shock, a detonation muffled in the multitude + of snowflakes; both horses lay dead and mangled on the ground and the + coachman, with a shrill cry, had fallen off the box mortally wounded. The + footman (who survived) had no time to see the face of the man in the + sheepskin coat. After throwing the bomb this last got away, but it is + supposed that, seeing a lot of people surging up on all sides of him in + the falling snow, and all running towards the scene of the explosion, he + thought it safer to turn back with them. + </p> + <p> + In an incredibly short time an excited crowd assembled round the sledge. + The Minister-President, getting out unhurt into the deep snow, stood near + the groaning coachman and addressed the people repeatedly in his weak, + colourless voice: “I beg of you to keep off: For the love of God, I beg of + you good people to keep off.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that a tall young man who had remained standing perfectly + still within a carriage gateway, two houses lower down, stepped out into + the street and walking up rapidly flung another bomb over the heads of the + crowd. It actually struck the Minister-President on the shoulder as he + stooped over his dying servant, then falling between his feet exploded + with a terrific concentrated violence, striking him dead to the ground, + finishing the wounded man and practically annihilating the empty sledge in + the twinkling of an eye. With a yell of horror the crowd broke up and fled + in all directions, except for those who fell dead or dying where they + stood nearest to the Minister-President, and one or two others who did not + fall till they had run a little way. + </p> + <p> + The first explosion had brought together a crowd as if by enchantment, the + second made as swiftly a solitude in the street for hundreds of yards in + each direction. Through the falling snow people looked from afar at the + small heap of dead bodies lying upon each other near the carcases of the + two horses. Nobody dared to approach till some Cossacks of a street-patrol + galloped up and, dismounting, began to turn over the dead. Amongst the + innocent victims of the second explosion laid out on the pavement there + was a body dressed in a peasant’s sheepskin coat; but the face was + unrecognisable, there was absolutely nothing found in the pockets of its + poor clothing, and it was the only one whose identity was never + established. + </p> + <p> + That day Mr. Razumov got up at his usual hour and spent the morning within + the University buildings listening to the lectures and working for some + time in the library. He heard the first vague rumour of something in the + way of bomb-throwing at the table of the students’ ordinary, where he was + accustomed to eat his two o’clock dinner. But this rumour was made up of + mere whispers, and this was Russia, where it was not always safe, for a + student especially, to appear too much interested in certain kinds of + whispers. Razumov was one of those men who, living in a period of mental + and political unrest, keep an instinctive hold on normal, practical, + everyday life. He was aware of the emotional tension of his time; he even + responded to it in an indefinite way. But his main concern was with his + work, his studies, and with his own future. + </p> + <p> + Officially and in fact without a family (for the daughter of the + Archpriest had long been dead), no home influences had shaped his opinions + or his feelings. He was as lonely in the world as a man swimming in the + deep sea. The word Razumov was the mere label of a solitary individuality. + There were no Razumovs belonging to him anywhere. His closest parentage + was defined in the statement that he was a Russian. Whatever good he + expected from life would be given to or withheld from his hopes by that + connexion alone. This immense parentage suffered from the throes of + internal dissensions, and he shrank mentally from the fray as a + good-natured man may shrink from taking definite sides in a violent family + quarrel. + </p> + <p> + Razumov, going home, reflected that having prepared all the matters of the + forthcoming examination, he could now devote his time to the subject of + the prize essay. He hankered after the silver medal. The prize was offered + by the Ministry of Education; the names of the competitors would be + submitted to the Minister himself. The mere fact of trying would be + considered meritorious in the higher quarters; and the possessor of the + prize would have a claim to an administrative appointment of the better + sort after he had taken his degree. The student Razumov in an access of + elation forgot the dangers menacing the stability of the institutions + which give rewards and appointments. But remembering the medallist of the + year before, Razumov, the young man of no parentage, was sobered. He and + some others happened to be assembled in their comrade’s rooms at the very + time when that last received the official advice of his success. He was a + quiet, unassuming young man: “Forgive me,” he had said with a faint + apologetic smile and taking up his cap, “I am going out to order up some + wine. But I must first send a telegram to my folk at home. I say! Won’t + the old people make it a festive time for the neighbours for twenty miles + around our place.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov thought there was nothing of that sort for him in the world. His + success would matter to no one. But he felt no bitterness against the + nobleman his protector, who was not a provincial magnate as was generally + supposed. He was in fact nobody less than Prince K—-, once a great + and splendid figure in the world and now, his day being over, a Senator + and a gouty invalid, living in a still splendid but more domestic manner. + He had some young children and a wife as aristocratic and proud as + himself. + </p> + <p> + In all his life Razumov was allowed only once to come into personal + contact with the Prince. + </p> + <p> + It had the air of a chance meeting in the little attorney’s office. One + day Razumov, coming in by appointment, found a stranger standing there—a + tall, aristocratic-looking Personage with silky, grey sidewhiskers. The + bald-headed, sly little lawyer-fellow called out, “Come in—come in, + Mr. Razumov,” with a sort of ironic heartiness. Then turning deferentially + to the stranger with the grand air, “A ward of mine, your Excellency. One + of the most promising students of his faculty in the St. Petersburg + University.” + </p> + <p> + To his intense surprise Razumov saw a white shapely hand extended to him. + He took it in great confusion (it was soft and passive) and heard at the + same time a condescending murmur in which he caught only the words + “Satisfactory” and “Persevere.” But the most amazing thing of all was to + feel suddenly a distinct pressure of the white shapely hand just before it + was withdrawn: a light pressure like a secret sign. The emotion of it was + terrible. Razumov’s heart seemed to leap into his throat. When he raised + his eyes the aristocratic personage, motioning the little lawyer aside, + had opened the door and was going out. + </p> + <p> + The attorney rummaged amongst the papers on his desk for a time. “Do you + know who that was?” he asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Razumov, whose heart was thumping hard yet, shook his head in silence. + </p> + <p> + “That was Prince K—-. You wonder what he could be doing in the hole + of a poor legal rat like myself—eh? These awfully great people have + their sentimental curiosities like common sinners. But if I were you, + Kirylo Sidorovitch,” he continued, leering and laying a peculiar emphasis + on the patronymic, “I wouldn’t boast at large of the introduction. It + would not be prudent, Kirylo Sidorovitch. Oh dear no! It would be in fact + dangerous for your future.” + </p> + <p> + The young man’s ears burned like fire; his sight was dim. “That man!” + Razumov was saying to himself. “He!” + </p> + <p> + Henceforth it was by this monosyllable that Mr. Razumov got into the habit + of referring mentally to the stranger with grey silky side-whiskers. From + that time too, when walking in the more fashionable quarters, he noted + with interest the magnificent horses and carriages with Prince K—-’s + liveries on the box. Once he saw the Princess get out—she was + shopping—followed by two girls, of which one was nearly a head + taller than the other. Their fair hair hung loose down their backs in the + English style; they had merry eyes, their coats, muffs, and little fur + caps were exactly alike, and their cheeks and noses were tinged a cheerful + pink by the frost. They crossed the pavement in front of him, and Razumov + went on his way smiling shyly to himself. “His” daughters. They resembled + “Him.” The young man felt a glow of warm friendliness towards these girls + who would never know of his existence. Presently they would marry Generals + or Kammerherrs and have girls and boys of their own, who perhaps would be + aware of him as a celebrated old professor, decorated, possibly a Privy + Councillor, one of the glories of Russia—nothing more! + </p> + <p> + But a celebrated professor was a somebody. Distinction would convert the + label Razumov into an honoured name. There was nothing strange in the + student Razumov’s wish for distinction. A man’s real life is that accorded + to him in the thoughts of other men by reason of respect or natural love. + Returning home on the day of the attempt on Mr. de P—-’s life + Razumov resolved to have a good try for the silver medal. + </p> + <p> + Climbing slowly the four flights of the dark, dirty staircase in the house + where he had his lodgings, he felt confident of success. The winner’s name + would be published in the papers on New Year’s Day. And at the thought + that “He” would most probably read it there, Razumov stopped short on the + stairs for an instant, then went on smiling faintly at his own emotion. + “This is but a shadow,” he said to himself, “but the medal is a solid + beginning.” + </p> + <p> + With those ideas of industry in his head the warmth of his room was + agreeable and encouraging. “I shall put in four hours of good work,” he + thought. But no sooner had he closed the door than he was horribly + startled. All black against the usual tall stove of white tiles gleaming + in the dusk, stood a strange figure, wearing a skirted, close-fitting, + brown cloth coat strapped round the waist, in long boots, and with a + little Astrakhan cap on its head. It loomed lithe and martial. Razumov was + utterly confounded. It was only when the figure advancing two paces asked + in an untroubled, grave voice if the outer door was closed that he + regained his power of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Haldin!... Victor Victorovitch!... Is that you?... Yes. The outer door is + shut all right. But this is indeed unexpected.” + </p> + <p> + Victor Haldin, a student older than most of his contemporaries at the + University, was not one of the industrious set. He was hardly ever seen at + lectures; the authorities had marked him as “restless” and “unsound “—very + bad notes. But he had a great personal prestige with his comrades and + influenced their thoughts. Razumov had never been intimate with him. They + had met from time to time at gatherings in other students’ houses. They + had even had a discussion together—one of those discussions on first + principles dear to the sanguine minds of youth. + </p> + <p> + Razumov wished the man had chosen some other time to come for a chat. He + felt in good trim to tackle the prize essay. But as Haldin could not be + slightingly dismissed Razumov adopted the tone of hospitality, asking him + to sit down and smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Kirylo Sidorovitch,” said the other, flinging off his cap, “we are not + perhaps in exactly the same camp. Your judgment is more philosophical. You + are a man of few words, but I haven’t met anybody who dared to doubt the + generosity of your sentiments. There is a solidity about your character + which cannot exist without courage.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt flattered and began to murmur shyly something about being + very glad of his good opinion, when Haldin raised his hand. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I was saying to myself,” he continued, “as I dodged in the + woodyard down by the river-side. ‘He has a strong character this young + man,’ I said to myself. ‘He does not throw his soul to the winds.’ Your + reserve has always fascinated me, Kirylo Sidorovitch. So I tried to + remember your address. But look here—it was a piece of luck. Your + dvornik was away from the gate talking to a sleigh-driver on the other + side of the street. I met no one on the stairs, not a soul. As I came up + to your floor I caught sight of your landlady coming out of your rooms. + But she did not see me. She crossed the landing to her own side, and then + I slipped in. I have been here two hours expecting you to come in every + moment.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had listened in astonishment; but before he could open his mouth + Haldin added, speaking deliberately, “It was I who removed de P—- + this morning.” Razumov kept down a cry of dismay. The sentiment of his + life being utterly ruined by this contact with such a crime expressed + itself quaintly by a sort of half-derisive mental exclamation, “There goes + my silver medal!” + </p> + <p> + Haldin continued after waiting a while— + </p> + <p> + “You say nothing, Kirylo Sidorovitch! I understand your silence. To be + sure, I cannot expect you with your frigid English manner to embrace me. + But never mind your manners. You have enough heart to have heard the sound + of weeping and gnashing of teeth this man raised in the land. That would + be enough to get over any philosophical hopes. He was uprooting the tender + plant. He had to be stopped. He was a dangerous man—a convinced man. + Three more years of his work would have put us back fifty years into + bondage—and look at all the lives wasted, at all the souls lost in + that time.” + </p> + <p> + His curt, self-confident voice suddenly lost its ring and it was in a dull + tone that he added, “Yes, brother, I have killed him. It’s weary work.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had sunk into a chair. Every moment he expected a crowd of + policemen to rush in. There must have been thousands of them out looking + for that man walking up and down in his room. Haldin was talking again in + a restrained, steady voice. Now and then he flourished an arm, slowly, + without excitement. + </p> + <p> + He told Razumov how he had brooded for a year; how he had not slept + properly for weeks. He and “Another” had a warning of the Minister’s + movements from “a certain person” late the evening before. He and that + “Another” prepared their “engines” and resolved to have no sleep till “the + deed” was done. They walked the streets under the falling snow with the + “engines” on them, exchanging not a word the livelong night. When they + happened to meet a police patrol they took each other by the arm and + pretended to be a couple of peasants on the spree. They reeled and talked + in drunken hoarse voices. Except for these strange outbreaks they kept + silence, moving on ceaselessly. Their plans had been previously arranged. + At daybreak they made their way to the spot which they knew the sledge + must pass. When it appeared in sight they exchanged a muttered good-bye + and separated. The “other” remained at the corner, Haldin took up a + position a little farther up the street.... + </p> + <p> + After throwing his “engine” he ran off and in a moment was overtaken by + the panic-struck people flying away from the spot after the second + explosion. They were wild with terror. He was jostled once or twice. He + slowed down for the rush to pass him and then turned to the left into a + narrow street. There he was alone. + </p> + <p> + He marvelled at this immediate escape. The work was done. He could hardly + believe it. He fought with an almost irresistible longing to lie down on + the pavement and sleep. But this sort of faintness—a drowsy + faintness—passed off quickly. He walked faster, making his way to + one of the poorer parts of the town in order to look up Ziemianitch. + </p> + <p> + This Ziemianitch, Razumov understood, was a sort of town-peasant who had + got on; owner of a small number of sledges and horses for hire. Haldin + paused in his narrative to exclaim— + </p> + <p> + “A bright spirit! A hardy soul! The best driver in St. Petersburg. He has + a team of three horses there.... Ah! He’s a fellow!” + </p> + <p> + This man had declared himself willing to take out safely, at any time, one + or two persons to the second or third railway station on one of the + southern lines. But there had been no time to warn him the night before. + His usual haunt seemed to be a low-class eating-house on the outskirts of + the town. When Haldin got there the man was not to be found. He was not + expected to turn up again till the evening. Haldin wandered away + restlessly. + </p> + <p> + He saw the gate of a woodyard open and went in to get out of the wind + which swept the bleak broad thoroughfare. The great rectangular piles of + cut wood loaded with snow resembled the huts of a village. At first the + watchman who discovered him crouching amongst them talked in a friendly + manner. He was a dried-up old man wearing two ragged army coats one over + the other; his wizened little face, tied up under the jaw and over the + ears in a dirty red handkerchief, looked comical. Presently he grew sulky, + and then all at once without rhyme or reason began to shout furiously. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you ever going to clear out of this, you loafer? We know all about + factory hands of your sort. A big, strong, young chap! You aren’t even + drunk. What do you want here? You don’t frighten us. Take yourself and + your ugly eyes away.” + </p> + <p> + Haldin stopped before the sitting Razumov. His supple figure, with the + white forehead above which the fair hair stood straight up, had an aspect + of lofty daring. + </p> + <p> + “He did not like my eyes,” he said. “And so...here I am.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov made an effort to speak calmly. + </p> + <p> + “But pardon me, Victor Victorovitch. We know each other so little.... I + don’t see why you....” + </p> + <p> + “Confidence,” said Haldin. + </p> + <p> + This word sealed Razumov’s lips as if a hand had been clapped on his + mouth. His brain seethed with arguments. + </p> + <p> + “And so—here you are,” he muttered through his teeth. + </p> + <p> + The other did not detect the tone of anger. Never suspected it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And nobody knows I am here. You are the last person that could be + suspected—should I get caught. That’s an advantage, you see. And + then—speaking to a superior mind like yours I can well say all the + truth. It occurred to me that you—you have no one belonging to you—no + ties, no one to suffer for it if this came out by some means. There have + been enough ruined Russian homes as it is. But I don’t see how my passage + through your rooms can be ever known. If I should be got hold of, I’ll + know how to keep silent—no matter what they may be pleased to do to + me,” he added grimly. + </p> + <p> + He began to walk again while Razumov sat still appalled. + </p> + <p> + “You thought that—” he faltered out almost sick with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Razumov. Yes, brother. Some day you shall help to build. You suppose + that I am a terrorist, now—a destructor of what is, But consider + that the true destroyers are they who destroy the spirit of progress and + truth, not the avengers who merely kill the bodies of the persecutors of + human dignity. Men like me are necessary to make room for self-contained, + thinking men like you. Well, we have made the sacrifice of our lives, but + all the same I want to escape if it can be done. It is not my life I want + to save, but my power to do. I won’t live idle. Oh no! Don’t make any + mistake, Razumov. Men like me are rare. And, besides, an example like this + is more awful to oppressors when the perpetrator vanishes without a trace. + They sit in their offices and palaces and quake. All I want you to do is + to help me to vanish. No great matter that. Only to go by and by and see + Ziemianitch for me at that place where I went this morning. Just tell him, + ‘He whom you know wants a well-horsed sledge to pull up half an hour after + midnight at the seventh lamp-post on the left counting from the upper end + of Karabelnaya. If nobody gets in, the sledge is to run round a block or + two, so as to come back past the same spot in ten minutes’ time.’” + </p> + <p> + Razumov wondered why he had not cut short that talk and told this man to + go away long before. Was it weakness or what? + </p> + <p> + He concluded that it was a sound instinct. Haldin must have been seen. It + was impossible that some people should not have noticed the face and + appearance of the man who threw the second bomb. Haldin was a noticeable + person. The police in their thousands must have had his description within + the hour. With every moment the danger grew. Sent out to wander in the + streets he could not escape being caught in the end. + </p> + <p> + The police would very soon find out all about him. They would set about + discovering a conspiracy. Everybody Haldin had ever known would be in the + greatest danger. Unguarded expressions, little facts in themselves + innocent would be counted for crimes. Razumov remembered certain words he + said, the speeches he had listened to, the harmless gatherings he had + attended—it was almost impossible for a student to keep out of that + sort of thing, without becoming suspect to his comrades. + </p> + <p> + Razumov saw himself shut up in a fortress, worried, badgered, perhaps + ill-used. He saw himself deported by an administrative order, his life + broken, ruined, and robbed of all hope. He saw himself—at best—leading + a miserable existence under police supervision, in some small, faraway + provincial town, without friends to assist his necessities or even take + any steps to alleviate his lot—as others had. Others had fathers, + mothers, brothers, relations, connexions, to move heaven and earth on + their behalf—he had no one. The very officials that sentenced him + some morning would forget his existence before sunset. + </p> + <p> + He saw his youth pass away from him in misery and half starvation—his + strength give way, his mind become an abject thing. He saw himself + creeping, broken down and shabby, about the streets—dying unattended + in some filthy hole of a room, or on the sordid bed of a Government + hospital. + </p> + <p> + He shuddered. Then the peace of bitter calmness came over him. It was best + to keep this man out of the streets till he could be got rid of with some + chance of escaping. That was the best that could be done. Razumov, of + course, felt the safety of his lonely existence to be permanently + endangered. This evening’s doings could turn up against him at any time as + long as this man lived and the present institutions endured. They appeared + to him rational and indestructible at that moment. They had a force of + harmony—in contrast with the horrible discord of this man’s + presence. He hated the man. He said quietly— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course, I will go. ‘You must give me precise directions, and for + the rest—depend on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You are a fellow! Collected—cool as a cucumber. A regular + Englishman. Where did you get your soul from? There aren’t many like you. + Look here, brother! Men like me leave no posterity, but their souls are + not lost. No man’s soul is ever lost. It works for itself—or else + where would be the sense of self-sacrifice, of martyrdom, of conviction, + of faith—the labours of the soul? What will become of my soul when I + die in the way I must die—soon—very soon perhaps? It shall not + perish. Don’t make a mistake, Razumov. This is not murder—it is war, + war. My spirit shall go on warring in some Russian body till all falsehood + is swept out of the world. The modern civilization is false, but a new + revelation shall come out of Russia. Ha! you say nothing. You are a + sceptic. I respect your philosophical scepticism, Razumov, but don’t touch + the soul. The Russian soul that lives in all of us. It has a future. It + has a mission, I tell you, or else why should I have been moved to do this—reckless—like + a butcher—in the middle of all these innocent people—scattering + death—I! I!... I wouldn’t hurt a fly!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so loud,” warned Razumov harshly. + </p> + <p> + Haldin sat down abruptly, and leaning his head on his folded arms burst + into tears. He wept for a long time. The dusk had deepened in the room. + Razumov, motionless in sombre wonder, listened to the sobs. + </p> + <p> + The other raised his head, got up and with an effort mastered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Men like me leave no posterity,” he repeated in a subdued tone, “I + have a sister though. She’s with my old mother—I persuaded them to + go abroad this year—thank God. Not a bad little girl my sister. She + has the most trustful eyes of any human being that ever walked this earth. + She will marry well, I hope. She may have children—sons perhaps. + Look at me. My father was a Government official in the provinces, He had a + little land too. A simple servant of God—a true Russian in his way. + His was the soul of obedience. But I am not like him. They say I resemble + my mother’s eldest brother, an officer. They shot him in ‘28. Under + Nicholas, you know. Haven’t I told you that this is war, war.... But God + of Justice! This is weary work.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, in his chair, leaning his head on his hand, spoke as if from the + bottom of an abyss. + </p> + <p> + “You believe in God, Haldin?” + </p> + <p> + “There you go catching at words that are wrung from one. What does it + matter? What was it the Englishman said: ‘There is a divine soul in + things...’ Devil take him—I don’t remember now. But he spoke the + truth. When the day of you thinkers comes don’t you forget what’s divine + in the Russian soul—and that’s resignation. Respect that in your + intellectual restlessness and don’t let your arrogant wisdom spoil its + message to the world. I am speaking to you now like a man with a rope + round his neck. What do you imagine I am? A being in revolt? No. It’s you + thinkers who are in everlasting revolt. I am one of the resigned. When the + necessity of this heavy work came to me and I understood that it had to be + done—what did I do? Did I exult? Did I take pride in my purpose? Did + I try to weigh its worth and consequences? No! I was resigned. I thought + ‘God’s will be done.’” + </p> + <p> + He threw himself full length on Razumov’s bed and putting the backs of his + hands over his eyes remained perfectly motionless and silent. Not even the + sound of his breathing could be heard. The dead stillness or the room + remained undisturbed till in the darkness Razumov said gloomily— + </p> + <p> + “Haldin.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the other readily, quite invisible now on the bed and + without the slightest stir. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it time for me to start?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, brother.” The other was heard, lying still in the darkness as though + he were talking in his sleep. “The time has come to put fate to the test.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, then gave a few lucid directions in the quiet impersonal voice + of a man in a trance. Razumov made ready without a word of answer. As he + was leaving the room the voice on the bed said after him— + </p> + <p> + “Go with God, thou silent soul.” + </p> + <p> + On the landing, moving softly, Razumov locked the door and put the key in + his pocket. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The words and events of that evening must have been graven as if with a + steel tool on Mr. Razumov’s brain since he was able to write his relation + with such fullness and precision a good many months afterwards. + </p> + <p> + The record of the thoughts which assailed him in the street is even more + minute and abundant. They seem to have rushed upon him with the greater + freedom because his thinking powers were no longer crushed by Haldin’s + presence—the appalling presence of a great crime and the stunning + force of a great fanaticism. On looking through the pages of Mr. Razumov’s + diary I own that a “rush of thoughts” is not an adequate image. + </p> + <p> + The more adequate description would be a tumult of thoughts—the + faithful reflection of the state of his feelings. The thoughts in + themselves were not numerous—they were like the thoughts of most + human beings, few and simple—but they cannot be reproduced here in + all their exclamatory repetitions which went on in an endless and weary + turmoil—for the walk was long. + </p> + <p> + If to the Western reader they appear shocking, inappropriate, or even + improper, it must be remembered that as to the first this may be the + effect of my crude statement. For the rest I will only remark here that + this is not a story of the West of Europe. + </p> + <p> + Nations it may be have fashioned their Governments, but the Governments + have paid them back in the same coin. It is unthinkable that any young + Englishman should find himself in Razumov’s situation. This being so it + would be a vain enterprise to imagine what he would think. The only safe + surmise to make is that he would not think as Mr. Razumov thought at this + crisis of his fate. He would not have an hereditary and personal knowledge + or the means by which historical autocracy represses ideas, guards its + power, and defends its existence. By an act of mental extravagance he + might imagine himself arbitrarily thrown into prison, but it would never + occur to him unless he were delirious (and perhaps not even then) that he + could be beaten with whips as a practical measure either of investigation + or of punishment. + </p> + <p> + This is but a crude and obvious example of the different conditions of + Western thought. I don’t know that this danger occurred, specially, to Mr. + Razumov. No doubt it entered unconsciously into the general dread and the + general appallingness of this crisis. Razumov, as has been seen, was aware + of more subtle ways in which an individual may be undone by the + proceedings of a despotic Government. A simple expulsion from the + University (the very least that could happen to him), with an + impossibility to continue his studies anywhere, was enough to ruin utterly + a young man depending entirely upon the development of his natural + abilities for his place in the world. He was a Russian: and for him to be + implicated meant simply sinking into the lowest social depths amongst the + hopeless and the destitute—the night birds of the city. + </p> + <p> + The peculiar circumstances of Razumov’s parentage, or rather of his lack + of parentage, should be taken into the account of his thoughts. And he + remembered them too. He had been lately reminded of them in a peculiarly + atrocious way by this fatal Haldin. “Because I haven’t that, must + everything else be taken away from me?” he thought. + </p> + <p> + He nerved himself for another effort to go on. Along the roadway sledges + glided phantom-like and jingling through a fluttering whiteness on the + black face of the night. “For it is a crime,” he was saying to himself. “A + murder is a murder. Though, of course, some sort of liberal + institutions....” + </p> + <p> + A feeling of horrible sickness came over him. “I must be courageous,” he + exhorted himself mentally. All his strength was suddenly gone as if taken + out by a hand. Then by a mighty effort of will it came back because he was + afraid of fainting in the street and being picked up by the police with + the key of his lodgings in his pocket. They would find Haldin there, and + then, indeed, he would be undone. + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough it was this fear which seems to have kept him up to the + end. The passers-by were rare. They came upon him suddenly, looming up + black in the snowflakes close by, then vanishing all at once-without + footfalls. + </p> + <p> + It was the quarter of the very poor. Razumov noticed an elderly woman tied + up in ragged shawls. Under the street lamp she seemed a beggar off duty. + She walked leisurely in the blizzard as though she had no home to hurry + to, she hugged under one arm a round loaf of black bread with an air of + guarding a priceless booty: and Razumov averting his glance envied her the + peace of her mind and the serenity of her fate. + </p> + <p> + To one reading Mr. Razumov’s narrative it is really a wonder how he + managed to keep going as he did along one interminable street after + another on pavements that were gradually becoming blocked with snow. It + was the thought of Haldin locked up in his rooms and the desperate desire + to get rid of his presence which drove him forward. No rational + determination had any part in his exertions. Thus, when on arriving at the + low eating-house he heard that the man of horses, Ziemianitch, was not + there, he could only stare stupidly. + </p> + <p> + The waiter, a wild-haired youth in tarred boots and a pink shirt, + exclaimed, uncovering his pale gums in a silly grin, that Ziemianitch had + got his skinful early in the afternoon and had gone away with a bottle + under each arm to keep it up amongst the horses—he supposed. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the vile den, a bony short man in a dirty cloth caftan coming + down to his heels, stood by, his hands tucked into his belt, and nodded + confirmation. + </p> + <p> + The reek of spirits, the greasy rancid steam of food got Razumov by the + throat. He struck a table with his clenched hand and shouted violently— + </p> + <p> + “You lie.” + </p> + <p> + Bleary unwashed faces were turned to his direction. A mild-eyed ragged + tramp drinking tea at the next table moved farther away. A murmur of + wonder arose with an undertone of uneasiness. A laugh was heard too, and + an exclamation, “There! there!” jeeringly soothing. The waiter looked all + round and announced to the room— + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman won’t believe that Ziemianitch is drunk.” + </p> + <p> + From a distant corner a hoarse voice belonging to a horrible, nondescript, + shaggy being with a black face like the muzzle of a bear grunted angrily— + </p> + <p> + “The cursed driver of thieves. What do we want with his gentlemen here? We + are all honest folk in this place.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, biting his lip till blood came to keep himself from bursting into + imprecations, followed the owner of the den, who, whispering “Come along, + little father,” led him into a tiny hole of a place behind the wooden + counter, whence proceeded a sound of splashing. A wet and bedraggled + creature, a sort of sexless and shivering scarecrow, washed glasses in + there, bending over a wooden tub by the light of a tallow dip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, little father,” the man in the long caftan said plaintively. He had + a brown, cunning little face, a thin greyish beard. Trying to light a tin + lantern he hugged it to his breast and talked garrulously the while. + </p> + <p> + He would show Ziemianitch to the gentleman to prove there were no lies + told. And he would show him drunk. His woman, it seems, ran away from him + last night. “Such a hag she was! Thin! Pfui!” He spat. They were always + running away from that driver of the devil—and he sixty years old + too; could never get used to it. But each heart knows sorrow after its own + kind and Ziemianitch was a born fool all his days. And then he would fly + to the bottle. “‘Who could bear life in our land without the bottle?’ he + says. A proper Russian man—the little pig.... Be pleased to follow + me.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov crossed a quadrangle of deep snow enclosed between high walls with + innumerable windows. Here and there a dim yellow light hung within the + four-square mass of darkness. The house was an enormous slum, a hive of + human vermin, a monumental abode of misery towering on the verge of + starvation and despair. + </p> + <p> + In a corner the ground sloped sharply down, and Razumov followed the light + of the lantern through a small doorway into a long cavernous place like a + neglected subterranean byre. Deep within, three shaggy little horses tied + up to rings hung their heads together, motionless and shadowy in the dim + light of the lantern. It must have been the famous team of Haldin’s + escape. Razumov peered fearfully into the gloom. His guide pawed in the + straw with his foot. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is. Ah! the little pigeon. A true Russian man. ‘No heavy hearts + for me,’ he says. ‘Bring out the bottle and take your ugly mug out of my + sight.’ Ha! ha! ha! That’s the fellow he is.” + </p> + <p> + He held the lantern over a prone form of a man, apparently fully dressed + for outdoors. His head was lost in a pointed cloth hood. On the other side + of a heap of straw protruded a pair of feet in monstrous thick boots. + </p> + <p> + “Always ready to drive,” commented the keeper of the eating-house. “A + proper Russian driver that. Saint or devil, night or day is all one to + Ziemianitch when his heart is free from sorrow. ‘I don’t ask who you are, + but where you want to go,’ he says. He would drive Satan himself to his + own abode and come back chirruping to his horses. Many a one he has driven + who is clanking his chains in the Nertchinsk mines by this time.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Call him, wake him up,” he faltered out. + </p> + <p> + The other set down his light, stepped back and launched a kick at the + prostrate sleeper. The man shook at the impact but did not move. At the + third kick he grunted but remained inert as before. + </p> + <p> + The eating-house keeper desisted and fetched a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “You see for yourself how it is. We have done what we can for you.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up the lantern. The intense black spokes of shadow swung about + in the circle of light. A terrible fury—the blind rage of + self-preservation—possessed Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! The vile beast,” he bellowed out in an unearthly tone which made the + lantern jump and tremble! “I shall wake you! Give me...give me...” + </p> + <p> + He looked round wildly, seized the handle of a stablefork and rushing + forward struck at the prostrate body with inarticulate cries. After a time + his cries ceased, and the rain of blows fell in the stillness and shadows + of the cellar-like stable. Razumov belaboured Ziemianitch with an + insatiable fury, in great volleys of sounding thwacks. Except for the + violent movements of Razumov nothing stirred, neither the beaten man nor + the spoke-like shadows on the walls. And only the sound of blows was + heard. It was a weird scene. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a sharp crack. The stick broke and half of it flew far + away into the gloom beyond the light. At the same time Ziemianitch sat up. + At this Razumov became as motionless as the man with the lantern—only + his breast heaved for air as if ready to burst. + </p> + <p> + Some dull sensation of pain must have penetrated at last the consoling + night of drunkenness enwrapping the “bright Russian soul” of Haldin’s + enthusiastic praise. But Ziemianitch evidently saw nothing. His eyeballs + blinked all white in the light once, twice—then the gleam went out. + For a moment he sat in the straw with closed eyes with a strange air of + weary meditation, then fell over slowly on his side without making the + slightest sound. Only the straw rustled a little. Razumov stared wildly, + fighting for his breath. After a second or two he heard a light snore. + </p> + <p> + He flung from him the piece of stick remaining in his grasp, and went off + with great hasty strides without looking back once. + </p> + <p> + After going heedlessly for some fifty yards along the street he walked + into a snowdrift and was up to his knees before he stopped. + </p> + <p> + This recalled him to himself; and glancing about he discovered he had been + going in the wrong direction. He retraced his steps, but now at a more + moderate pace. When passing before the house he had just left he + flourished his fist at the sombre refuge of misery and crime rearing its + sinister bulk on the white ground. It had an air of brooding. He let his + arm fall by his side—discouraged. + </p> + <p> + Ziemianitch’s passionate surrender to sorrow and consolation had baffled + him. That was the people. A true Russian man! Razumov was glad he had + beaten that brute—the “bright soul” of the other. Here they were: + the people and the enthusiast. + </p> + <p> + Between the two he was done for. Between the drunkenness of the peasant + incapable of action and the dream-intoxication of the idealist incapable + of perceiving the reason of things, and the true character of men. It was + a sort of terrible childishness. But children had their masters. “Ah! the + stick, the stick, the stern hand,” thought Razumov, longing for power to + hurt and destroy. + </p> + <p> + He was glad he had thrashed that brute. The physical exertion had left his + body in a comfortable glow. His mental agitation too was clarified as if + all the feverishness had gone out of him in a fit of outward violence. + Together with the persisting sense of terrible danger he was conscious now + of a tranquil, unquenchable hate. + </p> + <p> + He walked slower and slower. And indeed, considering the guest he had in + his rooms, it was no wonder he lingered on the way. It was like harbouring + a pestilential disease that would not perhaps take your life, but would + take from you all that made life worth living—a subtle pest that + would convert earth into a hell. + </p> + <p> + What was he doing now? Lying on the bed as if dead, with the back of his + hands over his eyes? Razumov had a morbidly vivid vision of Haldin on his + bed—the white pillow hollowed by the head, the legs in long boots, + the upturned feet. And in his abhorrence he said to himself, “I’ll kill + him when I get home.” But he knew very well that that was of no use. The + corpse hanging round his neck would be nearly as fatal as the living man. + Nothing short of complete annihilation would do. And that was impossible. + What then? Must one kill oneself to escape this visitation? + </p> + <p> + Razumov’s despair was too profoundly tinged with hate to accept that + issue. + </p> + <p> + And yet it was despair—nothing less—at the thought of having + to live with Haldin for an indefinite number of days in mortal alarm at + every sound. But perhaps when he heard that this “bright soul” of + Ziemianitch suffered from a drunken eclipse the fellow would take his + infernal resignation somewhere else. And that was not likely on the face + of it. + </p> + <p> + Razumov thought: “I am being crushed—and I can’t even run away.” + Other men had somewhere a corner of the earth—some little house in + the provinces where they had a right to take their troubles. A material + refuge. He had nothing. He had not even a moral refuge—the refuge of + confidence. To whom could he go with this tale—in all this great, + great land? + </p> + <p> + Razumov stamped his foot—and under the soft carpet of snow felt the + hard ground of Russia, inanimate, cold, inert, like a sullen and tragic + mother hiding her face under a winding-sheet—his native soil!—his + very own—without a fireside, without a heart! + </p> + <p> + He cast his eyes upwards and stood amazed. The snow had ceased to fall, + and now, as if by a miracle, he saw above his head the clear black sky of + the northern winter, decorated with the sumptuous fires of the stars. It + was a canopy fit for the resplendent purity of the snows. + </p> + <p> + Razumov received an almost physical impression of endless space and of + countless millions. + </p> + <p> + He responded to it with the readiness of a Russian who is born to an + inheritance of space and numbers. Under the sumptuous immensity of the + sky, the snow covered the endless forests, the frozen rivers, the plains + of an immense country, obliterating the landmarks, the accidents of the + ground, levelling everything under its uniform whiteness, like a monstrous + blank page awaiting the record of an inconceivable history. It covered the + passive land with its lives of countless people like Ziemianitch and its + handful of agitators like this Haldin—murdering foolishly. + </p> + <p> + It was a sort of sacred inertia. Razumov felt a respect for it. A voice + seemed to cry within him, “Don’t touch it.” It was a guarantee of + duration, of safety, while the travail of maturing destiny went on—a + work not of revolutions with their passionate levity of action and their + shifting impulses—but of peace. What it needed was not the + conflicting aspirations of a people, but a will strong and one: it wanted + not the babble of many voices, but a man—strong and one! + </p> + <p> + Razumov stood on the point of conversion. He was fascinated by its + approach, by its overpowering logic. For a train of thought is never + false. The falsehood lies deep in the necessities of existence, in secret + fears and half-formed ambitions, in the secret confidence combined with a + secret mistrust of ourselves, in the love of hope and the dread of + uncertain days. + </p> + <p> + In Russia, the land of spectral ideas and disembodied aspirations, many + brave minds have turned away at last from the vain and endless conflict to + the one great historical fact of the land. They turned to autocracy for + the peace of their patriotic conscience as a weary unbeliever, touched by + grace, turns to the faith of his fathers for the blessing of spiritual + rest. Like other Russians before him, Razumov, in conflict with himself, + felt the touch of grace upon his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Haldin means disruption,” he thought to himself, beginning to walk again. + “What is he with his indignation, with his talk of bondage—with his + talk of God’s justice? All that means disruption. Better that thousands + should suffer than that a people should become a disintegrated mass, + helpless like dust in the wind. Obscurantism is better than the light of + incendiary torches. The seed germinates in the night. Out of the dark soil + springs the perfect plant. But a volcanic eruption is sterile, the ruin of + the fertile ground. And am I, who love my country—who have nothing + but that to love and put my faith in—am I to have my future, perhaps + my usefulness, ruined by this sanguinary fanatic?” + </p> + <p> + The grace entered into Razumov. He believed now in the man who would come + at the appointed time. + </p> + <p> + What is a throne? A few pieces of wood upholstered in velvet. But a throne + is a seat of power too. The form of government is the shape of a tool—an + instrument. But twenty thousand bladders inflated by the noblest + sentiments and jostling against each other in the air are a miserable + incumbrance of space, holding no power, possessing no will, having nothing + to give. + </p> + <p> + He went on thus, heedless of the way, holding a discourse with himself + with extraordinary abundance and facility. Generally his phrases came to + him slowly, after a conscious and painstaking wooing. Some superior power + had inspired him with a flow of masterly argument as certain converted + sinners become overwhelmingly loquacious. + </p> + <p> + He felt an austere exultation. + </p> + <p> + “What are the luridly smoky lucubrations of that fellow to the clear grasp + of my intellect?” he thought. “Is not this my country? Have I not got + forty million brothers?” he asked himself, unanswerably victorious in the + silence of his breast. And the fearful thrashing he had given the + inanimate Ziemianitch seemed to him a sign of intimate union, a + pathetically severe necessity of brotherly love. “No! If I must suffer let + me at least suffer for my convictions, not for a crime my reason—my + cool superior reason—rejects.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased to think for a moment. The silence in his breast was complete. + But he felt a suspicious uneasiness, such as we may experience when we + enter an unlighted strange place—the irrational feeling that + something may jump upon us in the dark—the absurd dread of the + unseen. + </p> + <p> + Of course he was far from being a moss-grown reactionary. Everything was + not for the best. Despotic bureaucracy... abuses... corruption... and so + on. Capable men were wanted. Enlightened intelligences. Devoted hearts. + But absolute power should be preserved—the tool ready for the man—for + the great autocrat of the future. Razumov believed in him. The logic of + history made him unavoidable. The state of the people demanded him, “What + else?” he asked himself ardently, “could move all that mass in one + direction? Nothing could. Nothing but a single will.” + </p> + <p> + He was persuaded that he was sacrificing his personal longings of + liberalism—rejecting the attractive error for the stern Russian + truth. “That’s patriotism,” he observed mentally, and added, “There’s no + stopping midway on that road,” and then remarked to himself, “I am not a + coward.” + </p> + <p> + And again there was a dead silence in Razumov’s breast. He walked with + lowered head, making room for no one. He walked slowly and his thoughts + returning spoke within him with solemn slowness. + </p> + <p> + “What is this Haldin? And what am I? Only two grains of sand. But a great + mountain is made up of just such insignificant grains. And the death of a + man or of many men is an insignificant thing. Yet we combat a contagious + pestilence. Do I want his death? No! I would save him if I could—but + no one can do that—he is the withered member which must be cut off. + If I must perish through him, let me at least not perish with him, and + associated against my will with his sombre folly that understands nothing + either of men or things. Why should I leave a false memory?” + </p> + <p> + It passed through his mind that there was no one in the world who cared + what sort of memory he left behind him. He exclaimed to himself instantly, + “Perish vainly for a falsehood!... What a miserable fate!” + </p> + <p> + He was now in a more animated part of the town. He did not remark the + crash of two colliding sledges close to the curb. The driver of one + bellowed tearfully at his fellow— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thou vile wretch!” + </p> + <p> + This hoarse yell, let out nearly in his ear, disturbed Razumov. He shook + his head impatiently and went on looking straight before him. Suddenly on + the snow, stretched on his back right across his path, he saw Haldin, + solid, distinct, real, with his inverted hands over his eyes, clad in a + brown close-fitting coat and long boots. He was lying out of the way a + little, as though he had selected that place on purpose. The snow round + him was untrodden. + </p> + <p> + This hallucination had such a solidity of aspect that the first movement + of Razumov was to reach for his pocket to assure himself that the key of + his rooms was there. But he checked the impulse with a disdainful curve of + his lips. He understood. His thought, concentrated intensely on the figure + left lying on his bed, had culminated in this extraordinary illusion of + the sight. Razumov tackled the phenomenon calmly. With a stern face, + without a check and gazing far beyond the vision, he walked on, + experiencing nothing but a slight tightening of the chest. After passing + he turned his head for a glance, and saw only the unbroken track of his + footsteps over the place where the breast of the phantom had been lying. + </p> + <p> + Razumov walked on and after a little time whispered his wonder to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly as if alive! Seemed to breathe! And right in my way too! I have + had an extraordinary experience.” + </p> + <p> + He made a few steps and muttered through his set teeth— + </p> + <p> + “I shall give him up.” + </p> + <p> + Then for some twenty yards or more all was blank. He wrapped his cloak + closer round him. He pulled his cap well forward over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Betray. A great word. What is betrayal? They talk of a man betraying his + country, his friends, his sweetheart. There must be a moral bond first. + All a man can betray is his conscience. And how is my conscience engaged + here; by what bond of common faith, of common conviction, am I obliged to + let that fanatical idiot drag me down with him? On the contrary—every + obligation of true courage is the other way.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked round from under his cap. + </p> + <p> + “What can the prejudice of the world reproach me with? Have I provoked his + confidence? No! Have I by a single word, look, or gesture given him reason + to suppose that I accepted his trust in me? No! It is true that I + consented to go and see his Ziemianitch. Well, I have been to see him. And + I broke a stick on his back too—the brute.” + </p> + <p> + Something seemed to turn over in his head bringing uppermost a singularly + hard, clear facet of his brain. + </p> + <p> + “It would be better, however,” he reflected with a quite different mental + accent, “to keep that circumstance altogether to myself.” + </p> + <p> + He had passed beyond the turn leading to his lodgings, and had reached a + wide and fashionable street. Some shops were still open, and all the + restaurants. Lights fell on the pavement where men in expensive fur coats, + with here and there the elegant figure of a woman, walked with an air of + leisure. Razumov looked at them with the contempt of an austere believer + for the frivolous crowd. It was the world—those officers, + dignitaries, men of fashion, officials, members of the Yacht Club. The + event of the morning affected them all. What would they say if they knew + what this student in a cloak was going to do? + </p> + <p> + “Not one of them is capable of feeling and thinking as deeply as I can. + How many of them could accomplish an act of conscience?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov lingered in the well-lighted street. He was firmly decided. + Indeed, it could hardly be called a decision. He had simply discovered + what he had meant to do all along. And yet he felt the need of some other + mind’s sanction. + </p> + <p> + With something resembling anguish he said to himself— + </p> + <p> + “I want to be understood.” The universal aspiration with all its profound + and melancholy meaning assailed heavily Razumov, who, amongst eighty + millions of his kith and kin, had no heart to which he could open himself. + </p> + <p> + The attorney was not to be thought of. He despised the little agent of + chicane too much. One could not go and lay one’s conscience before the + policeman at the corner. Neither was Razumov anxious to go to the chief of + his district’s police—a common-looking person whom he used to see + sometimes in the street in a shabby uniform and with a smouldering + cigarette stuck to his lower lip. “He would begin by locking me up most + probably. At any rate, he is certain to get excited and create an awful + commotion,” thought Razumov practically. + </p> + <p> + An act of conscience must be done with outward dignity. + </p> + <p> + Razumov longed desperately for a word of advice, for moral support. Who + knows what true loneliness is—not the conventional word, but the + naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable + outcast hugs some memory or some illusion. Now and then a fatal + conjunction of events may lift the veil for an instant. For an instant + only. No human being could bear a steady view of moral solitude without + going mad. + </p> + <p> + Razumov had reached that point of vision. To escape from it he embraced + for a whole minute the delirious purpose of rushing to his lodgings and + flinging himself on his knees by the side of the bed with the dark figure + stretched on it; to pour out a full confession in passionate words that + would stir the whole being of that man to its innermost depths; that would + end in embraces and tears; in an incredible fellowship of souls—such + as the world had never seen. It was sublime! + </p> + <p> + Inwardly he wept and trembled already. But to the casual eyes that were + cast upon him he was aware that he appeared as a tranquil student in a + cloak, out for a leisurely stroll. He noted, too, the sidelong, brilliant + glance of a pretty woman—with a delicate head, and covered in the + hairy skins of wild beasts down to her feet, like a frail and beautiful + savage—which rested for a moment with a sort of mocking tenderness + on the deep abstraction of that good-looking young man. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Razumov stood still. The glimpse of a passing grey whisker, + caught and lost in the same instant, had evoked the complete image of + Prince K—-, the man who once had pressed his hand as no other man + had pressed it—a faint but lingering pressure like a secret sign, + like a half-unwilling caress. + </p> + <p> + And Razumov marvelled at himself. Why did he not think of him before! + </p> + <p> + “A senator, a dignitary, a great personage, the very man—He!” + </p> + <p> + A strange softening emotion came over Razumov—made his knees shake a + little. He repressed it with a new-born austerity. All that sentiment was + pernicious nonsense. He couldn’t be quick enough; and when he got into a + sledge he shouted to the driver—“to the K—- Palace. Get on—you! + Fly!” The startled moujik, bearded up to the very whites of his eyes, + answered obsequiously— + </p> + <p> + “I hear, your high Nobility.” + </p> + <p> + It was lucky for Razumov that Prince K—- was not a man of timid + character. On the day of Mr. de P—-’s murder an extreme alarm and + despondency prevailed in the high official spheres. + </p> + <p> + Prince K—-, sitting sadly alone in his study, was told by his + alarmed servants that a mysterious young man had forced his way into the + hall, refused to tell his name and the nature of his business, and would + not move from there till he had seen his Excellency in private. Instead of + locking himself up and telephoning for the police, as nine out of ten high + personages would have done that evening, the Prince gave way to curiosity + and came quietly to the door of his study. + </p> + <p> + In the hall, the front door standing wide open, he recognised at once + Razumov, pale as death, his eyes blazing, and surrounded by perplexed + lackeys. + </p> + <p> + The Prince was vexed beyond measure, and even indignant. But his humane + instincts and a subtle sense of self-respect could not allow him to let + this young man be thrown out into the street by base menials. He retreated + unseen into his room, and after a little rang his bell. Razumov heard in + the hall an ominously raised harsh voice saying somewhere far away— + </p> + <p> + “Show the gentleman in here.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov walked in without a tremor. He felt himself invulnerable—raised + far above the shallowness of common judgment. Though he saw the Prince + looking at him with black displeasure, the lucidity of his mind, of which + he was very conscious, gave him an extraordinary assurance. He was not + asked to sit down. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later they appeared in the hall together. The lackeys stood + up, and the Prince, moving with difficulty on his gouty feet, was helped + into his furs. The carriage had been ordered before. When the great double + door was flung open with a crash, Razumov, who had been standing silent + with a lost gaze but with every faculty intensely on the alert, heard the + Prince’s voice— + </p> + <p> + “Your arm, young man.” + </p> + <p> + The mobile, superficial mind of the ex-Guards officer, man of showy + missions, experienced in nothing but the arts of gallant intrigue and + worldly success, had been equally impressed by the more obvious + difficulties of such a situation and by Razumov’s quiet dignity in stating + them. + </p> + <p> + He had said, “No. Upon the whole I can’t condemn the step you ventured to + take by coming to me with your story. It is not an affair for police + understrappers. The greatest importance is attached to.... Set your mind + at rest. I shall see you through this most extraordinary and difficult + situation.” + </p> + <p> + Then the Prince rose to ring the bell, and Razumov, making a short bow, + had said with deference— + </p> + <p> + “I have trusted my instinct. A young man having no claim upon anybody in + the world has in an hour of trial involving his deepest political + convictions turned to an illustrious Russian—that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + The Prince had exclaimed hastily— + </p> + <p> + “You have done well.” + </p> + <p> + In the carriage—it was a small brougham on sleigh runners—Razumov + broke the silence in a voice that trembled slightly. + </p> + <p> + “My gratitude surpasses the greatness of my presumption.” + </p> + <p> + He gasped, feeling unexpectedly in the dark a momentary pressure on his + arm. + </p> + <p> + “You have done well,” repeated the Prince. + </p> + <p> + When the carriage stopped the Prince murmured to Razumov, who had never + ventured a single question— + </p> + <p> + “The house of General T—-.” + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the snow-covered roadway blazed a great bonfire. Some + Cossacks, the bridles of their horses over the arm, were warming + themselves around. Two sentries stood at the door, several gendarmes + lounged under the great carriage gateway, and on the first-floor landing + two orderlies rose and stood at attention. Razumov walked at the Prince’s + elbow. + </p> + <p> + A surprising quantity of hot-house plants in pots cumbered the floor of + the ante-room. Servants came forward. A young man in civilian clothes + arrived hurriedly, was whispered to, bowed low, and exclaiming zealously, + “Certainly—this minute,” fled within somewhere. The Prince signed to + Razumov. + </p> + <p> + They passed through a suite of reception-rooms all barely lit and one of + them prepared for dancing. The wife of the General had put off her party. + An atmosphere of consternation pervaded the place. But the General’s own + room, with heavy sombre hangings, two massive desks, and deep armchairs, + had all the lights turned on. The footman shut the door behind them and + they waited. + </p> + <p> + There was a coal fire in an English grate; Razumov had never before seen + such a fire; and the silence of the room was like the silence of the + grave; perfect, measureless, for even the clock on the mantelpiece made no + sound. Filling a corner, on a black pedestal, stood a quarter-life-size + smooth-limbed bronze of an adolescent figure, running. The Prince observed + in an undertone— + </p> + <p> + “Spontini’s. ‘Flight of Youth.’ Exquisite.” + </p> + <p> + “Admirable,” assented Razumov faintly. + </p> + <p> + They said nothing more after this, the Prince silent with his grand air, + Razumov staring at the statue. He was worried by a sensation resembling + the gnawing of hunger. + </p> + <p> + He did not turn when he heard an inner door fly open, and a quick + footstep, muffled on the carpet. + </p> + <p> + The Prince’s voice immediately exclaimed, thick with excitement— + </p> + <p> + “We have got him—<i>ce miserable</i>. A worthy young man came to me—No! + It’s incredible....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov held his breath before the bronze as if expecting a crash. Behind + his back a voice he had never heard before insisted politely— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Asseyez-vous donc</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The Prince almost shrieked, “<i>Mais comprenez-vous, mon cher! L’assassin</i>! + the murderer—we have got him....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov spun round. The General’s smooth big cheeks rested on the stiff + collar of his uniform. He must have been already looking at Razumov, + because that last saw the pale blue eyes fastened on him coldly. + </p> + <p> + The Prince from a chair waved an impressive hand. + </p> + <p> + “This is a most honourable young man whom Providence itself... Mr. + Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + The General acknowledged the introduction by frowning at Razumov, who did + not make the slightest movement. + </p> + <p> + Sitting down before his desk the General listened with compressed lips. It + was impossible to detect any sign of emotion on his face. + </p> + <p> + Razumov watched the immobility of the fleshy profile. But it lasted only a + moment, till the Prince had finished; and when the General turned to the + providential young man, his florid complexion, the blue, unbelieving eyes + and the bright white flash of an automatic smile had an air of jovial, + careless cruelty. He expressed no wonder at the extraordinary story—no + pleasure or excitement—no incredulity either. He betrayed no + sentiment whatever. Only with a politeness almost deferential suggested + that “the bird might have flown while Mr.—Mr. Razumov was running + about the streets.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov advanced to the middle of the room and said, “The door is locked + and I have the key in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + His loathing for the man was intense. It had come upon him so unawares + that he felt he had not kept it out of his voice. The General looked up at + him thoughtfully, and Razumov grinned. + </p> + <p> + All this went over the head of Prince K—- seated in a deep armchair, + very tired and impatient. + </p> + <p> + “A student called Haldin,” said the General thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Razumov ceased to grin. + </p> + <p> + “That is his name,” he said unnecessarily loud. “Victor Victorovitch + Haldin—a student.” + </p> + <p> + The General shifted his position a little. + </p> + <p> + “How is he dressed? Would you have the goodness to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov angrily described Haldin’s clothing in a few jerky words. The + General stared all the time, then addressing the Prince— + </p> + <p> + “We were not without some indications,” he said in French. “A good woman + who was in the street described to us somebody wearing a dress of the sort + as the thrower of the second bomb. We have detained her at the + Secretariat, and every one in a Tcherkess coat we could lay our hands on + has been brought to her to look at. She kept on crossing herself and + shaking her head at them. It was exasperating....” He turned to Razumov, + and in Russian, with friendly reproach— + </p> + <p> + “Take a chair, Mr. Razumov—do. Why are you standing?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov sat down carelessly and looked at the General. + </p> + <p> + “This goggle-eyed imbecile understands nothing,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + The Prince began to speak loftily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Razumov is a young man of conspicuous abilities. I have it at heart + that his future should not....” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” interrupted the General, with a movement of the hand. “Has he + any weapons on him, do you think, Mr. Razumov?” + </p> + <p> + The General employed a gentle musical voice. Razumov answered with + suppressed irritation— + </p> + <p> + “No. But my razors are lying about—you understand.” + </p> + <p> + The General lowered his head approvingly. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + Then to the Prince, explaining courteously— + </p> + <p> + “We want that bird alive. It will be the devil if we can’t make him sing a + little before we are done with him.” + </p> + <p> + The grave-like silence of the room with its mute clock fell upon the + polite modulations of this terrible phrase. The Prince, hidden in the + chair, made no sound. + </p> + <p> + The General unexpectedly developed a thought. + </p> + <p> + “Fidelity to menaced institutions on which depend the safety of a throne + and of a people is no child’s play. We know that, <i>mon Prince,</i> and—<i>tenez</i>—” + he went on with a sort of flattering harshness, “Mr. Razumov here begins + to understand that too.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes which he turned upon Razumov seemed to be starting out of his + head. This grotesqueness of aspect no longer shocked Razumov. He said with + gloomy conviction— + </p> + <p> + “Haldin will never speak.” + </p> + <p> + “That remains to be seen,” muttered the General. + </p> + <p> + “I am certain,” insisted Razumov. “A man like this never speaks.... Do you + imagine that I am here from fear?” he added violently. He felt ready to + stand by his opinion of Haldin to the last extremity. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” protested the General, with great simplicity of tone. + “And I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Razumov, that if he had not come with + his tale to such a staunch and loyal Russian as you, he would have + disappeared like a stone in the water... which would have had a detestable + effect,” he added, with a bright, cruel smile under his stony stare. “So + you see, there can be no suspicion of any fear here.” + </p> + <p> + The Prince intervened, looking at Razumov round the back of the armchair. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody doubts the moral soundness of your action. Be at ease in that + respect, pray.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the General uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “That’s why I am here. You may be surprised why I should....” + </p> + <p> + The General hastened to interrupt. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. Extremely natural. You saw the importance....” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” broke in the Prince. “And I venture to ask insistently that mine + and Mr. Razumov’s intervention should not become public. He is a young man + of promise—of remarkable aptitudes.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t a doubt of it,” murmured the General. “He inspires confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “All sorts of pernicious views are so widespread nowadays—they taint + such unexpected quarters—that, monstrous as it seems, he might + suffer ...his studies...his...” + </p> + <p> + The General, with his elbows on the desk, took his head between his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yes. I am thinking it out.... How long is it since you left him at + your rooms, Mr. Razumov?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov mentioned the hour which nearly corresponded with the time of his + distracted flight from the big slum house. He had made up his mind to keep + Ziemianitch out of the affair completely. To mention him at all would mean + imprisonment for the “bright soul,” perhaps cruel floggings, and in the + end a journey to Siberia in chains. Razumov, who had beaten Ziemianitch, + felt for him now a vague, remorseful tenderness. + </p> + <p> + The General, giving way for the first time to his secret sentiments, + exclaimed contemptuously— + </p> + <p> + “And you say he came in to make you this confidence like this—for + nothing—<i>a propos des bottes</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt danger in the air. The merciless suspicion of despotism had + spoken openly at last. Sudden fear sealed Razumov’s lips. The silence of + the room resembled now the silence of a deep dungeon, where time does not + count, and a suspect person is sometimes forgotten for ever. But the + Prince came to the rescue. + </p> + <p> + “Providence itself has led the wretch in a moment of mental aberration to + seek Mr. Razumov on the strength of some old, utterly misinterpreted + exchange of ideas—some sort of idle speculative conversation—months + ago—I am told—and completely forgotten till now by Mr. + Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Razumov,” queried the General meditatively, after a short silence, + “do you often indulge in speculative conversation?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Excellency,” answered Razumov, coolly, in a sudden access of + self-confidence. “I am a man of deep convictions. Crude opinions are in + the air. They are not always worth combating. But even the silent contempt + of a serious mind may be misinterpreted by headlong utopists.” + </p> + <p> + The General stared from between his hands. Prince K—- murmured— + </p> + <p> + “A serious young man. <i>Un esprit superieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that, <i>mon cher Prince</i>,” said the General. “Mr. Razumov is + quite safe with me. I am interested in him. He has, it seems, the great + and useful quality of inspiring confidence. What I was wondering at is why + the other should mention anything at all—I mean even the bare fact + alone—if his object was only to obtain temporary shelter for a few + hours. For, after all, nothing was easier than to say nothing about it + unless, indeed, he were trying, under a crazy misapprehension of your true + sentiments, to enlist your assistance—eh, Mr. Razumov?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Razumov that the floor was moving slightly. This grotesque + man in a tight uniform was terrible. It was right that he should be + terrible. + </p> + <p> + “I can see what your Excellency has in your mind. But I can only answer + that I don’t know why.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing in my mind,” murmured the General, with gentle surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I am his prey—his helpless prey,” thought Razumov. The fatigues and + the disgusts of that afternoon, the need to forget, the fear which he + could not keep off, reawakened his hate for Haldin. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can’t help your Excellency. I don’t know what he meant. I only + know there was a moment when I wished to kill him. There was also a moment + when I wished myself dead. I said nothing. I was overcome. I provoked no + confidence—I asked for no explanations—” + </p> + <p> + Razumov seemed beside himself; but his mind was lucid. It was really a + calculated outburst. + </p> + <p> + “It is rather a pity,” the General said, “that you did not. Don’t you know + at all what he means to do?” Razumov calmed down and saw an opening there. + </p> + <p> + “He told me he was in hopes that a sledge would meet him about half an + hour after midnight at the seventh lamp-post on the left from the upper + end of Karabelnaya. At any rate, he meant to be there at that time. He did + not even ask me for a change of clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ah voila</i>!” said the General, turning to Prince K with an air of + satisfaction. “There is a way to keep your <i>protege</i>, Mr. Razumov, + quite clear of any connexion with the actual arrest. We shall be ready for + that gentleman in Karabelnaya.” + </p> + <p> + The Prince expressed his gratitude. There was real emotion in his voice. + Razumov, motionless, silent, sat staring at the carpet. The General turned + to him. + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour after midnight. Till then we have to depend on you, Mr. + Razumov. You don’t think he is likely to change his purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell?” said Razumov. “Those men are not of the sort that ever + changes its purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “What men do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Fanatical lovers of liberty in general. Liberty with a capital L, + Excellency. Liberty that means nothing precise. Liberty in whose name + crimes are committed.” + </p> + <p> + The General murmured— + </p> + <p> + “I detest rebels of every kind. I can’t help it. It’s my nature!” + </p> + <p> + He clenched a fist and shook it, drawing back his arm. “They shall be + destroyed, then.” + </p> + <p> + “They have made a sacrifice of their lives beforehand,” said Razumov with + malicious pleasure and looking the General straight in the face. “If + Haldin does change his purpose to-night, you may depend on it that it will + not be to save his life by flight in some other way. He would have thought + then of something else to attempt. But that is not likely.” + </p> + <p> + The General repeated as if to himself, “They shall be destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov assumed an impenetrable expression. + </p> + <p> + The Prince exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “What a terrible necessity!” + </p> + <p> + The General’s arm was lowered slowly. + </p> + <p> + “One comfort there is. That brood leaves no posterity. I’ve always said + it, one effort, pitiless, persistent, steady—and we are done with + them for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov thought to himself that this man entrusted with so much arbitrary + power must have believed what he said or else he could not have gone on + bearing the responsibility. + </p> + <p> + “I detest rebels. These subversive minds! These intellectual <i>debauches</i>! + My existence has been built on fidelity. It’s a feeling. To defend it I am + ready to lay down my life—and even my honour—if that were + needed. But pray tell me what honour can there be as against rebels—against + people that deny God Himself—perfect unbelievers! Brutes. It is + horrible to think of.” + </p> + <p> + During this tirade Razumov, facing the General, had nodded slightly twice. + Prince K—-, standing on one side with his grand air, murmured, + casting up his eyes— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Helas!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Then lowering his glance and with great decision declared— + </p> + <p> + “This young man, General, is perfectly fit to apprehend the bearing of + your memorable words.” + </p> + <p> + The General’s whole expression changed from dull resentment to perfect + urbanity. + </p> + <p> + “I would ask now, Mr. Razumov,” he said, “to return to his home. Note that + I don’t ask Mr. Razumov whether he has justified his absence to his guest. + No doubt he did this sufficiently. But I don’t ask. Mr. Razumov inspires + confidence. It is a great gift. I only suggest that a more prolonged + absence might awaken the criminal’s suspicions and induce him perhaps to + change his plans.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and with a scrupulous courtesy escorted his visitors to the + ante-room encumbered with flower-pots. + </p> + <p> + Razumov parted with the Prince at the corner of a street. In the carriage + he had listened to speeches where natural sentiment struggled with + caution. Evidently the Prince was afraid of encouraging any hopes of + future intercourse. But there was a touch of tenderness in the voice + uttering in the dark the guarded general phrases of goodwill. And the + Prince too said— + </p> + <p> + “I have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + “They all, it seems, have confidence in me,” thought Razumov dully. He had + an indulgent contempt for the man sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in + the confined space. Probably he was afraid of scenes with his wife. She + was said to be proud and violent. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him bizarre that secrecy should play such a large part in the + comfort and safety of lives. But he wanted to put the Prince’s mind at + ease; and with a proper amount of emphasis he said that, being conscious + of some small abilities and confident in his power of work, he trusted his + future to his own exertions. He expressed his gratitude for the helping + hand. Such dangerous situations did not occur twice in the course of one + life—he added. + </p> + <p> + “And you have met this one with a firmness of mind and correctness of + feeling which give me a high idea of your worth,” the Prince said + solemnly. “You have now only to persevere—to persevere.” + </p> + <p> + On getting out on the pavement Razumov saw an ungloved hand extended to + him through the lowered window of the brougham. It detained his own in its + grasp for a moment, while the light of a street lamp fell upon the + Prince’s long face and old-fashioned grey whiskers. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are perfectly reassured now as to the consequences...” + </p> + <p> + “After what your Excellency has condescended to do for me, I can only rely + on my conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Adieu</i>,” said the whiskered head with feeling. + </p> + <p> + Razumov bowed. The brougham glided away with a slight swish in the snow—he + was alone on the edge of the pavement. + </p> + <p> + He said to himself that there was nothing to think about, and began + walking towards his home. + </p> + <p> + He walked quietly. It was a common experience to walk thus home to bed + after an evening spent somewhere with his fellows or in the cheaper seats + of a theatre. After he had gone a little way the familiarity of things got + hold of him. Nothing was changed. There was the familiar corner; and when + he turned it he saw the familiar dim light of the provision shop kept by a + German woman. There were loaves of stale bread, bunches of onions and + strings of sausages behind the small window-panes. They were closing it. + The sickly lame fellow whom he knew so well by sight staggered out into + the snow embracing a large shutter. + </p> + <p> + Nothing would change. There was the familiar gateway yawning black with + feeble glimmers marking the arches of the different staircases. + </p> + <p> + The sense of life’s continuity depended on trifling bodily impressions. + The trivialities of daily existence were an armour for the soul. And this + thought reinforced the inward quietness of Razumov as he began to climb + the stairs familiar to his feet in the dark, with his hand on the familiar + clammy banister. The exceptional could not prevail against the material + contacts which make one day resemble another. To-morrow would be like + yesterday. + </p> + <p> + It was only on the stage that the unusual was outwardly acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” thought Razumov, “that if I had made up my mind to blow out + my brains on the landing I would be going up these stairs as quietly as I + am doing it now. What’s a man to do? What must be must be. Extraordinary + things do happen. But when they have happened they are done with. Thus, + too, when the mind is made up. That question is done with. And the daily + concerns, the familiarities of our thought swallow it up—and the + life goes on as before with its mysterious and secret sides quite out of + sight, as they should be. Life is a public thing.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov unlocked his door and took the key out; entered very quietly and + bolted the door behind him carefully. + </p> + <p> + He thought, “He hears me,” and after bolting the door he stood still + holding his breath. There was not a sound. He crossed the bare outer room, + stepping deliberately in the darkness. Entering the other, he felt all + over his table for the matchbox. The silence, but for the groping of his + hand, was profound. Could the fellow be sleeping so soundly? + </p> + <p> + He struck a light and looked at the bed. Haldin was lying on his back as + before, only both his hands were under his head. His eyes were open. He + stared at the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + Razumov held the match up. He saw the clear-cut features, the firm chin, + the white forehead and the topknot of fair hair against the white pillow. + There he was, lying flat on his back. Razumov thought suddenly, “I have + walked over his chest.” + </p> + <p> + He continued to stare till the match burnt itself out; then struck another + and lit the lamp in silence without looking towards the bed any more. He + had turned his back on it and was hanging his coat on a peg when he heard + Haldin sigh profoundly, then ask in a tired voice— + </p> + <p> + “Well! And what have you arranged?” + </p> + <p> + The emotion was so great that Razumov was glad to put his hands against + the wall. A diabolical impulse to say, “I have given you up to the + police,” frightened him exceedingly. But he did not say that. He said, + without turning round, in a muffled voice— + </p> + <p> + “It’s done.” + </p> + <p> + Again he heard Haldin sigh. He walked to the table, sat down with the lamp + before him, and only then looked towards the bed. + </p> + <p> + In the distant corner of the large room far away from the lamp, which was + small and provided with a very thick china shade, Haldin appeared like a + dark and elongated shape—rigid with the immobility of death. This + body seemed to have less substance than its own phantom walked over by + Razumov in the street white with snow. It was more alarming in its + shadowy, persistent reality than the distinct but vanishing illusion. + </p> + <p> + Haldin was heard again. + </p> + <p> + “You must have had a walk—such a walk,...” he murmured + deprecatingly. “This weather....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov answered with energy— + </p> + <p> + “Horrible walk.... A nightmare of a walk.” + </p> + <p> + He shuddered audibly. Haldin sighed once more, then— + </p> + <p> + “And so you have seen Ziemianitch—brother?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve seen him.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, remembering the time he had spent with the Prince, thought it + prudent to add, “I had to wait some time.” + </p> + <p> + “A character—eh? It’s extraordinary what a sense of the necessity of + freedom there is in that man. And he has sayings too—simple, to the + point, such as only the people can invent in their rough sagacity. A + character that....” + </p> + <p> + “I, you understand, haven’t had much opportunity....” Razumov muttered + through his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Haldin continued to stare at the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “You see, brother, I have been a good deal in that house of late. I used + to take there books—leaflets. Not a few of the poor people who live + there can read. And, you see, the guests for the feast of freedom must be + sought for in byways and hedges. The truth is, I have almost lived in that + house of late. I slept sometimes in the stable. There is a stable....” + </p> + <p> + “That’s where I had my interview with Ziemianitch,” interrupted Razumov + gently. A mocking spirit entered into him and he added, “It was + satisfactory in a sense. I came away from it much relieved.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! he’s a fellow,” went on Haldin, talking slowly at the ceiling. “I + came to know him in that way, you see. For some weeks now, ever since I + resigned myself to do what had to be done, I tried to isolate myself. I + gave up my rooms. What was the good of exposing a decent widow woman to + the risk of being worried out of her mind by the police? I gave up seeing + any of our comrades....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov drew to himself a half-sheet of paper and began to trace lines on + it with a pencil. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” he thought angrily, “he seems to have thought of + everybody’s safety but mine.” + </p> + <p> + Haldin was talking on. + </p> + <p> + “This morning—ah! this morning—that was different. How can I + explain to you? Before the deed was done I wandered at night and lay hid + in the day, thinking it out, and I felt restful. Sleepless but restful. + What was there for me to torment myself about? But this morning—after! + Then it was that I became restless. I could not have stopped in that big + house full of misery. The miserable of this world can’t give you peace. + Then when that silly caretaker began to shout, I said to myself, ‘There is + a young man in this town head and shoulders above common prejudices.’” + </p> + <p> + “Is he laughing at me?” Razumov asked himself, going on with his aimless + drawing of triangles and squares. And suddenly he thought: “My behaviour + must appear to him strange. Should he take fright at my manner and rush + off somewhere I shall be undone completely. That infernal General....” + </p> + <p> + He dropped the pencil and turned abruptly towards the bed with the shadowy + figure extended full length on it—so much more indistinct than the + one over whose breast he had walked without faltering. Was this, too, a + phantom? + </p> + <p> + The silence had lasted a long time. “He is no longer here,” was the + thought against which Razumov struggled desperately, quite frightened at + its absurdity. “He is already gone and this...only...” + </p> + <p> + He could resist no longer. He sprang to his feet, saying aloud, “I am + intolerably anxious,” and in a few headlong strides stood by the side of + the bed. His hand fell lightly on Haldin’s shoulder, and directly he felt + its reality he was beset by an insane temptation to grip that exposed + throat and squeeze the breath out of that body, lest it should escape his + custody, leaving only a phantom behind. + </p> + <p> + Haldin did not stir a limb, but his overshadowed eyes moving a little + gazed upwards at Razumov with wistful gratitude for this manifestation of + feeling. + </p> + <p> + Razumov turned away and strode up and down the room. “It would have been + possibly a kindness,” he muttered to himself, and was appalled by the + nature of that apology for a murderous intention his mind had found + somewhere within him. And all the same he could not give it up. He became + lucid about it. “What can he expect?” he thought. “The halter—in the + end. And I....” + </p> + <p> + This argument was interrupted by Haldin’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why be anxious for me? They can kill my body, but they cannot exile my + soul from this world. I tell you what—I believe in this world so + much that I cannot conceive eternity otherwise than as a very long life. + That is perhaps the reason I am so ready to die.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m,” muttered Razumov, and biting his lower lip he continued to walk up + and down and to carry on his strange argument. + </p> + <p> + Yes, to a man in such a situation—of course it would be an act of + kindness. The question, however, was not how to be kind, but how to be + firm. He was a slippery customer. + </p> + <p> + “I too, Victor Victorovitch, believe in this world of ours,” he said with + force. “I too, while I live.... But you seem determined to haunt it. You + can’t seriously...mean...” + </p> + <p> + The voice of the motionless Haldin began— + </p> + <p> + “Haunt it! Truly, the oppressors of thought which quickens the world, the + destroyers of souls which aspire to perfection of human dignity, they + shall be haunted. As to the destroyers of my mere body, I have forgiven + them beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had stopped apparently to listen, but at the same time he was + observing his own sensations. He was vexed with himself for attaching so + much importance to what Haldin said. + </p> + <p> + “The fellow’s mad,” he thought firmly, but this opinion did not mollify + him towards Haldin. It was a particularly impudent form of lunacy—and + when it got loose in the sphere of public life of a country, it was + obviously the duty of every good citizen.... + </p> + <p> + This train of thought broke off short there and was succeeded by a + paroxysm of silent hatred towards Haldin, so intense that Razumov hastened + to speak at random. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Eternity, of course. I, too, can’t very well represent it to + myself.... I imagine it, however, as something quiet and dull. There would + be nothing unexpected—don’t you see? The element of time would be + wanting.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled out his watch and gazed at it. Haldin turned over on his side + and looked on intently. + </p> + <p> + Razumov got frightened at this movement. A slippery customer this fellow + with a phantom. It was not midnight yet. He hastened on— + </p> + <p> + “And unfathomable mysteries! Can you conceive secret places in Eternity? + Impossible. Whereas life is full of them. There are secrets of birth, for + instance. One carries them on to the grave. There is something + comical...but never mind. And there are secret motives of conduct. A man’s + most open actions have a secret side to them. That is interesting and so + unfathomable! For instance, a man goes out of a room for a walk. Nothing + more trivial in appearance. And yet it may be momentous. He comes back—he + has seen perhaps a drunken brute, taken particular notice of the snow on + the ground—and behold he is no longer the same man. The most + unlikely things have a secret power over one’s thoughts—the grey + whiskers of a particular person—the goggle eyes of another.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov’s forehead was moist. He took a turn or two in the room, his head + low and smiling to himself viciously. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever reflected on the power of goggle eyes and grey whiskers? + Excuse me. You seem to think I must be crazy to talk in this vein at such + a time. But I am not talking lightly. I have seen instances. It has + happened to me once to be talking to a man whose fate was affected by + physical facts of that kind. And the man did not know it. Of course, it + was a case of conscience, but the material facts such as these brought + about the solution.... And you tell me, Victor Victorovitch, not to be + anxious! Why! I am responsible for you,” Razumov almost shrieked. + </p> + <p> + He avoided with difficulty a burst of Mephistophelian laughter. Haldin, + very pale, raised himself on his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “And the surprises of life,” went on Razumov, after glancing at the other + uneasily. “Just consider their astonishing nature. A mysterious impulse + induces you to come here. I don’t say you have done wrong. Indeed, from a + certain point of view you could not have done better. You might have gone + to a man with affections and family ties. You have such ties yourself. As + to me, you know I have been brought up in an educational institute where + they did not give us enough to eat. To talk of affection in such a + connexion—you perceive yourself.... As to ties, the only ties I have + in the world are social. I must get acknowledged in some way before I can + act at all. I sit here working.... And don’t you think I am working for + progress too? I’ve got to find my own ideas of the true way.... Pardon + me,” continued Razumov, after drawing breath and with a short, throaty + laugh, “but I haven’t inherited a revolutionary inspiration together with + a resemblance from an uncle.” + </p> + <p> + He looked again at his watch and noticed with sickening disgust that there + were yet a good many minutes to midnight. He tore watch and chain off his + waistcoat and laid them on the table well in the circle of bright + lamplight. Haldin, reclining on his elbow, did not stir. Razumov was made + uneasy by this attitude. “What move is he meditating over so quietly?” he + thought. “He must be prevented. I must keep on talking to him.” + </p> + <p> + He raised his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You are a son, a brother, a nephew, a cousin—I don’t know what—to + no end of people. I am just a man. Here I stand before you. A man with a + mind. Did it ever occur to you how a man who had never heard a word of + warm affection or praise in his life would think on matters on which you + would think first with or against your class, your domestic tradition—your + fireside prejudices?... Did you ever consider how a man like that would + feel? I have no domestic tradition. I have nothing to think against. My + tradition is historical. What have I to look back to but that national + past from which you gentlemen want to wrench away your future? Am I to let + my intelligence, my aspirations towards a better lot, be robbed of the + only thing it has to go upon at the will of violent enthusiasts? You come + from your province, but all this land is mine—or I have nothing. No + doubt you shall be looked upon as a martyr some day—a sort of hero—a + political saint. But I beg to be excused. I am content in fitting myself + to be a worker. And what can you people do by scattering a few drops of + blood on the snow? On this Immensity. On this unhappy Immensity! I tell + you,” he cried, in a vibrating, subdued voice, and advancing one step + nearer the bed, “that what it needs is not a lot of haunting phantoms that + I could walk through—but a man!” + </p> + <p> + Haldin threw his arms forward as if to keep him off in horror. + </p> + <p> + “I understand it all now,” he exclaimed, with awestruck dismay. “I + understand—at last.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov staggered back against the table. His forehead broke out in + perspiration while a cold shudder ran down his spine. + </p> + <p> + “What have I been saying?” he asked himself. “Have I let him slip through + my fingers after all?” + </p> + <p> + “He felt his lips go stiff like buckram, and instead of a reassuring smile + only achieved an uncertain grimace. + </p> + <p> + “What will you have?” he began in a conciliating voice which got steady + after the first trembling word or two. “What will you have? Consider—a + man of studious, retired habits—and suddenly like this.... I am not + practised in talking delicately. But...” + </p> + <p> + He felt anger, a wicked anger, get hold of him again. + </p> + <p> + “What were we to do together till midnight? Sit here opposite each other + and think of your—your—shambles?” + </p> + <p> + Haldin had a subdued, heartbroken attitude. He bowed his head; his hands + hung between his knees. His voice was low and pained but calm. + </p> + <p> + “I see now how it is, Razumov—brother. You are a magnanimous soul, + but my action is abhorrent to you—alas....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov stared. From fright he had set his teeth so hard that his whole + face ached. It was impossible for him to make a sound. + </p> + <p> + “And even my person, too, is loathsome to you perhaps,” Haldin added + mournfully, after a short pause, looking up for a moment, then fixing his + gaze on the floor. “For indeed, unless one....” + </p> + <p> + He broke off evidently waiting for a word. Razumov remained silent. Haldin + nodded his head dejectedly twice. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Of course,” he murmured.... “Ah! weary work!” + </p> + <p> + He remained perfectly still for a moment, then made Razumov’s leaden heart + strike a ponderous blow by springing up briskly. + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” he cried sadly in a low, distinct tone. “Farewell then.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov started forward, but the sight of Haldin’s raised hand checked him + before he could get away from the table. He leaned on it heavily, + listening to the faint sounds of some town clock tolling the hour. Haldin, + already at the door, tall and straight as an arrow, with his pale face and + a hand raised attentively, might have posed for the statue of a daring + youth listening to an inner voice. Razumov mechanically glanced down at + his watch. When he looked towards the door again Haldin had vanished. + There was a faint rustling in the outer room, the feeble click of a bolt + drawn back lightly. He was gone—almost as noiseless as a vision. + </p> + <p> + Razumov ran forward unsteadily, with parted, voiceless lips. The outer + door stood open. Staggering out on the landing, he leaned far over the + banister. Gazing down into the deep black shaft with a tiny glimmering + flame at the bottom, he traced by ear the rapid spiral descent of somebody + running down the stairs on tiptoe. It was a light, swift, pattering sound, + which sank away from him into the depths: a fleeting shadow passed over + the glimmer—a wink of the tiny flame. Then stillness. + </p> + <p> + Razumov hung over, breathing the cold raw air tainted by the evil smells + of the unclean staircase. All quiet. + </p> + <p> + He went back into his room slowly, shutting the doors after him. The + peaceful steady light of his reading-lamp shone on the watch. Razumov + stood looking down at the little white dial. It wanted yet three minutes + to midnight. He took the watch into his hand fumblingly. + </p> + <p> + “Slow,” he muttered, and a strange fit of nervelessness came over him. His + knees shook, the watch and chain slipped through his fingers in an instant + and fell on the floor. He was so startled that he nearly fell himself. + When at last he regained enough confidence in his limbs to stoop for it he + held it to his ear at once. After a while he growled— + </p> + <p> + “Stopped,” and paused for quite a long time before he muttered sourly— + </p> + <p> + “It’s done.... And now to work.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down, reached haphazard for a book, opened it in middle and began + to read; but after going conscientiously over two lines he lost his hold + on the print completely and did not try to regain it. He thought— + </p> + <p> + “There was to a certainty a police agent of some sort watching the house + across the street.” + </p> + <p> + He imagined him lurking in a dark gateway, goggle-eyed, muffled up in a + cloak to the nose and with a General’s plumed, cocked hat on his head. + This absurdity made him start in the chair convulsively. He literally had + to shake his head violently to get rid of it. The man would be disguised + perhaps as a peasant... a beggar.... Perhaps he would be just buttoned up + in a dark overcoat and carrying a loaded stick—a shifty-eyed rascal, + smelling of raw onions and spirits. + </p> + <p> + This evocation brought on positive nausea. “Why do I want to bother about + this?” thought Razumov with disgust. “Am I a gendarme? Moreover, it is + done.” + </p> + <p> + He got up in great agitation. It was not done. Not yet. Not till half-past + twelve. And the watch had stopped. This reduced him to despair. Impossible + to know the time! The landlady and all the people across the landing were + asleep. How could he go and... God knows what they would imagine, or how + much they would guess. He dared not go into the streets to find out. “I am + a suspect now. There’s no use shirking that fact,” he said to himself + bitterly. If Haldin from some cause or another gave them the slip and + failed to turn up in the Karabelnaya the police would be invading his + lodging. And if he were not in he could never clear himself. Never. + Razumov looked wildly about as if for some means of seizing upon time + which seemed to have escaped him altogether. He had never, as far as he + could remember, heard the striking of that town clock in his rooms before + this night. And he was not even sure now whether he had heard it really on + this night. + </p> + <p> + He went to the window and stood there with slightly bent head on the watch + for the faint sound. “I will stay here till I hear something,” he said to + himself. He stood still, his ear turned to the panes. An atrocious aching + numbness with shooting pains in his back and legs tortured him. He did not + budge. His mind hovered on the borders of delirium. He heard himself + suddenly saying, “I confess,” as a person might do on the rack. “I am on + the rack,” he thought. He felt ready to swoon. The faint deep boom of the + distant clock seemed to explode in his head—he heard it so + clearly.... One! + </p> + <p> + If Haldin had not turned up the police would have been already here + ransacking the house. No sound reached him. This time it was done. + </p> + <p> + He dragged himself painfully to the table and dropped into the chair. He + flung the book away and took a square sheet of paper. It was like the pile + of sheets covered with his neat minute handwriting, only blank. He took a + pen brusquely and dipped it with a vague notion of going on with the + writing of his essay—but his pen remained poised over the sheet. It + hung there for some time before it came down and formed long scrawly + letters. + </p> + <p> + Still-faced and his lips set hard, Razumov began to write. When he wrote a + large hand his neat writing lost its character altogether—became + unsteady, almost childish. He wrote five lines one under the other. + History not Theory. Patriotism not Internationalism. Evolution not + Revolution. Direction not Destruction. Unity not Disruption. + </p> + <p> + He gazed at them dully. Then his eyes strayed to the bed and remained + fixed there for a good many minutes, while his right hand groped all over + the table for the penknife. + </p> + <p> + He rose at last, and walking up with measured steps stabbed the paper with + the penknife to the lath and plaster wall at the head of the bed. This + done he stepped back a pace and flourished his hand with a glance round + the room. + </p> + <p> + After that he never looked again at the bed. He took his big cloak down + from its peg and, wrapping himself up closely, went to lie down on the + hard horse-hair sofa at the other side of his room. A leaden sleep closed + his eyelids at once. Several times that night he woke up shivering from a + dream of walking through drifts of snow in a Russia where he was as + completely alone as any betrayed autocrat could be; an immense, wintry + Russia which, somehow, his view could embrace in all its enormous expanse + as if it were a map. But after each shuddering start his heavy eyelids + fell over his glazed eyes and he slept again. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + Approaching this part of Mr. Razumov’s story, my mind, the decent mind of + an old teacher of languages, feels more and more the difficulty of the + task. + </p> + <p> + The task is not in truth the writing in the narrative form a <i>precis</i> + of a strange human document, but the rendering—I perceive it now + clearly—of the moral conditions ruling over a large portion of this + earth’s surface; conditions not easily to be understood, much less + discovered in the limits of a story, till some key-word is found; a word + that could stand at the back of all the words covering the pages; a word + which, if not truth itself, may perchance hold truth enough to help the + moral discovery which should be the object of every tale. + </p> + <p> + I turn over for the hundredth time the leaves of Mr. Razumov’s record, I + lay it aside, I take up the pen—and the pen being ready for its + office of setting down black on white I hesitate. For the word that + persists in creeping under its point is no other word than “cynicism.” + </p> + <p> + For that is the mark of Russian autocracy and of Russian revolt. In its + pride of numbers, in its strange pretensions of sanctity, and in the + secret readiness to abase itself in suffering, the spirit of Russia is the + spirit of cynicism. It informs the declarations of her statesmen, the + theories of her revolutionists, and the mystic vaticinations of prophets + to the point of making freedom look like a form of debauch, and the + Christian virtues themselves appear actually indecent.... But I must + apologize for the digression. It proceeds from the consideration of the + course taken by the story of Mr. Razumov after his conservative + convictions, diluted in a vague liberalism natural to the ardour of his + age, had become crystallized by the shock of his contact with Haldin. + </p> + <p> + Razumov woke up for the tenth time perhaps with a heavy shiver. Seeing the + light of day in his window, he resisted the inclination to lay himself + down again. He did not remember anything, but he did not think it strange + to find himself on the sofa in his cloak and chilled to the bone. The + light coming through the window seemed strangely cheerless, containing no + promise as the light of each new day should for a young man. It was the + awakening of a man mortally ill, or of a man ninety years old. He looked + at the lamp which had burnt itself out. It stood there, the extinguished + beacon of his labours, a cold object of brass and porcelain, amongst the + scattered pages of his notes and small piles of books—a mere litter + of blackened paper—dead matter—without significance or + interest. + </p> + <p> + He got on his feet, and divesting himself of his cloak hung it on the peg, + going through all the motions mechanically. An incredible dullness, a + ditch-water stagnation was sensible to his perceptions as though life had + withdrawn itself from all things and even from his own thoughts. There was + not a sound in the house. + </p> + <p> + Turning away from the peg, he thought in that same lifeless manner that it + must be very early yet; but when he looked at the watch on his table he + saw both hands arrested at twelve o’clock. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes,” he mumbled to himself, and as if beginning to get roused a + little he took a survey of his room. The paper stabbed to the wall + arrested his attention. He eyed it from the distance without approval or + perplexity; but when he heard the servant-girl beginning to bustle about + in the outer room with the <i>samovar</i> for his morning tea, he walked + up to it and took it down with an air of profound indifference. + </p> + <p> + While doing this he glanced down at the bed on which he had not slept that + night. The hollow in the pillow made by the weight of Haldin’s head was + very noticeable. + </p> + <p> + Even his anger at this sign of the man’s passage was dull. He did not try + to nurse it into life. He did nothing all that day; he neglected even to + brush his hair. The idea of going out never occurred to him—and if + he did not start a connected train of thought it was not because he was + unable to think. It was because he was not interested enough. + </p> + <p> + He yawned frequently. He drank large quantities of tea, he walked about + aimlessly, and when he sat down he did not budge for a long time. He spent + some time drumming on the window with his finger-tips quietly. In his + listless wanderings round about the table he caught sight of his own face + in the looking-glass and that arrested him. The eyes which returned his + stare were the most unhappy eyes he had ever seen. And this was the first + thing which disturbed the mental stagnation of that day. + </p> + <p> + He was not affected personally. He merely thought that life without + happiness is impossible. What was happiness? He yawned and went on + shuffling about and about between the walls of his room. Looking forward + was happiness—that’s all—nothing more. To look forward to the + gratification of some desire, to the gratification of some passion, love, + ambition, hate—hate too indubitably. Love and hate. And to escape + the dangers of existence, to live without fear, was also happiness. There + was nothing else. Absence of fear—looking forward. “Oh! the + miserable lot of humanity!” he exclaimed mentally; and added at once in + his thought, “I ought to be happy enough as far as that goes.” But he was + not excited by that assurance. On the contrary, he yawned again as he had + been yawning all day. He was mildly surprised to discover himself being + overtaken by night. The room grew dark swiftly though time had seemed to + stand still. How was it that he had not noticed the passing of that day? + Of course, it was the watch being stopped.... + </p> + <p> + He did not light his lamp, but went over to the bed and threw himself on + it without any hesitation. Lying on his back, he put his hands under his + head and stared upward. After a moment he thought, “I am lying here like + that man. I wonder if he slept while I was struggling with the blizzard in + the streets. No, he did not sleep. But why should I not sleep?” and he + felt the silence of the night press upon all his limbs like a weight. + </p> + <p> + In the calm of the hard frost outside, the clear-cut strokes of the town + clock counting off midnight penetrated the quietness of his suspended + animation. + </p> + <p> + Again he began to think. It was twenty-four hours since that man left his + room. Razumov had a distinct feeling that Haldin in the fortress was + sleeping that night. It was a certitude which made him angry because he + did not want to think of Haldin, but he justified it to himself by + physiological and psychological reasons. The fellow had hardly slept for + weeks on his own confession, and now every incertitude was at an end for + him. No doubt he was looking forward to the consummation of his martyrdom. + A man who resigns himself to kill need not go very far for resignation to + die. Haldin slept perhaps more soundly than General T—-, whose task—weary + work too—was not done, and over whose head hung the sword of + revolutionary vengeance. + </p> + <p> + Razumov, remembering the thick-set man with his heavy jowl resting on the + collar of his uniform, the champion of autocracy, who had let no sign of + surprise, incredulity, or joy escape him, but whose goggle eyes could + express a mortal hatred of all rebellion—Razumov moved uneasily on + the bed. + </p> + <p> + “He suspected me,” he thought. “I suppose he must suspect everybody. He + would be capable of suspecting his own wife, if Haldin had gone to her + boudoir with his confession.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov sat up in anguish. Was he to remain a political suspect all his + days? Was he to go through life as a man not wholly to be trusted—with + a bad secret police note tacked on to his record? What sort of future + could he look forward to? + </p> + <p> + “I am now a suspect,” he thought again; but the habit of reflection and + that desire of safety, of an ordered life, which was so strong in him came + to his assistance as the night wore on. His quiet, steady, and laborious + existence would vouch at length for his loyalty. There were many permitted + ways to serve one’s country. There was an activity that made for progress + without being revolutionary. The field of influence was great and + infinitely varied—once one had conquered a name. + </p> + <p> + His thought like a circling bird reverted after four-and-twenty hours to + the silver medal, and as it were poised itself there. + </p> + <p> + When the day broke he had not slept, not for a moment, but he got up not + very tired and quite sufficiently self-possessed for all practical + purposes. + </p> + <p> + He went out and attended three lectures in the morning. But the work in + the library was a mere dumb show of research. He sat with many volumes + open before him trying to make notes and extracts. His new tranquillity + was like a flimsy garment, and seemed to float at the mercy of a casual + word. Betrayal! Why! the fellow had done all that was necessary to betray + himself. Precious little had been needed to deceive him. + </p> + <p> + “I have said no word to him that was not strictly true. Not one word,” + Razumov argued with himself. + </p> + <p> + Once engaged on this line of thought there could be no question of doing + useful work. The same ideas went on passing through his mind, and he + pronounced mentally the same words over and over again. He shut up all the + books and rammed all his papers into his pocket with convulsive movements, + raging inwardly against Haldin. + </p> + <p> + As he was leaving the library a long bony student in a threadbare overcoat + joined him, stepping moodily by his side. Razumov answered his mumbled + greeting without looking at him at all. + </p> + <p> + “What does he want with me?” he thought with a strange dread of the + unexpected which he tried to shake off lest it should fasten itself upon + his life for good and all. And the other, muttering cautiously with + downcast eyes, supposed that his comrade had seen the news of de P—-’s + executioner—that was the expression he used—having been + arrested the night before last.... + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been ill—shut up in my rooms,” Razumov mumbled through his + teeth. + </p> + <p> + The tall student, raising his shoulders, shoved his hands deep into his + pockets. He had a hairless, square, tallowy chin which trembled slightly + as he spoke, and his nose nipped bright red by the sharp air looked like a + false nose of painted cardboard between the sallow cheeks. His whole + appearance was stamped with the mark of cold and hunger. He stalked + deliberately at Razumov’s elbow with his eyes on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “It’s an official statement,” he continued in the same cautious mutter. + “It may be a lie. But there was somebody arrested between midnight and one + in the morning on Tuesday. This is certain.” + </p> + <p> + And talking rapidly under the cover of his downcast air, he told Razumov + that this was known through an inferior Government clerk employed at the + Central Secretariat. That man belonged to one of the revolutionary + circles. “The same, in fact, I am affiliated to,” remarked the student. + </p> + <p> + They were crossing a wide quadrangle. An infinite distress possessed + Razumov, annihilated his energy, and before his eyes everything appeared + confused and as if evanescent. He dared not leave the fellow there. “He + may be affiliated to the police,” was the thought that passed through his + mind. “Who could tell?” But eyeing the miserable frost-nipped, + famine-struck figure of his companion he perceived the absurdity of his + suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “But I—you know—I don’t belong to any circle. I....” + </p> + <p> + He dared not say any more. Neither dared he mend his pace. The other, + raising and setting down his lamentably shod feet with exact deliberation, + protested in a low tone that it was not necessary for everybody to belong + to an organization. The most valuable personalities remained outside. Some + of the best work was done outside the organization. Then very fast, with + whispering, feverish lips— + </p> + <p> + “The man arrested in the street was Haldin.” + </p> + <p> + And accepting Razumov’s dismayed silence as natural enough, he assured him + that there was no mistake. That Government clerk was on night duty at the + Secretariat. Hearing a great noise of footsteps in the hall and aware that + political prisoners were brought over sometimes at night from the + fortress, he opened the door of the room in which he was working, + suddenly. Before the gendarme on duty could push him back and slam the + door in his face, he had seen a prisoner being partly carried, partly + dragged along the hall by a lot of policemen. He was being used very + brutally. And the clerk had recognized Haldin perfectly. Less than half an + hour afterwards General T—- arrived at the Secretariat to examine + that prisoner personally. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you astonished?” concluded the gaunt student. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Razumov roughly—and at once regretted his answer. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody supposed Haldin was in the provinces—with his people. + Didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + The student turned his big hollow eyes upon Razumov, who said unguardedly— + </p> + <p> + “His people are abroad.” + </p> + <p> + He could have bitten his tongue out with vexation. The student pronounced + in a tone of profound meaning— + </p> + <p> + “So! You alone were aware,...” and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “They have sworn my ruin,” thought Razumov. “Have you spoken of this to + anyone else?” he asked with bitter curiosity. + </p> + <p> + The other shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, only to you. Our circle thought that as Haldin had been often heard + expressing a warm appreciation of your character....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov could not restrain a gesture of angry despair which the other must + have misunderstood in some way, because he ceased speaking and turned away + his black, lack-lustre eyes. + </p> + <p> + They moved side by side in silence. Then the gaunt student began to + whisper again, with averted gaze— + </p> + <p> + “As we have at present no one affiliated inside the fortress so as to make + it possible to furnish him with a packet of poison, we have considered + already some sort of retaliatory action—to follow very soon....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov trudging on interrupted— + </p> + <p> + “Were you acquainted with Haldin? Did he know where you live?” + </p> + <p> + “I had the happiness to hear him speak twice,” his companion answered in + the feverish whisper contrasting with the gloomy apathy of his face and + bearing. “He did not know where I live.... I am lodging poorly with an + artisan family.... I have just a corner in a room. It is not very + practicable to see me there, but if you should need me for anything I am + ready....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov trembled with rage and fear. He was beside himself, but kept his + voice low. + </p> + <p> + “You are not to come near me. You are not to speak to me. Never address a + single word to me. I forbid you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the other submissively, showing no surprise whatever at + this abrupt prohibition. “You don’t wish for secret reasons... + perfectly... I understand.” + </p> + <p> + He edged away at once, not looking up even; and Razumov saw his gaunt, + shabby, famine-stricken figure cross the street obliquely with lowered + head and that peculiar exact motion of the feet. + </p> + <p> + He watched him as one would watch a vision out of a nightmare, then he + continued on his way, trying not to think. On his landing the landlady + seemed to be waiting for him. She was a short, thick, shapeless woman with + a large yellow face wrapped up everlastingly in a black woollen shawl. + When she saw him come up the last flight of stairs she flung both her arms + up excitedly, then clasped her hands before her face. + </p> + <p> + “Kirylo Sidorovitch—little father—what have you been doing? + And such a quiet young man, too! The police are just gone this moment + after searching your rooms.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov gazed down at her with silent, scrutinizing attention. Her puffy + yellow countenance was working with emotion. She screwed up her eyes at + him entreatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Such a sensible young man! Anybody can see you are sensible. And now—like + this—all at once.... What is the good of mixing yourself up with + these Nihilists? Do give over, little father. They are unlucky people.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov moved his shoulders slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Or is it that some secret enemy has been calumniating you, Kirylo + Sidorovitch? The world is full of black hearts and false denunciations + nowadays. There is much fear about.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard that I have been denounced by some one?” asked Razumov, + without taking his eyes off her quivering face. + </p> + <p> + But she had not heard anything. She had tried to find out by asking the + police captain while his men were turning the room upside down. The police + captain of the district had known her for the last eleven years and was a + humane person. But he said to her on the landing, looking very black and + vexed— + </p> + <p> + “My good woman, do not ask questions. I don’t know anything myself. The + order comes from higher quarters.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed there had appeared, shortly after the arrival of the policemen + of the district, a very superior gentleman in a fur coat and a shiny hat, + who sat down in the room and looked through all the papers himself. He + came alone and went away by himself, taking nothing with him. She had been + trying to put things straight a little since they left. + </p> + <p> + Razumov turned away brusquely and entered his rooms. + </p> + <p> + All his books had been shaken and thrown on the floor. His landlady + followed him, and stooping painfully began to pick them up into her apron. + His papers and notes which were kept always neatly sorted (they all + related to his studies) had been shuffled up and heaped together into a + ragged pile in the middle of the table. + </p> + <p> + This disorder affected him profoundly, unreasonably. He sat down and + stared. He had a distinct sensation of his very existence being undermined + in some mysterious manner, of his moral supports falling away from him one + by one. He even experienced a slight physical giddiness and made a + movement as if to reach for something to steady himself with. + </p> + <p> + The old woman, rising to her feet with a low groan, shot all the books she + had collected in her apron on to the sofa and left the room muttering and + sighing. + </p> + <p> + It was only then that he noticed that the sheet of paper which for one + night had remained stabbed to the wall above his empty bed was lying on + top of the pile. + </p> + <p> + When he had taken it down the day before he had folded it in four, + absent-mindedly, before dropping it on the table. And now he saw it lying + uppermost, spread out, smoothed out even and covering all the confused + pile of pages, the record of his intellectual life for the last three + years. It had not been flung there. It had been placed there—smoothed + out, too! He guessed in that an intention of profound meaning—or + perhaps some inexplicable mockery. + </p> + <p> + He sat staring at the piece of paper till his eyes began to smart. He did + not attempt to put his papers in order, either that evening or the next + day—which he spent at home in a state of peculiar irresolution. This + irresolution bore upon the question whether he should continue to live—neither + more nor less. But its nature was very far removed from the hesitation of + a man contemplating suicide. The idea of laying violent hands upon his + body did not occur to Razumov. The unrelated organism bearing that label, + walking, breathing, wearing these clothes, was of no importance to anyone, + unless maybe to the landlady. The true Razumov had his being in the + willed, in the determined future—in that future menaced by the + lawlessness of autocracy—for autocracy knows no law—and the + lawlessness of revolution. The feeling that his moral personality was at + the mercy of these lawless forces was so strong that he asked himself + seriously if it were worth while to go on accomplishing the mental + functions of that existence which seemed no longer his own. + </p> + <p> + “What is the good of exerting my intelligence, of pursuing the systematic + development of my faculties and all my plans of work?” he asked himself. + “I want to guide my conduct by reasonable convictions, but what security + have I against something—some destructive horror—walking in + upon me as I sit here?...” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked apprehensively towards the door of the outer room as if + expecting some shape of evil to turn the handle and appear before him + silently. + </p> + <p> + “A common thief,” he said to himself, “finds more guarantees in the law he + is breaking, and even a brute like Ziemianitch has his consolation.” + Razumov envied the materialism of the thief and the passion of the + incorrigible lover. The consequences of their actions were always clear + and their lives remained their own. + </p> + <p> + But he slept as soundly that night as though he had been consoling himself + in the manner of Ziemianitch. He dropped off suddenly, lay like a log, + remembered no dream on waking. But it was as if his soul had gone out in + the night to gather the flowers of wrathful wisdom. He got up in a mood of + grim determination and as if with a new knowledge of his own nature. He + looked mockingly on the heap of papers on his table; and left his room to + attend the lectures, muttering to himself, “We shall see.” + </p> + <p> + He was in no humour to talk to anybody or hear himself questioned as to + his absence from lectures the day before. But it was difficult to repulse + rudely a very good comrade with a smooth pink face and fair hair, bearing + the nickname amongst his fellow-students of “Madcap Kostia.” He was the + idolized only son of a very wealthy and illiterate Government contractor, + and attended the lectures only during the periodical fits of contrition + following upon tearful paternal remonstrances. Noisily blundering like a + retriever puppy, his elated voice and great gestures filled the bare + academy corridors with the joy of thoughtless animal life, provoking + indulgent smiles at a great distance. His usual discourses treated of + trotting horses, wine-parties in expensive restaurants, and the merits of + persons of easy virtue, with a disarming artlessness of outlook. He + pounced upon Razumov about midday, somewhat less uproariously than his + habit was, and led him aside. + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment, Kirylo Sidorovitch. A few words here in this quiet + corner.” + </p> + <p> + He felt Razumov’s reluctance, and insinuated his hand under his arm + caressingly. + </p> + <p> + “No—pray do. I don’t want to talk to you about any of my silly + scrapes. What are my scrapes? Absolutely nothing. Mere childishness. The + other night I flung a fellow out of a certain place where I was having a + fairly good time. A tyrannical little beast of a quill-driver from the + Treasury department. He was bullying the people of the house. I rebuked + him. ‘You are not behaving humanely to God’s creatures that are a jolly + sight more estimable than yourself,’ I said. I can’t bear to see any + tyranny, Kirylo Sidorovitch. Upon my word I can’t. He didn’t take it in + good part at all. ‘Who’s that impudent puppy?’ he begins to shout. I was + in excellent form as it happened, and he went through the closed window + very suddenly. He flew quite a long way into the yard. I raged like—like + a—minotaur. The women clung to me and screamed, the fiddlers got + under the table.... Such fun! My dad had to put his hand pretty deep into + his pocket, I can tell you.” He chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “My dad is a very useful man. Jolly good thing it is for me, too. I do get + into unholy scrapes.” + </p> + <p> + His elation fell. That was just it. What was his life? Insignificant; no + good to anyone; a mere festivity. It would end some fine day in his + getting his skull split with a champagne bottle in a drunken brawl. At + such times, too, when men were sacrificing themselves to ideas. But he + could never get any ideas into his head. His head wasn’t worth anything + better than to be split by a champagne bottle. + </p> + <p> + Razumov, protesting that he had no time, made an attempt to get away. The + other’s tone changed to confidential earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “For God’s sake, Kirylo, my dear soul, let me make some sort of sacrifice. + It would not be a sacrifice really. I have my rich dad behind me. There’s + positively no getting to the bottom of his pocket.” + </p> + <p> + And rejecting indignantly Razumov’s suggestion that this was drunken + raving, he offered to lend him some money to escape abroad with. He could + always get money from his dad. He had only to say that he had lost it at + cards or something of that sort, and at the same time promise solemnly not + to miss a single lecture for three months on end. That would fetch the old + man; and he, Kostia, was quite equal to the sacrifice. Though he really + did not see what was the good for him to attend the lectures. It was + perfectly hopeless. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you let me be of some use?” he pleaded to the silent Razumov, who + with his eyes on the ground and utterly unable to penetrate the real drift + of the other’s intention, felt a strange reluctance to clear up the point. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think I want to go abroad?” he asked at last very quietly. + </p> + <p> + Kostia lowered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You had the police in your rooms yesterday. There are three or four of us + who have heard of that. Never mind how we know. It is sufficient that we + do. So we have been consulting together.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You got to know that so soon,” muttered Razumov negligently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We did. And it struck us that a man like you...” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a man do you take me to be?” Razumov interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “A man of ideas—and a man of action too. But you are very deep, + Kirylo. There’s no getting to the bottom of your mind. Not for fellows + like me. But we all agreed that you must be preserved for our country. Of + that we have no doubt whatever—I mean all of us who have heard + Haldin speak of you on certain occasions. A man doesn’t get the police + ransacking his rooms without there being some devilry hanging over his + head.... And so if you think that it would be better for you to bolt at + once....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov tore himself away and walked down the corridor, leaving the other + motionless with his mouth open. But almost at once he returned and stood + before the amazed Kostia, who shut his mouth slowly. Razumov looked him + straight in the eyes, before saying with marked deliberation and + separating his words— + </p> + <p> + “I thank—you—very—much.” + </p> + <p> + He went away again rapidly. Kostia, recovering from his surprise at these + manoeuvres, ran up behind him pressingly. + </p> + <p> + “No! Wait! Listen. I really mean it. It would be like giving your + compassion to a starving fellow. Do you hear, Kirylo? And any disguise you + may think of, that too I could procure from a costumier, a Jew I know. Let + a fool be made serviceable according to his folly. Perhaps also a false + beard or something of that kind may be needed. + </p> + <p> + “Razumov turned at bay. + </p> + <p> + “There are no false beards needed in this business, Kostia—you + good-hearted lunatic, you. What do you know of my ideas? My ideas may be + poison to you.” The other began to shake his head in energetic protest. + </p> + <p> + “What have you got to do with ideas? Some of them would make an end of + your dad’s money-bags. Leave off meddling with what you don’t understand. + Go back to your trotting horses and your girls, and then you’ll be sure at + least of doing no harm to anybody, and hardly any to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The enthusiastic youth was overcome by this disdain. + </p> + <p> + “You’re sending me back to my pig’s trough, Kirylo. That settles it. I am + an unlucky beast—and I shall die like a beast too. But mind—it’s + your contempt that has done for me.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov went off with long strides. That this simple and grossly festive + soul should have fallen too under the revolutionary curse affected him as + an ominous symptom of the time. He reproached himself for feeling + troubled. Personally he ought to have felt reassured. There was an obvious + advantage in this conspiracy of mistaken judgment taking him for what he + was not. But was it not strange? + </p> + <p> + Again he experienced that sensation of his conduct being taken out of his + hands by Haldin’s revolutionary tyranny. His solitary and laborious + existence had been destroyed—the only thing he could call his own on + this earth. By what right? he asked himself furiously. In what name? + </p> + <p> + What infuriated him most was to feel that the “thinkers” of the University + were evidently connecting him with Haldin—as a sort of confidant in + the background apparently. A mysterious connexion! Ha ha! ...He had been + made a personage without knowing anything about it. How that wretch Haldin + must have talked about him! Yet it was likely that Haldin had said very + little. The fellow’s casual utterances were caught up and treasured and + pondered over by all these imbeciles. And was not all secret revolutionary + action based upon folly, self-deception, and lies? + </p> + <p> + “Impossible to think of anything else,” muttered Razumov to himself. “I’ll + become an idiot if this goes on. The scoundrels and the fools are + murdering my intelligence.” + </p> + <p> + He lost all hope of saving his future, which depended on the free use of + his intelligence. + </p> + <p> + He reached the doorway of his house in a state of mental discouragement + which enabled him to receive with apparent indifference an + official-looking envelope from the dirty hand of the dvornik. + </p> + <p> + “A gendarme brought it,” said the man. “He asked if you were at home. I + told him ‘No, he’s not at home.’ So he left it. ‘Give it into his own + hands,’ says he. Now you’ve got it—eh?” + </p> + <p> + He went back to his sweeping, and Razumov climbed his stairs, envelope in + hand. Once in his room he did not hasten to open it. Of course this + official missive was from the superior direction of the police. A suspect! + A suspect! + </p> + <p> + He stared in dreary astonishment at the absurdity of his position. He + thought with a sort of dry, unemotional melancholy; three years of good + work gone, the course of forty more perhaps jeopardized—turned from + hope to terror, because events started by human folly link themselves into + a sequence which no sagacity can foresee and no courage can break through. + Fatality enters your rooms while your landlady’s back is turned; you come + home and find it in possession bearing a man’s name, clothed in flesh—wearing + a brown cloth coat and long boots—lounging against the stove. It + asks you, “Is the outer door closed?”—and you don’t know enough to + take it by the throat and fling it downstairs. You don’t know. You welcome + the crazy fate. “Sit down,” you say. And it is all over. You cannot shake + it off any more. It will cling to you for ever. Neither halter nor bullet + can give you back the freedom of your life and the sanity of your + thought.... It was enough to dash one’s head against a wall. + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked slowly all round the walls as if to select a spot to dash + his head against. Then he opened the letter. It directed the student + Kirylo Sidorovitch Razumov to present himself without delay at the General + Secretariat. + </p> + <p> + Razumov had a vision of General T—-’s goggle eyes waiting for him—the + embodied power of autocracy, grotesque and terrible. He embodied the whole + power of autocracy because he was its guardian. He was the incarnate + suspicion, the incarnate anger, the incarnate ruthlessness of a political + and social regime on its defence. He loathed rebellion by instinct. And + Razumov reflected that the man was simply unable to understand a + reasonable adherence to the doctrine of absolutism. + </p> + <p> + “What can he want with me precisely—I wonder?” he asked himself. + </p> + <p> + As if that mental question had evoked the familiar phantom, Haldin stood + suddenly before him in the room with an extraordinary completeness of + detail. Though the short winter day had passed already into the sinister + twilight of a land buried in snow, Razumov saw plainly the narrow leather + strap round the Tcherkess coat. The illusion of that hateful presence was + so perfect that he half expected it to ask, “Is the outer door closed?” He + looked at it with hatred and contempt. Souls do not take a shape of + clothing. Moreover, Haldin could not be dead yet. Razumov stepped forward + menacingly; the vision vanished—and turning short on his heel he + walked out of his room with infinite disdain. + </p> + <p> + But after going down the first flight of stairs it occurred to him that + perhaps the superior authorities of police meant to confront him with + Haldin in the flesh. This thought struck him like a bullet, and had he not + clung with both hands to the banister he would have rolled down to the + next landing most likely. His legs were of no use for a considerable + time.... But why? For what conceivable reason? To what end? + </p> + <p> + There could be no rational answer to these questions; but Razumov + remembered the promise made by the General to Prince K—-. His action + was to remain unknown. + </p> + <p> + He got down to the bottom of the stairs, lowering himself as it were from + step to step, by the banister. Under the gate he regained much of his + firmness of thought and limb. He went out into the street without + staggering visibly. Every moment he felt steadier mentally. And yet he was + saying to himself that General T—- was perfectly capable of shutting + him up in the fortress for an indefinite time. His temperament fitted his + remorseless task, and his omnipotence made him inaccessible to reasonable + argument. + </p> + <p> + But when Razumov arrived at the Secretariat he discovered that he would + have nothing to do with General T—-. It is evident from Mr. + Razumov’s diary that this dreaded personality was to remain in the + background. A civilian of superior rank received him in a private room + after a period of waiting in outer offices where a lot of scribbling went + on at many tables in a heated and stuffy atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + The clerk in uniform who conducted him said in the corridor— + </p> + <p> + “You are going before Gregor Matvieitch Mikulin.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing formidable about the man bearing that name. His mild, + expectant glance was turned on the door already when Razumov entered. At + once, with the penholder he was holding in his hand, he pointed to a deep + sofa between two windows. He followed Razumov with his eyes while that + last crossed the room and sat down. The mild gaze rested on him, not + curious, not inquisitive—certainly not suspicious—almost + without expression. In its passionless persistence there was something + resembling sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Razumov, who had prepared his will and his intelligence to encounter + General T—- himself, was profoundly troubled. All the moral bracing + up against the possible excesses of power and passion went for nothing + before this sallow man, who wore a full unclipped beard. It was fair, + thin, and very fine. The light fell in coppery gleams on the protuberances + of a high, rugged forehead. And the aspect of the broad, soft physiognomy + was so homely and rustic that the careful middle parting of the hair + seemed a pretentious affectation. + </p> + <p> + The diary of Mr. Razumov testifies to some irritation on his part. I may + remark here that the diary proper consisting of the more or less daily + entries seems to have been begun on that very evening after Mr. Razumov + had returned home. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Razumov, then, was irritated. His strung-up individuality had gone to + pieces within him very suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I must be very prudent with him,” he warned himself in the silence during + which they sat gazing at each other. It lasted some little time, and was + characterized (for silences have their character) by a sort of sadness + imparted to it perhaps by the mild and thoughtful manner of the bearded + official. Razumov learned later that he was the chief of a department in + the General Secretariat, with a rank in the civil service equivalent to + that of a colonel in the army. + </p> + <p> + Razumov’s mistrust became acute. The main point was, not to be drawn into + saying too much. He had been called there for some reason. What reason? To + be given to understand that he was a suspect—and also no doubt to be + pumped. As to what precisely? There was nothing. Or perhaps Haldin had + been telling lies.... Every alarming uncertainty beset Razumov. He could + bear the silence no longer, and cursing himself for his weakness spoke + first, though he had promised himself not to do so on any account. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t lost a moment’s time,” he began in a hoarse, provoking tone; + and then the faculty of speech seemed to leave him and enter the body of + Councillor Mikulin, who chimed in approvingly— + </p> + <p> + “Very proper. Very proper. Though as a matter of fact....” + </p> + <p> + But the spell was broken, and Razumov interrupted him boldly, under a + sudden conviction that this was the safest attitude to take. With a great + flow of words he complained of being totally misunderstood. Even as he + talked with a perception of his own audacity he thought that the word + “misunderstood” was better than the word “mistrusted,” and he repeated it + again with insistence. Suddenly he ceased, being seized with fright before + the attentive immobility of the official. “What am I talking about?” he + thought, eyeing him with a vague gaze. Mistrusted—not misunderstood—was + the right symbol for these people. Misunderstood was the other kind of + curse. Both had been brought on his head by that fellow Haldin. And his + head ached terribly. He passed his hand over his brow—an involuntary + gesture of suffering, which he was too careless to restrain. At that + moment Razumov beheld his own brain suffering on the rack—a long, + pale figure drawn asunder horizontally with terrific force in the darkness + of a vault, whose face he failed to see. It was as though he had dreamed + for an infinitesimal fraction of time of some dark print of the + Inquisition. + </p> + <p> + It is not to be seriously supposed that Razumov had actually dozed off and + had dreamed in the presence of Councillor Mikulin, of an old print of the + Inquisition. He was indeed extremely exhausted, and he records a + remarkably dream-like experience of anguish at the circumstance that there + was no one whatever near the pale and extended figure. The solitude of the + racked victim was particularly horrible to behold. The mysterious + impossibility to see the face, he also notes, inspired a sort of terror. + All these characteristics of an ugly dream were present. Yet he is certain + that he never lost the consciousness of himself on the sofa, leaning + forward with his hands between his knees and turning his cap round and + round in his fingers. But everything vanished at the voice of Councillor + Mikulin. Razumov felt profoundly grateful for the even simplicity of its + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have listened with interest. I comprehend in a measure your... + But, indeed, you are mistaken in what you....” Councillor Mikulin uttered + a series of broken sentences. Instead of finishing them he glanced down + his beard. It was a deliberate curtailment which somehow made the phrases + more impressive. But he could talk fluently enough, as became apparent + when changing his tone to persuasiveness he went on: “By listening to you + as I did, I think I have proved that I do not regard our intercourse as + strictly official. In fact, I don’t want it to have that character at + all.... Oh yes! I admit that the request for your presence here had an + official form. But I put it to you whether it was a form which would have + been used to secure the attendance of a....” + </p> + <p> + “Suspect,” exclaimed Razumov, looking straight into the official’s eyes. + They were big with heavy eyelids, and met his boldness with a dim, + steadfast gaze. “A suspect.” The open repetition of that word which had + been haunting all his waking hours gave Razumov a strange sort of + satisfaction. Councillor Mikulin shook his head slightly. “Surely you do + know that I’ve had my rooms searched by the police?” + </p> + <p> + “I was about to say a ‘misunderstood person,’ when you interrupted me,” + insinuated quietly Councillor Mikulin. + </p> + <p> + Razumov smiled without bitterness. The renewed sense of his intellectual + superiority sustained him in the hour of danger. He said a little + disdainfully— + </p> + <p> + “I know I am but a reed. But I beg you to allow me the superiority of the + thinking reed over the unthinking forces that are about to crush him out + of existence. Practical thinking in the last instance is but criticism. I + may perhaps be allowed to express my wonder at this action of the police + being delayed for two full days during which, of course, I could have + annihilated everything compromising by burning it—let us say—and + getting rid of the very ashes, for that matter.” + </p> + <p> + “You are angry,” remarked the official, with an unutterable simplicity of + tone and manner. “Is that reasonable?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt himself colouring with annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “I am reasonable. I am even—permit me to say—a thinker, though + to be sure, this name nowadays seems to be the monopoly of hawkers of + revolutionary wares, the slaves of some French or German thought—devil + knows what foreign notions. But I am not an intellectual mongrel. I think + like a Russian. I think faithfully—and I take the liberty to call + myself a thinker. It is not a forbidden word, as far as I know.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Why should it be a forbidden word?” Councillor Mikulin turned in his + seat with crossed legs and resting his elbow on the table propped his head + on the knuckles of a half-closed hand. Razumov noticed a thick forefinger + clasped by a massive gold band set with a blood-red stone—a signet + ring that, looking as if it could weigh half a pound, was an appropriate + ornament for that ponderous man with the accurate middle-parting of glossy + hair above a rugged Socratic forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Could it be a wig?” Razumov detected himself wondering with an unexpected + detachment. His self-confidence was much shaken. He resolved to chatter no + more. Reserve! Reserve! All he had to do was to keep the Ziemianitch + episode secret with absolute determination, when the questions came. Keep + Ziemianitch strictly out of all the answers. + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin looked at him dimly. Razumov’s self-confidence + abandoned him completely. It seemed impossible to keep Ziemianitch out. + Every question would lead to that, because, of course, there was nothing + else. He made an effort to brace himself up. It was a failure. But + Councillor Mikulin was surprisingly detached too. + </p> + <p> + “Why should it be forbidden?” he repeated. “I too consider myself a + thinking man, I assure you. The principal condition is to think correctly. + I admit it is difficult sometimes at first for a young man abandoned to + himself—with his generous impulses undisciplined, so to speak—at + the mercy of every wild wind that blows. Religious belief, of course, is a + great....” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin glanced down his beard, and Razumov, whose tension was + relaxed by that unexpected and discursive turn, murmured with gloomy + discontent— + </p> + <p> + “That man, Haldin, believed in God.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You are aware,” breathed out Councillor Mikulin, making the point + softly, as if with discretion, but making it nevertheless plainly enough, + as if he too were put off his guard by Razumov’s remark. The young man + preserved an impassive, moody countenance, though he reproached himself + bitterly for a pernicious fool, to have given thus an utterly false + impression of intimacy. He kept his eyes on the floor. “I must positively + hold my tongue unless I am obliged to speak,” he admonished himself. And + at once against his will the question, “Hadn’t I better tell him + everything?” presented itself with such force that he had to bite his + lower lip. Councillor Mikulin could not, however, have nourished any hope + of confession. He went on— + </p> + <p> + “You tell me more than his judges were able to get out of him. He was + judged by a commission of three. He would tell them absolutely nothing. I + have the report of the interrogatories here, by me. After every question + there stands ‘Refuses to answer—refuses to answer.’ It’s like that + page after page. You see, I have been entrusted with some further + investigations around and about this affair. He has left me nothing to + begin my investigations on. A hardened miscreant. And so, you say, he + believed in....” + </p> + <p> + Again Councillor Mikulin glanced down his beard with a faint grimace; but + he did not pause for long. Remarking with a shade of scorn that + blasphemers also had that sort of belief, he concluded by supposing that + Mr. Razumov had conversed frequently with Haldin on the subject. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Razumov loudly, without looking up. “He talked and I listened. + That is not a conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “Listening is a great art,” observed Mikulin parenthetically. + </p> + <p> + “And getting people to talk is another,” mumbled Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no—that is not very difficult,” Mikulin said innocently, + “except, of course, in special cases. For instance, this Haldin. Nothing + could induce him to talk. He was brought four times before the delegated + judges. Four secret interrogatories—and even during the last, when + your personality was put forward....” + </p> + <p> + “My personality put forward?” repeated Razumov, raising his head + brusquely. “I don’t understand.” Councillor Mikulin turned squarely to the + table, and taking up some sheets of grey foolscap dropped them one after + another, retaining only the last in his hand. He held it before his eyes + while speaking. + </p> + <p> + “It was—you see—judged necessary. In a case of that gravity no + means of action upon the culprit should be neglected. You understand that + yourself, I am certain. + </p> + <p> + “Razumov stared with enormous wide eyes at the side view of Councillor + Mikulin, who now was not looking at him at all. + </p> + <p> + “So it was decided (I was consulted by General T—-) that a certain + question should be put to the accused. But in deference to the earnest + wishes of Prince K—- your name has been kept out of the documents + and even from the very knowledge of the judges themselves. Prince K—- + recognized the propriety, the necessity of what we proposed to do, but he + was concerned for your safety. Things do leak out—that we can’t + deny. One cannot always answer for the discretion of inferior officials. + There was, of course, the secretary of the special tribunal—one or + two gendarmes in the room. Moreover, as I have said, in deference to + Prince K—- even the judges themselves were to be left in ignorance. + The question ready framed was sent to them by General T—- (I wrote + it out with my own hand) with instructions to put it to the prisoner the + very last of all. Here it is. + </p> + <p> + “Councillor Mikulin threw back his head into proper focus and went on + reading monotonously: ‘Question—Has the man well known to you, in + whose rooms you remained for several hours on Monday and on whose + information you have been arrested—has he had any previous knowledge + of your intention to commit a political murder?...’ Prisoner refuses to + reply. + </p> + <p> + “Question repeated. Prisoner preserves the same stubborn silence. + </p> + <p> + “The venerable Chaplain of the Fortress being then admitted and exhorting + the prisoner to repentance, entreating him also to atone for his crime by + an unreserved and full confession which should help to liberate from the + sin of rebellion against the Divine laws and the sacred Majesty of the + Ruler, our Christ-loving land—the prisoner opens his lips for the + first time during this morning’s audience and in a loud, clear voice + rejects the venerable Chaplain’s ministrations. + </p> + <p> + “At eleven o’clock the Court pronounces in summary form the death + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “The execution is fixed for four o’clock in the afternoon, subject to + further instructions from superior authorities.” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin dropped the page of foolscap, glanced down his beard, + and turning to Razumov, added in an easy, explanatory tone— + </p> + <p> + “We saw no object in delaying the execution. The order to carry out the + sentence was sent by telegraph at noon. I wrote out the telegram myself. + He was hanged at four o’clock this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + The definite information of Haldin’s death gave Razumov the feeling of + general lassitude which follows a great exertion or a great excitement. He + kept very still on the sofa, but a murmur escaped him— + </p> + <p> + “He had a belief in a future existence.” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin shrugged his shoulders slightly, and Razumov got up + with an effort. There was nothing now to stay for in that room. Haldin had + been hanged at four o’clock. There could be no doubt of that. He had, it + seemed, entered upon his future existence, long boots, Astrakhan fur cap + and all, down to the very leather strap round his waist. A flickering, + vanishing sort of existence. It was not his soul, it was his mere phantom + he had left behind on this earth—thought Razumov, smiling + caustically to himself while he crossed the room, utterly forgetful of + where he was and of Councillor Mikulin’s existence. The official could + have set a lot of bells ringing all over the building without leaving his + chair. He let Razumov go quite up to the door before he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Kirylo Sidorovitch—what are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov turned his head and looked at him in silence. He was not in the + least disconcerted. Councillor Mikulin’s arms were stretched out on the + table before him and his body leaned forward a little with an effort of + his dim gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Was I actually going to clear out like this?” Razumov wondered at himself + with an impassive countenance. And he was aware of this impassiveness + concealing a lucid astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently I was going out if he had not spoken,” he thought. “What would + he have done then? I must end this affair one way or another. I must make + him show his hand.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment longer he reflected behind the mask as it were, then let go + the door-handle and came back to the middle of the room. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what you think,” he said explosively, but not raising his + voice. “You think that you are dealing with a secret accomplice of that + unhappy man. No, I do not know that he was unhappy. He did not tell me. He + was a wretch from my point of view, because to keep alive a false idea is + a greater crime than to kill a man. I suppose you will not deny that? I + hated him! Visionaries work everlasting evil on earth. Their Utopias + inspire in the mass of mediocre minds a disgust of reality and a contempt + for the secular logic of human development.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov shrugged his shoulders and stared. “What a tirade!” he thought. + The silence and immobility of Councillor Mikulin impressed him. The + bearded bureaucrat sat at his post, mysteriously self-possessed like an + idol with dim, unreadable eyes. Razumov’s voice changed involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “If you were to ask me where is the necessity of my hate for such as + Haldin, I would answer you—there is nothing sentimental in it. I did + not hate him because he had committed the crime of murder. Abhorrence is + not hate. I hated him simply because I am sane. It is in that character + that he outraged me. His death...” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt his voice growing thick in his throat. The dimness of + Councillor Mikulin’s eyes seemed to spread all over his face and made it + indistinct to Razumov’s sight. He tried to disregard these phenomena. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” he pursued, pronouncing each word carefully, “what is his death + to me? If he were lying here on the floor I could walk over his breast.... + The fellow is a mere phantom....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov’s voice died out very much against his will. Mikulin behind the + table did not allow himself the slightest movement. The silence lasted for + some little time before Razumov could go on again. + </p> + <p> + “He went about talking of me. Those intellectual fellows sit in each + other’s rooms and get drunk on foreign ideas in the same way young Guards’ + officers treat each other with foreign wines. Merest debauchery. ...Upon + my Word,”—Razumov, enraged by a sudden recollection of Ziemianitch, + lowered his voice forcibly,—“upon my word, we Russians are a drunken + lot. Intoxication of some sort we must have: to get ourselves wild with + sorrow or maudlin with resignation; to lie inert like a log or set fire to + the house. What is a sober man to do, I should like to know? To cut + oneself entirely from one’s kind is impossible. To live in a desert one + must be a saint. But if a drunken man runs out of the grog-shop, falls on + your neck and kisses you on both cheeks because something about your + appearance has taken his fancy, what then—kindly tell me? You may + break, perhaps, a cudgel on his back and yet not succeed in beating him + off....” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin raised his hand and passed it down his face + deliberately. + </p> + <p> + “That’s... of course,” he said in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + The quiet gravity of that gesture made Razumov pause. It was so + unexpected, too. What did it mean? It had an alarming aloofness. Razumov + remembered his intention of making him show his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have said all this to Prince K—-,” he began with assumed + indifference, but lost it on seeing Councillor Mikulin’s slow nod of + assent. “You know it? You’ve heard.... Then why should I be called here to + be told of Haldin’s execution? Did you want to confront me with his + silence now that the man is dead? What is his silence to me! This is + incomprehensible. You want in some way to shake my moral balance.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Not that,” murmured Councillor Mikulin, just audibly. “The service + you have rendered is appreciated....” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” interrupted Razumov ironically. + </p> + <p> + “...and your position too.” Councillor Mikulin did not raise his voice. + “But only think! You fall into Prince K—-’s study as if from the sky + with your startling information.... You are studying yet, Mr. Razumov, but + we are serving already—don’t forget that.... And naturally some + curiosity was bound to....” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin looked down his beard. Razumov’s lips trembled. + </p> + <p> + “An occurrence of that sort marks a man,” the homely murmur went on. “I + admit I was curious to see you. General T—- thought it would be + useful, too.... Don’t think I am incapable of understanding your + sentiments. When I was young like you I studied....” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—you wished to see me,” said Razumov in a tone of profound + distaste. “Naturally you have the right—I mean the power. It all + amounts to the same thing. But it is perfectly useless, if you were to + look at me and listen to me for a year. I begin to think there is + something about me which people don’t seem able to make out. It’s + unfortunate. I imagine, however, that Prince K—- understands. He + seemed to.” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin moved slightly and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Prince K—- is aware of everything that is being done, and I don’t + mind informing you that he approved my intention of becoming personally + acquainted with you.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov concealed an immense disappointment under the accents of railing + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “So he is curious too!... Well—after all, Prince K—- knows me + very little. It is really very unfortunate for me, but—it is not + exactly my fault.” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin raised a hasty deprecatory hand and inclined his head + slightly over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Razumov—is it necessary to take it in that way? Everybody + I am sure can....” + </p> + <p> + He glanced rapidly down his beard, and when he looked up again there was + for a moment an interested expression in his misty gaze. Razumov + discouraged it with a cold, repellent smile. + </p> + <p> + “No. That’s of no importance to be sure—except that in respect of + all this curiosity being aroused by a very simple matter.... What is to be + done with it? It is unappeasable. I mean to say there is nothing to + appease it with. I happen to have been born a Russian with patriotic + instincts—whether inherited or not I am not in a position to say.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov spoke consciously with elaborate steadiness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, patriotic instincts developed by a faculty of independent thinking—of + detached thinking. In that respect I am more free than any social + democratic revolution could make me. It is more than probable that I don’t + think exactly as you are thinking. Indeed, how could it be? You would + think most likely at this moment that I am elaborately lying to cover up + the track of my repentance.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov stopped. His heart had grown too big for his breast. Councillor + Mikulin did not flinch. + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” he said simply. “I assisted personally at the search of your + rooms. I looked through all the papers myself. I have been greatly + impressed by a sort of political confession of faith. A very remarkable + document. Now may I ask for what purpose....” + </p> + <p> + “To deceive the police naturally,” said Razumov savagely.... “What is all + this mockery? Of course you can send me straight from this room to + Siberia. That would be intelligible. To what is intelligible I can submit. + But I protest against this comedy of persecution. The whole affair is + becoming too comical altogether for my taste. A comedy of errors, + phantoms, and suspicions. It’s positively indecent....” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin turned an attentive ear. “Did you say phantoms?” he + murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I could walk over dozens of them.” Razumov, with an impatient wave of his + hand, went on headlong, “But, really, I must claim the right to be done + once for all with that man. And in order to accomplish this I shall take + the liberty....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov on his side of the table bowed slightly to the seated bureaucrat. + </p> + <p> + “... To retire—simply to retire,” he finished with great resolution. + </p> + <p> + He walked to the door, thinking, “Now he must show his hand. He must ring + and have me arrested before I am out of the building, or he must let me + go. And either way....” + </p> + <p> + An unhurried voice said— + </p> + <p> + “Kirylo Sidorovitch.” Razumov at the door turned his head. + </p> + <p> + “To retire,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Where to?” asked Councillor Mikulin softly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART SECOND + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + In the conduct of an invented story there are, no doubt, certain + proprieties to be observed for the sake of clearness and effect. A man of + imagination, however inexperienced in the art of narrative, has his + instinct to guide him in the choice of his words, and in the development + of the action. A grain of talent excuses many mistakes. But this is not a + work of imagination; I have no talent; my excuse for this undertaking lies + not in its art, but in its artlessness. Aware of my limitations and strong + in the sincerity of my purpose, I would not try (were I able) to invent + anything. I push my scruples so far that I would not even invent a + transition. + </p> + <p> + Dropping then Mr. Razumov’s record at the point where Councillor Mikulin’s + question “Where to?” comes in with the force of an insoluble problem, I + shall simply say that I made the acquaintance of these ladies about six + months before that time. By “these ladies” I mean, of course, the mother + and the sister of the unfortunate Haldin. + </p> + <p> + By what arguments he had induced his mother to sell their little property + and go abroad for an indefinite time, I cannot tell precisely. I have an + idea that Mrs. Haldin, at her son’s wish, would have set fire to her house + and emigrated to the moon without any sign of surprise or apprehension; + and that Miss Haldin—Nathalie, caressingly Natalka—would have + given her assent to the scheme. + </p> + <p> + Their proud devotion to that young man became clear to me in a very short + time. Following his directions they went straight to Switzerland—to + Zurich—where they remained the best part of a year. From Zurich, + which they did not like, they came to Geneva. A friend of mine in + Lausanne, a lecturer in history at the University (he had married a + Russian lady, a distant connection of Mrs. Haldin’s), wrote to me + suggesting I should call on these ladies. It was a very kindly meant + business suggestion. Miss Haldin wished to go through a course of reading + the best English authors with a competent teacher. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin received me very kindly. Her bad French, of which she was + smilingly conscious, did away with the formality of the first interview. + She was a tall woman in a black silk dress. A wide brow, regular features, + and delicately cut lips, testified to her past beauty. She sat upright in + an easy chair and in a rather weak, gentle voice told me that her Natalka + simply thirsted after knowledge. Her thin hands were lying on her lap, her + facial immobility had in it something monachal. “In Russia,” she went on, + “all knowledge was tainted with falsehood. Not chemistry and all that, but + education generally,” she explained. The Government corrupted the teaching + for its own purposes. Both her children felt that. Her Natalka had + obtained a diploma of a Superior School for Women and her son was a + student at the St. Petersburg University. He had a brilliant intellect, a + most noble unselfish nature, and he was the oracle of his comrades. Early + next year, she hoped he would join them and they would then go to Italy + together. In any other country but their own she would have been certain + of a great future for a man with the extraordinary abilities and the lofty + character of her son—but in Russia.... + </p> + <p> + The young lady sitting by the window turned her head and said— + </p> + <p> + “Come, mother. Even with us things change with years.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was deep, almost harsh, and yet caressing in its harshness. She + had a dark complexion, with red lips and a full figure. She gave the + impression of strong vitality. The old lady sighed. + </p> + <p> + “You are both young—you two. It is easy for you to hope. But I, too, + am not hopeless. Indeed, how could I be with a son like this.” + </p> + <p> + I addressed Miss Haldin, asking her what authors she wished to read. She + directed upon me her grey eyes shaded by black eyelashes, and I became + aware, notwithstanding my years, how attractive physically her personality + could be to a man capable of appreciating in a woman something else than + the mere grace of femininity. Her glance was as direct and trustful as + that of a young man yet unspoiled by the world’s wise lessons. And it was + intrepid, but in this intrepidity there was nothing aggressive. A naive + yet thoughtful assurance is a better definition. She had reflected already + (in Russia the young begin to think early), but she had never known + deception as yet because obviously she had never yet fallen under the sway + of passion. She was—to look at her was enough—very capable of + being roused by an idea or simply by a person. At least, so I judged with + I believe an unbiassed mind; for clearly my person could not be the person—and + as to my ideas!... + </p> + <p> + We became excellent friends in the course of our reading. It was very + pleasant. Without fear of provoking a smile, I shall confess that I became + very much attached to that young girl. At the end of four months I told + her that now she could very well go on reading English by herself. It was + time for the teacher to depart. My pupil looked unpleasantly surprised. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin, with her immobility of feature and kindly expression of the + eyes, uttered from her armchair in her uncertain French, “<i>Mais l’ami + reviendra.</i>” And so it was settled. I returned—not four times a + week as before, but pretty frequently. In the autumn we made some short + excursions together in company with other Russians. My friendship with + these ladies gave me a standing in the Russian colony which otherwise I + could not have had. + </p> + <p> + The day I saw in the papers the news of Mr. de P—-’s assassination—it + was a Sunday—I met the two ladies in the street and walked with them + for some distance. Mrs. Haldin wore a heavy grey cloak, I remember, over + her black silk dress, and her fine eyes met mine with a very quiet + expression. + </p> + <p> + “We have been to the late service,” she said. “Natalka came with me. Her + girl-friends, the students here, of course don’t.... With us in Russia the + church is so identified with oppression, that it seems almost necessary + when one wishes to be free in this life, to give up all hope of a future + existence. But I cannot give up praying for my son.” + </p> + <p> + She added with a sort of stony grimness, colouring slightly, and in + French, “<i>Ce n’est peut etre qu’une habitude.</i>” (“It may be only + habit.”) + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin was carrying the prayer-book. She did not glance at her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “You and Victor are both profound believers,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I communicated to them the news from their country which I had just read + in a cafe. For a whole minute we walked together fairly briskly in + silence. Then Mrs. Haldin murmured— + </p> + <p> + “There will be more trouble, more persecutions for this. They may be even + closing the University. There is neither peace nor rest in Russia for one + but in the grave. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The way is hard,” came from the daughter, looking straight before + her at the Chain of Jura covered with snow, like a white wall closing the + end of the street. “But concord is not so very far off.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what my children think,” observed Mrs. Haldin to me. + </p> + <p> + I did not conceal my feeling that these were strange times to talk of + concord. Nathalie Haldin surprised me by saying, as if she had thought + very much on the subject, that the occidentals did not understand the + situation. She was very calm and youthfully superior. + </p> + <p> + “You think it is a class conflict, or a conflict of interests, as social + contests are with you in Europe. But it is not that at all. It is + something quite different.” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite possible that I don’t understand,” I admitted. + </p> + <p> + That propensity of lifting every problem from the plane of the + understandable by means of some sort of mystic expression, is very + Russian. I knew her well enough to have discovered her scorn for all the + practical forms of political liberty known to the western world. I suppose + one must be a Russian to understand Russian simplicity, a terrible + corroding simplicity in which mystic phrases clothe a naive and hopeless + cynicism. I think sometimes that the psychological secret of the profound + difference of that people consists in this, that they detest life, the + irremediable life of the earth as it is, whereas we westerners cherish it + with perhaps an equal exaggeration of its sentimental value. But this is a + digression indeed.... + </p> + <p> + I helped these ladies into the tramcar and they asked me to call in the + afternoon. At least Mrs. Haldin asked me as she climbed up, and her + Natalka smiled down at the dense westerner indulgently from the rear + platform of the moving car. The light of the clear wintry forenoon was + softened in her grey eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Razumov’s record, like the open book of fate, revives for me the + memory of that day as something startlingly pitiless in its freedom from + all forebodings. Victor Haldin was still with the living, but with the + living whose only contact with life is the expectation of death. He must + have been already referring to the last of his earthly affections, the + hours of that obstinate silence, which for him was to be prolonged into + eternity. That afternoon the ladies entertained a good many of their + compatriots—more than was usual for them to receive at one time; and + the drawing-room on the ground floor of a large house on the Boulevard des + Philosophes was very much crowded. + </p> + <p> + I outstayed everybody; and when I rose Miss Haldin stood up too. I took + her hand and was moved to revert to that morning’s conversation in the + street. + </p> + <p> + “Admitting that we occidentals do not understand the character of your...” + I began. + </p> + <p> + It was as if she had been prepared for me by some mysterious + fore-knowledge. She checked me gently— + </p> + <p> + “Their impulses—their...” she sought the proper expression and found + it, but in French...“their <i>mouvements d’ame.</i>” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was not much above a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” I said. “But still we are looking at a conflict. You say it + is not a conflict of classes and not a conflict of interests. Suppose I + admitted that. Are antagonistic ideas then to be reconciled more easily—can + they be cemented with blood and violence into that concord which you + proclaim to be so near?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me searchingly with her clear grey eyes, without answering + my reasonable question—my obvious, my unanswerable question. + </p> + <p> + “It is inconceivable,” I added, with something like annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is inconceivable,” she said. “The whole world is inconceivable + to the strict logic of ideas. And yet the world exists to our senses, and + we exist in it. There must be a necessity superior to our conceptions. It + is a very miserable and a very false thing to belong to the majority. We + Russians shall find some better form of national freedom than an + artificial conflict of parties—which is wrong because it is a + conflict and contemptible because it is artificial. It is left for us + Russians to discover a better way.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin had been looking out of the window. She turned upon me the + almost lifeless beauty of her face, and the living benign glance of her + big dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what my children think,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” I addressed Miss Haldin, “that you will be shocked if I tell + you that I haven’t understood—I won’t say a single word; I’ve + understood all the words.... But what can be this era of disembodied + concord you are looking forward to. Life is a thing of form. It has its + plastic shape and a definite intellectual aspect. The most idealistic + conceptions of love and forbearance must be clothed in flesh as it were + before they can be made understandable.” + </p> + <p> + I took my leave of Mrs. Haldin, whose beautiful lips never stirred. She + smiled with her eyes only. Nathalie Haldin went with me as far as the + door, very amiable. + </p> + <p> + “Mother imagines that I am the slavish echo of my brother Victor. It is + not so. He understands me better than I can understand him. When he joins + us and you come to know him you will see what an exceptional soul it is.” + She paused. “He is not a strong man in the conventional sense, you know,” + she added. “But his character is without a flaw.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that it will not be difficult for me to make friends with your + brother Victor.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t expect to understand him quite,” she said, a little maliciously. + “He is not at all—at all—western at bottom.” + </p> + <p> + And on this unnecessary warning I left the room with another bow in the + doorway to Mrs. Haldin in her armchair by the window. The shadow of + autocracy all unperceived by me had already fallen upon the Boulevard des + Philosophes, in the free, independent and democratic city of Geneva, where + there is a quarter called “La Petite Russie.” Whenever two Russians come + together, the shadow of autocracy is with them, tinging their thoughts, + their views, their most intimate feelings, their private life, their + public utterances—haunting the secret of their silences. + </p> + <p> + What struck me next in the course of a week or so was the silence of these + ladies. I used to meet them walking in the public garden near the + University. They greeted me with their usual friendliness, but I could not + help noticing their taciturnity. By that time it was generally known that + the assassin of M. de P—- had been caught, judged, and executed. So + much had been declared officially to the news agencies. But for the world + at large he remained anonymous. The official secrecy had withheld his name + from the public. I really cannot imagine for what reason. + </p> + <p> + One day I saw Miss Haldin walking alone in the main valley of the Bastions + under the naked trees. + </p> + <p> + “Mother is not very well,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + As Mrs. Haldin had, it seemed, never had a day’s illness in her life, this + indisposition was disquieting. It was nothing definite, too. + </p> + <p> + “I think she is fretting because we have not heard from my brother for + rather a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “No news—good news,” I said cheerfully, and we began to walk slowly + side by side. + </p> + <p> + “Not in Russia,” she breathed out so low that I only just caught the + words. I looked at her with more attention. + </p> + <p> + “You too are anxious?” + </p> + <p> + She admitted after a moment of hesitation that she was. + </p> + <p> + “It is really such a long time since we heard....” + </p> + <p> + And before I could offer the usual banal suggestions she confided in me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! But it is much worse than that. I wrote to a family we know in + Petersburg. They had not seen him for more than a month. They thought he + was already with us. They were even offended a little that he should have + left Petersburg without calling on them. The husband of the lady went at + once to his lodgings. Victor had left there and they did not know his + address.” + </p> + <p> + I remember her catching her breath rather pitifully. Her brother had not + been seen at lectures for a very long time either. He only turned up now + and then at the University gate to ask the porter for his letters. And the + gentleman friend was told that the student Haldin did not come to claim + the last two letters for him. But the police came to inquire if the + student Haldin ever received any correspondence at the University and took + them away. + </p> + <p> + “My two last letters,” she said. + </p> + <p> + We faced each other. A few snow-flakes fluttered under the naked boughs. + The sky was dark. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think could have happened?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Her shoulders moved slightly. + </p> + <p> + “One can never tell—in Russia.” + </p> + <p> + I saw then the shadow of autocracy lying upon Russian lives in their + submission or their revolt. I saw it touch her handsome open face nestled + in a fur collar and darken her clear eyes that shone upon me brilliantly + grey in the murky light of a beclouded, inclement afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Let us move on,” she said. “It is cold standing—to-day.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered a little and stamped her little feet. We moved briskly to + the end of the alley and back to the great gates of the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Have you told your mother?” I ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “No. Not yet. I came out to walk off the impression of this letter.” + </p> + <p> + I heard a rustle of paper somewhere. It came from her muff. She had the + letter with her in there. + </p> + <p> + “What is it that you are afraid of?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + To us Europeans of the West, all ideas of political plots and conspiracies + seem childish, crude inventions for the theatre or a novel. I did not like + to be more definite in my inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “For us—for my mother specially, what I am afraid of is incertitude. + People do disappear. Yes, they do disappear. I leave you to imagine what + it is—the cruelty of the dumb weeks—months—years! This + friend of ours has abandoned his inquiries when he heard of the police + getting hold of the letters. I suppose he was afraid of compromising + himself. He has a wife and children—and why should he, after all.... + Moreover, he is without influential connections and not rich. What could + he do?... Yes, I am afraid of silence—for my poor mother. She won’t + be able to bear it. For my brother I am afraid of...” she became almost + indistinct, “of anything.” + </p> + <p> + We were now near the gate opposite the theatre. She raised her voice. + </p> + <p> + “But lost people do turn up even in Russia. Do you know what my last hope + is? Perhaps the next thing we know, we shall see him walking into our + rooms.” + </p> + <p> + I raised my hat and she passed out of the gardens, graceful and strong, + after a slight movement of the head to me, her hands in the muff, + crumpling the cruel Petersburg letter. + </p> + <p> + On returning home I opened the newspaper I receive from London, and + glancing down the correspondence from Russia—not the telegrams but + the correspondence—the first thing that caught my eye was the name + of Haldin. Mr. de P—-’s death was no longer an actuality, but the + enterprising correspondent was proud of having ferreted out some + unofficial information about that fact of modern history. He had got hold + of Haldin’s name, and had picked up the story of the midnight arrest in + the street. But the sensation from a journalistic point of view was + already well in the past. He did not allot to it more than twenty lines + out of a full column. It was quite enough to give me a sleepless night. I + perceived that it would have been a sort of treason to let Miss Haldin + come without preparation upon that journalistic discovery which would + infallibly be reproduced on the morrow by French and Swiss newspapers. I + had a very bad time of it till the morning, wakeful with nervous worry and + night-marish with the feeling of being mixed up with something theatrical + and morbidly affected. The incongruity of such a complication in those two + women’s lives was sensible to me all night in the form of absolute + anguish. It seemed due to their refined simplicity that it should remain + concealed from them for ever. Arriving at an unconscionably early hour at + the door of their apartment, I felt as if I were about to commit an act of + vandalism.... + </p> + <p> + The middle-aged servant woman led me into the drawing-room where there was + a duster on a chair and a broom leaning against the centre table. The + motes danced in the sunshine; I regretted I had not written a letter + instead of coming myself, and was thankful for the brightness of the day. + Miss Haldin in a plain black dress came lightly out of her mother’s room + with a fixed uncertain smile on her lips. + </p> + <p> + I pulled the paper out of my pocket. I did not imagine that a number of + the <i>Standard</i> could have the effect of Medusa’s head. Her face went + stony in a moment—her eyes—her limbs. The most terrible thing + was that being stony she remained alive. One was conscious of her + palpitating heart. I hope she forgave me the delay of my clumsy + circumlocution. It was not very prolonged; she could not have kept so + still from head to foot for more than a second or two; and then I heard + her draw a breath. As if the shock had paralysed her moral resistance, and + affected the firmness of her muscles, the contours of her face seemed to + have given way. She was frightfully altered. She looked aged—ruined. + But only for a moment. She said with decision— + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell my mother at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that be safe in her state?” I objected. + </p> + <p> + “What can be worse than the state she has been in for the last month? We + understand this in another way. The crime is not at his door. Don’t + imagine I am defending him before you.” + </p> + <p> + She went to the bedroom door, then came back to ask me in a low murmur not + to go till she returned. For twenty interminable minutes not a sound + reached me. At last Miss Haldin came out and walked across the room with + her quick light step. When she reached the armchair she dropped into it + heavily as if completely exhausted. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin, she told me, had not shed a tear. She was sitting up in bed, + and her immobility, her silence, were very alarming. At last she lay down + gently and had motioned her daughter away. + </p> + <p> + “She will call me in presently,” added Miss Haldin. “I left a bell near + the bed.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that my very real sympathy had no standpoint. The Western + readers for whom this story is written will understand what I mean. It + was, if I may say so, the want of experience. Death is a remorseless + spoliator. The anguish of irreparable loss is familiar to us all. There is + no life so lonely as to be safe against that experience. But the grief I + had brought to these two ladies had gruesome associations. It had the + associations of bombs and gallows—a lurid, Russian colouring which + made the complexion of my sympathy uncertain. + </p> + <p> + I was grateful to Miss Haldin for not embarrassing me by an outward + display of deep feeling. I admired her for that wonderful command over + herself, even while I was a little frightened at it. It was the stillness + of a great tension. What if it should suddenly snap? Even the door of Mrs. + Haldin’s room, with the old mother alone in there, had a rather awful + aspect. + </p> + <p> + Nathalie Haldin murmured sadly— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are wondering what my feelings are?” + </p> + <p> + Essentially that was true. It was that very wonder which unsettled my + sympathy of a dense Occidental. I could get hold of nothing but of some + commonplace phrases, those futile phrases that give the measure of our + impotence before each other’s trials I mumbled something to the effect + that, for the young, life held its hopes and compensations. It held duties + too—but of that I was certain it was not necessary to remind her. + </p> + <p> + She had a handkerchief in her hands and pulled at it nervously. + </p> + <p> + “I am not likely to forget my mother,” she said. “We used to be three. Now + we are two—two women. She’s not so very old. She may live quite a + long time yet. What have we to look for in the future? For what hope and + what consolation?” + </p> + <p> + “You must take a wider view,” I said resolutely, thinking that with this + exceptional creature this was the right note to strike. She looked at me + steadily for a moment, and then the tears she had been keeping down flowed + unrestrained. She jumped up and stood in the window with her back to me. + </p> + <p> + I slipped away without attempting even to approach her. Next day I was + told at the door that Mrs. Haldin was better. The middle-aged servant + remarked that a lot of people—Russians—had called that day, + but Miss Haldin bad not seen anybody. A fortnight later, when making my + daily call, I was asked in and found Mrs. Haldin sitting in her usual + place by the window. + </p> + <p> + At first one would have thought that nothing was changed. I saw across the + room the familiar profile, a little sharper in outline and overspread by a + uniform pallor as might have been expected in an invalid. But no disease + could have accounted for the change in her black eyes, smiling no longer + with gentle irony. She raised them as she gave me her hand. I observed the + three weeks’ old number of the <i>Standard</i> folded with the + correspondence from Russia uppermost, lying on a little table by the side + of the armchair. Mrs. Haldin’s voice was startlingly weak and colourless. + Her first words to me framed a question. + </p> + <p> + “Has there been anything more in papers?” + </p> + <p> + I released her long emaciated hand, shook my head negatively, and sat + down. + </p> + <p> + “The English press is wonderful. Nothing can be kept secret from it, and + all the world must hear. Only our Russian news is not always easy to + understand. Not always easy.... But English mothers do not look for news + like that....” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand on the newspaper and took it away again. I said— + </p> + <p> + “We too have had tragic times in our history.” + </p> + <p> + “A long time ago. A very long time ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “There are nations that have made their bargain with fate,” said Miss + Haldin, who had approached us. “We need not envy them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why this scorn?” I asked gently. “It may be that our bargain was not a + very lofty one. But the terms men and nations obtain from Fate are + hallowed by the price.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin turned her head away and looked out of the window for a time, + with that new, sombre, extinct gaze of her sunken eyes which so completely + made another woman of her. + </p> + <p> + “That Englishman, this correspondent,” she addressed me suddenly, “do you + think it is possible that he knew my son?” + </p> + <p> + To this strange question I could only say that it was possible of course. + She saw my surprise. + </p> + <p> + “If one knew what sort of man he was one could perhaps write to him,” she + murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Mother thinks,” explained Miss Haldin, standing between us, with one hand + resting on the back of my chair, “that my poor brother perhaps did not try + to save himself.” + </p> + <p> + I looked up at Miss Haldin in sympathetic consternation, but Miss Haldin + was looking down calmly at her mother. The latter said— + </p> + <p> + “We do not know the address of any of his friends. Indeed, we know nothing + of his Petersburg comrades. He had a multitude of young friends, only he + never spoke much of them. One could guess that they were his disciples and + that they idolized him. But he was so modest. One would think that with so + many devoted....” + </p> + <p> + She averted her head again and looked down the Boulevard des Philosophes, + a singularly arid and dusty thoroughfare, where nothing could be seen at + the moment but two dogs, a little girl in a pinafore hopping on one leg, + and in the distance a workman wheeling a bicycle. + </p> + <p> + “Even amongst the Apostles of Christ there was found a Judas,” she + whispered as if to herself, but with the evident intention to be heard by + me. + </p> + <p> + The Russian visitors assembled in little knots, conversed amongst + themselves meantime, in low murmurs, and with brief glances in our + direction. It was a great contrast to the usual loud volubility of these + gatherings. Miss Haldin followed me into the ante-room. + </p> + <p> + “People will come,” she said. “We cannot shut the door in their faces.” + </p> + <p> + While I was putting on my overcoat she began to talk to me of her mother. + Poor Mrs. Haldin was fretting after more news. She wanted to go on hearing + about her unfortunate son. She could not make up her mind to abandon him + quietly to the dumb unknown. She would persist in pursuing him in there + through the long days of motionless silence face to face with the empty + Boulevard des Philosophes. She could not understand why he had not escaped—as + so many other revolutionists and conspirators had managed to escape in + other instances of that kind. It was really inconceivable that the means + of secret revolutionary organisations should have failed so inexcusably to + preserve her son. But in reality the inconceivable that staggered her mind + was nothing but the cruel audacity of Death passing over her head to + strike at that young and precious heart. + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin mechanically, with an absorbed look, handed me my hat. I + understood from her that the poor woman was possessed by the sombre and + simple idea that her son must have perished because he did not want to be + saved. It could not have been that he despaired of his country’s future. + That was impossible. Was it possible that his mother and sister had not + known how to merit his confidence; and that, after having done what he was + compelled to do, his spirit became crushed by an intolerable doubt, his + mind distracted by a sudden mistrust. + </p> + <p> + I was very much shocked by this piece of ingenuity. + </p> + <p> + “Our three lives were like that!” Miss Haldin twined the fingers of both + her hands together in demonstration, then separated them slowly, looking + straight into my face. “That’s what poor mother found to torment herself + and me with, for all the years to come,” added the strange girl. At that + moment her indefinable charm was revealed to me in the conjunction of + passion and stoicism. I imagined what her life was likely to be by the + side of Mrs. Haldin’s terrible immobility, inhabited by that fixed idea. + But my concern was reduced to silence by my ignorance of her modes of + feeling. Difference of nationality is a terrible obstacle for our complex + Western natures. But Miss Haldin probably was too simple to suspect my + embarrassment. She did not wait for me to say anything, but as if reading + my thoughts on my face she went on courageously— + </p> + <p> + “At first poor mother went numb, as our peasants say; then she began to + think and she will go on now thinking and thinking in that unfortunate + strain. You see yourself how cruel that is....” + </p> + <p> + I never spoke with greater sincerity than when I agreed with her that it + would be deplorable in the highest degree. She took an anxious breath. + </p> + <p> + “But all these strange details in the English paper,” she exclaimed + suddenly. “What is the meaning of them? I suppose they are true? But is it + not terrible that my poor brother should be caught wandering alone, as if + in despair, about the streets at night....” + </p> + <p> + We stood so close to each other in the dark anteroom that I could see her + biting her lower lip to suppress a dry sob. After a short pause she said— + </p> + <p> + “I suggested to mother that he may have been betrayed by some false friend + or simply by some cowardly creature. It may be easier for her to believe + that.” + </p> + <p> + I understood now the poor woman’s whispered allusion to Judas. + </p> + <p> + “It may be easier,” I admitted, admiring inwardly the directness and the + subtlety of the girl’s outlook. She was dealing with life as it was made + for her by the political conditions of her country. She faced cruel + realities, not morbid imaginings of her own making. I could not defend + myself from a certain feeling of respect when she added simply— + </p> + <p> + “Time they say can soften every sort of bitterness. But I cannot believe + that it has any power over remorse. It is better that mother should think + some person guilty of Victor’s death, than that she should connect it with + a weakness of her son or a shortcoming of her own.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, yourself, don’t suppose that....” I began. + </p> + <p> + She compressed her lips and shook her head. She harboured no evil thoughts + against any one, she declared—and perhaps nothing that happened was + unnecessary. On these words, pronounced low and sounding mysterious in the + half obscurity of the ante-room, we parted with an expressive and warm + handshake. The grip of her strong, shapely hand had a seductive frankness, + a sort of exquisite virility. I do not know why she should have felt so + friendly to me. It may be that she thought I understood her much better + than I was able to do. The most precise of her sayings seemed always to me + to have enigmatical prolongations vanishing somewhere beyond my reach. I + am reduced to suppose that she appreciated my attention and my silence. + The attention she could see was quite sincere, so that the silence could + not be suspected of coldness. It seemed to satisfy her. And it is to be + noted that if she confided in me it was clearly not with the expectation + of receiving advice, for which, indeed she never asked. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Our daily relations were interrupted at this period for something like a + fortnight. I had to absent myself unexpectedly from Geneva. On my return I + lost no time in directing my steps up the Boulevard des Philosophes. + </p> + <p> + Through the open door of the drawing-room I was annoyed to hear a visitor + holding forth steadily in an unctuous deep voice. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin’s armchair by the window stood empty. On the sofa, Nathalie + Haldin raised her charming grey eyes in a glance of greeting accompanied + by the merest hint of a welcoming smile. But she made no movement. With + her strong white hands lying inverted in the lap of her mourning dress she + faced a man who presented to me a robust back covered with black + broadcloth, and well in keeping with the deep voice. He turned his head + sharply over his shoulder, but only for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! your English friend. I know. I know. That’s nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He wore spectacles with smoked glasses, a tall silk hat stood on the floor + by the side of his chair. Flourishing slightly a big soft hand he went on + with his discourse, precipitating his delivery a little more. + </p> + <p> + “I have never changed the faith I held while wandering in the forests and + bogs of Siberia. It sustained me then—it sustains me now. The great + Powers of Europe are bound to disappear—and the cause of their + collapse will be very simple. They will exhaust themselves struggling + against their proletariat. In Russia it is different. In Russia we have no + classes to combat each other, one holding the power of wealth, and the + other mighty with the strength of numbers. We have only an unclean + bureaucracy in the face of a people as great and as incorruptible as the + ocean. No, we have no classes. But we have the Russian woman. The + admirable Russian woman! I receive most remarkable letters signed by + women. So elevated in tone, so courageous, breathing such a noble ardour + of service! The greatest part of our hopes rests on women. I behold their + thirst for knowledge. It is admirable. Look how they absorb, how they are + making it their own. It is miraculous. But what is knowledge? ...I + understand that you have not been studying anything especially—medicine + for instance. No? That’s right. Had I been honoured by being asked to + advise you on the use of your time when you arrived here I would have been + strongly opposed to such a course. Knowledge in itself is mere dross.” + </p> + <p> + He had one of those bearded Russian faces without shape, a mere appearance + of flesh and hair with not a single feature having any sort of character. + His eyes being hidden by the dark glasses there was an utter absence of + all expression. I knew him by sight. He was a Russian refugee of mark. All + Geneva knew his burly black-coated figure. At one time all Europe was + aware of the story of his life written by himself and translated into + seven or more languages. In his youth he had led an idle, dissolute life. + Then a society girl he was about to marry died suddenly and thereupon he + abandoned the world of fashion, and began to conspire in a spirit of + repentance, and, after that, his native autocracy took good care that the + usual things should happen to him. He was imprisoned in fortresses, beaten + within an inch of his life, and condemned to work in mines, with common + criminals. The great success of his book, however, was the chain. + </p> + <p> + I do not remember now the details of the weight and length of the fetters + riveted on his limbs by an “Administrative” order, but it was in the + number of pounds and the thickness of links an appalling assertion of the + divine right of autocracy. Appalling and futile too, because this big man + managed to carry off that simple engine of government with him into the + woods. The sensational clink of these fetters is heard all through the + chapters describing his escape—a subject of wonder to two + continents. He had begun by concealing himself successfully from his guard + in a hole on a river bank. It was the end of the day; with infinite labour + he managed to free one of his legs. Meantime night fell. He was going to + begin on his other leg when he was overtaken by a terrible misfortune. He + dropped his file. + </p> + <p> + All this is precise yet symbolic; and the file had its pathetic history. + It was given to him unexpectedly one evening, by a quiet, pale-faced girl. + The poor creature had come out to the mines to join one of his fellow + convicts, a delicate young man, a mechanic and a social democrat, with + broad cheekbones and large staring eyes. She had worked her way across + half Russia and nearly the whole of Siberia to be near him, and, as it + seems, with the hope of helping him to escape. But she arrived too late. + Her lover had died only a week before. + </p> + <p> + Through that obscure episode, as he says, in the history of ideas in + Russia, the file came into his hands, and inspired him with an ardent + resolution to regain his liberty. When it slipped through his fingers it + was as if it had gone straight into the earth. He could by no manner of + means put his hand on it again in the dark. He groped systematically in + the loose earth, in the mud, in the water; the night was passing meantime, + the precious night on which he counted to get away into the forests, his + only chance of escape. For a moment he was tempted by despair to give up; + but recalling the quiet, sad face of the heroic girl, he felt profoundly + ashamed of his weakness. She had selected him for the gift of liberty and + he must show himself worthy of the favour conferred by her feminine, + indomitable soul. It appeared to be a sacred trust. To fail would have + been a sort of treason against the sacredness of self-sacrifice and + womanly love. + </p> + <p> + There are in his book whole pages of self-analysis whence emerges like a + white figure from a dark confused sea the conviction of woman’s spiritual + superiority—his new faith confessed since in several volumes. His + first tribute to it, the great act of his conversion, was his + extraordinary existence in the endless forests of the Okhotsk Province, + with the loose end of the chain wound about his waist. A strip torn off + his convict shirt secured the end firmly. Other strips fastened it at + intervals up his left leg to deaden the clanking and to prevent the slack + links from getting hooked in the bushes. He became very fierce. He + developed an unsuspected genius for the arts of a wild and hunted + existence. He learned to creep into villages without betraying his + presence by anything more than an occasional faint jingle. He broke into + outhouses with an axe he managed to purloin in a wood-cutters’ camp. In + the deserted tracts of country he lived on wild berries and hunted for + honey. His clothing dropped off him gradually. His naked tawny figure + glimpsed vaguely through the bushes with a cloud of mosquitoes and flies + hovering about the shaggy head, spread tales of terror through whole + districts. His temper grew savage as the days went by, and he was glad to + discover that that there was so much of a brute in him. He had nothing + else to put his trust in. For it was as though there had been two human + beings indissolubly joined in that enterprise. The civilized man, the + enthusiast of advanced humanitarian ideals thirsting for the triumph of + spiritual love and political liberty; and the stealthy, primeval savage, + pitilessly cunning in the preservation of his freedom from day to day, + like a tracked wild beast. + </p> + <p> + The wild beast was making its way instinctively eastward to the Pacific + coast, and the civilised humanitarian in fearful anxious dependence + watched the proceedings with awe. Through all these weeks he could never + make up his mind to appeal to human compassion. In the wary primeval + savage this shyness might have been natural, but the other too, the + civilized creature, the thinker, the escaping “political” had developed an + absurd form of morbid pessimism, a form of temporary insanity, originating + perhaps in the physical worry and discomfort of the chain. These links, he + fancied, made him odious to the rest of mankind. It was a repugnant and + suggestive load. Nobody could feel any pity at the disgusting sight of a + man escaping with a broken chain. His imagination became affected by his + fetters in a precise, matter-of-fact manner. It seemed to him impossible + that people could resist the temptation of fastening the loose end to a + staple in the wall while they went for the nearest police official. + Crouching in holes or hidden in thickets, he had tried to read the faces + of unsuspecting free settlers working in the clearings or passing along + the paths within a foot or two of his eyes. His feeling was that no man on + earth could be trusted with the temptation of the chain. + </p> + <p> + One day, however, he chanced to come upon a solitary woman. It was on an + open slope of rough grass outside the forest. She sat on the bank of a + narrow stream; she had a red handkerchief on her head and a small basket + was lying on the ground near her hand. At a little distance could be seen + a cluster of log cabins, with a water-mill over a dammed pool shaded by + birch trees and looking bright as glass in the twilight. He approached her + silently, his hatchet stuck in his iron belt, a thick cudgel in his hand; + there were leaves and bits of twig in his tangled hair, in his matted + beard; bunches of rags he had wound round the links fluttered from his + waist. A faint clink of his fetters made the woman turn her head. Too + terrified by this savage apparition to jump up or even to scream, she was + yet too stout-hearted to faint.... Expecting nothing less than to be + murdered on the spot she covered her eyes with her hands to avoid the + sight of the descending axe. When at last she found courage to look again, + she saw the shaggy wild man sitting on the bank six feet away from her. + His thin, sinewy arms hugged his naked legs; the long beard covered the + knees on which he rested his chin; all these clasped, folded limbs, the + bare shoulders, the wild head with red staring eyes, shook and trembled + violently while the bestial creature was making efforts to speak. It was + six weeks since he had heard the sound of his own voice. It seemed as + though he had lost the faculty of speech. He had become a dumb and + despairing brute, till the woman’s sudden, unexpected cry of profound + pity, the insight of her feminine compassion discovering the complex + misery of the man under the terrifying aspect of the monster, restored him + to the ranks of humanity. This point of view is presented in his book, + with a very effective eloquence. She ended, he says, by shedding tears + over him, sacred, redeeming tears, while he also wept with joy in the + manner of a converted sinner. Directing him to hide in the bushes and wait + patiently (a police patrol was expected in the Settlement) she went away + towards the houses, promising to return at night. + </p> + <p> + As if providentially appointed to be the newly wedded wife of the village + blacksmith, the woman persuaded her husband to come out with her, bringing + some tools of his trade, a hammer, a chisel, a small anvil.... “My + fetters”—the book says—“were struck off on the banks of the + stream, in the starlight of a calm night by an athletic, taciturn young + man of the people, kneeling at my feet, while the woman like a liberating + genius stood by with clasped hands.” Obviously a symbolic couple. At the + same time they furnished his regained humanity with some decent clothing, + and put heart into the new man by the information that the seacoast of the + Pacific was only a very few miles away. It could be seen, in fact, from + the top of the next ridge.... + </p> + <p> + The rest of his escape does not lend itself to mystic treatment and + symbolic interpretation. He ended by finding his way to the West by the + Suez Canal route in the usual manner. Reaching the shores of South Europe + he sat down to write his autobiography—the great literary success of + its year. This book was followed by other books written with the declared + purpose of elevating humanity. In these works he preached generally the + cult of the woman. For his own part he practised it under the rites of + special devotion to the transcendental merits of a certain Madame de S—, + a lady of advanced views, no longer very young, once upon a time the + intriguing wife of a now dead and forgotten diplomat. Her loud pretensions + to be one of the leaders of modern thought and of modern sentiment, she + sheltered (like Voltaire and Mme. de Stael) on the republican territory of + Geneva. Driving through the streets in her big landau she exhibited to the + indifference of the natives and the stares of the tourists a long-waisted, + youthful figure of hieratic stiffness, with a pair of big gleaming eyes, + rolling restlessly behind a short veil of black lace, which, coming down + no further than her vividly red lips, resembled a mask. Usually the + “heroic fugitive” (this name was bestowed upon him in a review of the + English edition of his book)—the “heroic fugitive” accompanied her, + sitting, portentously bearded and darkly bespectacled, not by her side, + but opposite her, with his back to the horses. Thus, facing each other, + with no one else in the roomy carriage, their airings suggested a + conscious public manifestation. Or it may have been unconscious. Russian + simplicity often marches innocently on the edge of cynicism for some lofty + purpose. But it is a vain enterprise for sophisticated Europe to try and + understand these doings. Considering the air of gravity extending even to + the physiognomy of the coachman and the action of the showy horses, this + quaint display might have possessed a mystic significance, but to the + corrupt frivolity of a Western mind, like my own, it seemed hardly decent. + </p> + <p> + However, it is not becoming for an obscure teacher of languages to + criticize a “heroic fugitive” of worldwide celebrity. I was aware from + hearsay that he was an industrious busy-body, hunting up his compatriots + in hotels, in private lodgings, and—I was told—conferring upon + them the honour of his notice in public gardens when a suitable opening + presented itself. I was under the impression that after a visit or two, + several months before, he had given up the ladies Haldin—no doubt + reluctantly, for there could be no question of his being a determined + person. It was perhaps to be expected that he should reappear again on + this terrible occasion, as a Russian and a revolutionist, to say the right + thing, to strike the true, perhaps a comforting, note. But I did not like + to see him sitting there. I trust that an unbecoming jealousy of my + privileged position had nothing to do with it. I made no claim to a + special standing for my silent friendship. Removed by the difference of + age and nationality as if into the sphere of another existence, I + produced, even upon myself, the effect of a dumb helpless ghost, of an + anxious immaterial thing that could only hover about without the power to + protect or guide by as much as a whisper. Since Miss Haldin with her sure + instinct had refrained from introducing me to the burly celebrity, I would + have retired quietly and returned later on, had I not met a peculiar + expression in her eyes which I interpreted as a request to stay, with the + view, perhaps, of shortening an unwelcome visit. + </p> + <p> + He picked up his hat, but only to deposit it on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet again, Natalia Victorovna. To-day I have called only to + mark those feelings towards your honoured mother and yourself, the nature + of which you cannot doubt. I needed no urging, but Eleanor—Madame de + S— herself has in a way sent me. She extends to you the hand of + feminine fellowship. There is positively in all the range of human + sentiments no joy and no sorrow that woman cannot understand, elevate, and + spiritualize by her interpretation. That young man newly arrived from St. + Petersburg, I have mentioned to you, is already under the charm.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Miss Haldin got up abruptly. I was glad. He did not + evidently expect anything so decisive and, at first, throwing his head + back, he tilted up his dark glasses with bland curiosity. At last, + recollecting himself, he stood up hastily, seizing his hat off his knees + with great adroitness. + </p> + <p> + “How is it, Natalia Victorovna, that you have kept aloof so long, from + what after all is—let disparaging tongues say what they like—a + unique centre of intellectual freedom and of effort to shape a high + conception of our future? In the case of your honoured mother I understand + in a measure. At her age new ideas—new faces are not perhaps.... But + you! Was it mistrust—or indifference? You must come out of your + reserve. We Russians have no right to be reserved with each other. In our + circumstances it is almost a crime against humanity. The luxury of private + grief is not for us. Nowadays the devil is not combated by prayers and + fasting. And what is fasting after all but starvation. You must not starve + yourself, Natalia Victorovna. Strength is what we want. Spiritual + strength, I mean. As to the other kind, what could withstand us Russians + if we only put it forth? Sin is different in our day, and the way of + salvation for pure souls is different too. It is no longer to be found in + monasteries but in the world, in the...” + </p> + <p> + The deep sound seemed to rise from under the floor, and one felt steeped + in it to the lips. Miss Haldin’s interruption resembled the effort of a + drowning person to keep above water. She struck in with an accent of + impatience— + </p> + <p> + “But, Peter Ivanovitch, I don’t mean to retire into a monastery. Who would + look for salvation there?” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke figuratively,” he boomed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I am speaking figuratively too. But sorrow is sorrow and pain + is pain in the old way. They make their demands upon people. One has got + to face them the best way one can. I know that the blow which has fallen + upon us so unexpectedly is only an episode in the fate of a people. You + may rest assured that I don’t forget that. But just now I have to think of + my mother. How can you expect me to leave her to herself...?” + </p> + <p> + “That is putting it in a very crude way,” he protested in his great + effortless voice. + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin did not wait for the vibration to die out. + </p> + <p> + “And run about visiting amongst a lot of strange people. The idea is + distasteful for me; and I do not know what else you may mean?” + </p> + <p> + He towered before her, enormous, deferential, cropped as close as a + convict and this big pinkish poll evoked for me the vision of a wild head + with matted locks peering through parted bushes, glimpses of naked, tawny + limbs slinking behind the masses of sodden foliage under a cloud of flies + and mosquitoes. It was an involuntary tribute to the vigour of his + writing. Nobody could doubt that he had wandered in Siberian forests, + naked and girt with a chain. The black broadcloth coat invested his person + with a character of austere decency—something recalling a + missionary. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I want, Natalia Victorovna?” he uttered solemnly. “I + want you to be a fanatic.” + </p> + <p> + “A fanatic?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Faith alone won’t do.” + </p> + <p> + His voice dropped to a still lower tone. He raised for a moment one thick + arm; the other remained hanging down against his thigh, with the fragile + silk hat at the end. + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell you now something which I entreat you to ponder over + carefully. Listen, we need a force that would move heaven and earth—nothing + less.” + </p> + <p> + The profound, subterranean note of this “nothing less” made one shudder, + almost, like the deep muttering of wind in the pipes of an organ. + </p> + <p> + “And are we to find that force in the salon of Madame de S—? Excuse + me, Peter Ivanovitch, if I permit myself to doubt it. Is not that lady a + woman of the great world, an aristocrat?” + </p> + <p> + “Prejudice!” he cried. “You astonish me. And suppose she was all that! She + is also a woman of flesh and blood. There is always something to weigh + down the spiritual side in all of us. But to make of it a reproach is what + I did not expect from you. No! I did not expect that. One would think you + have listened to some malevolent scandal.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard no gossip, I assure you. In our province how could we? But + the world speaks of her. What can there be in common in a lady of that + sort and an obscure country girl like me?” + </p> + <p> + “She is a perpetual manifestation of a noble and peerless spirit,” he + broke in. “Her charm—no, I shall not speak of her charm. But, of + course, everybody who approaches her falls under the spell.... + Contradictions vanish, trouble falls away from one.... Unless I am + mistaken—but I never make a mistake in spiritual matters—you + are troubled in your soul, Natalia Victorovna.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin’s clear eyes looked straight at his soft enormous face; I + received the impression that behind these dark spectacles of his he could + be as impudent as he chose. + </p> + <p> + “Only the other evening walking back to town from Chateau Borel with our + latest interesting arrival from Petersburg, I could notice the powerful + soothing influence—I may say reconciling influence.... There he was, + all these kilometres along the shores of the lake, silent, like a man who + has been shown the way of peace. I could feel the leaven working in his + soul, you understand. For one thing he listened to me patiently. I myself + was inspired that evening by the firm and exquisite genius of Eleanor—Madame + de S—, you know. It was a full moon and I could observe his face. I + cannot be deceived....” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin, looking down, seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “Well! I will think of what you said, Peter Ivanovitch. I shall try to + call as soon as I can leave mother for an hour or two safely.” + </p> + <p> + Coldly as these words were said I was amazed at the concession. He + snatched her right hand with such fervour that I thought he was going to + press it to his lips or his breast. But he only held it by the finger-tips + in his great paw and shook it a little up and down while he delivered his + last volley of words. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right. That’s right. I haven’t obtained your full confidence as + yet, Natalia Victorovna, but that will come. All in good time. The sister + of Viktor Haldin cannot be without importance.... It’s simply impossible. + And no woman can remain sitting on the steps. Flowers, tears, applause—that + has had its time; it’s a mediaeval conception. The arena, the arena itself + is the place for women!” + </p> + <p> + He relinquished her hand with a flourish, as if giving it to her for a + gift, and remained still, his head bowed in dignified submission before + her femininity. + </p> + <p> + “The arena!... You must descend into the arena, Natalia.” + </p> + <p> + He made one step backwards, inclined his enormous body, and was gone + swiftly. The door fell to behind him. But immediately the powerful + resonance of his voice was heard addressing in the ante-room the + middle-aged servant woman who was letting him out. Whether he exhorted her + too to descend into the arena I cannot tell. The thing sounded like a + lecture, and the slight crash of the outer door cut it short suddenly. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + “We remained looking at each other for a time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who he is?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin, coming forward, put this question to me in English. + </p> + <p> + I took her offered hand. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody knows. He is a revolutionary feminist, a great writer, if you + like, and—how shall I say it—the—the familiar guest of + Madame de S—‘s mystic revolutionary salon.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin passed her hand over her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “You know, he was with me for more than an hour before you came in. I was + so glad mother was lying down. She has many nights without sleep, and then + sometimes in the middle of the day she gets a rest of several hours. It is + sheer exhaustion—but still, I am thankful.... If it were not for + these intervals....” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me and, with that extraordinary penetration which used to + disconcert me, shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No. She would not go mad.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady,” I cried, by way of protest, the more shocked because + in my heart I was far from thinking Mrs. Haldin quite sane. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know what a fine, lucid intellect mother had,” continued + Nathalie Haldin, with her calm, clear-eyed simplicity, which seemed to me + always to have a quality of heroism. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure....” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I darkened mother’s room and came out here. I’ve wanted for so long to + think quietly.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, then, without giving any sign of distress, added, “It’s so + difficult,” and looked at me with a strange fixity, as if watching for a + sign of dissent or surprise. + </p> + <p> + I gave neither. I was irresistibly impelled to say— + </p> + <p> + “The visit from that gentleman has not made it any easier, I fear.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin stood before me with a peculiar expression in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t pretend to understand completely. Some guide one must have, even + if one does not wholly give up the direction of one’s conduct to him. I am + an inexperienced girl, but I am not slavish, There has been too much of + that in Russia. Why should I not listen to him? There is no harm in having + one’s thoughts directed. But I don’t mind confessing to you that I have + not been completely candid with Peter Ivanovitch. I don’t quite know what + prevented me at the moment....” + </p> + <p> + She walked away suddenly from me to a distant part of the room; but it was + only to open and shut a drawer in a bureau. She returned with a piece of + paper in her hand. It was thin and blackened with close handwriting. It + was obviously a letter. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to read you the very words,” she said. “This is one of my poor + brother’s letters. He never doubted. How could he doubt? They make only + such a small handful, these miserable oppressors, before the unanimous + will of our people.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother believed in the power of a people’s will to achieve + anything?” + </p> + <p> + “It was his religion,” declared Miss Haldin. + </p> + <p> + I looked at her calm face and her animated eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Of course the will must be awakened, inspired, concentrated,” she went + on. “That is the true task of real agitators. One has got to give up one’s + life to it. The degradation of servitude, the absolutist lies must be + uprooted and swept out. Reform is impossible. There is nothing to reform. + There is no legality, there are no institutions. There are only arbitrary + decrees. There is only a handful of cruel—perhaps blind—officials + against a nation.” + </p> + <p> + The letter rustled slightly in her hand. I glanced down at the flimsy + blackened pages whose very handwriting seemed cabalistic, incomprehensible + to the experience of Western Europe. + </p> + <p> + “Stated like this,” I confessed, “the problem seems simple enough. But I + fear I shall not see it solved. And if you go back to Russia I know that I + shall not see you again. Yet once more I say: go back! Don’t suppose that + I am thinking of your preservation. No! I know that you will not be + returning to personal safety. But I had much rather think of you in danger + there than see you exposed to what may be met here.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what,” said Miss Haldin, after a moment of reflection. “I + believe that you hate revolution; you fancy it’s not quite honest. You + belong to a people which has made a bargain with fate and wouldn’t like to + be rude to it. But we have made no bargain. It was never offered to us—so + much liberty for so much hard cash. You shrink from the idea of + revolutionary action for those you think well of as if it were something—how + shall I say it—not quite decent.” + </p> + <p> + I bowed my head. + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right,” I said. “I think very highly of you” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t suppose I do not know it,” she began hurriedly. “Your friendship + has been very valuable.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done little else but look on.” + </p> + <p> + She was a little flushed under the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “There is a way of looking on which is valuable I have felt less lonely + because of it. It’s difficult to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Well, I too have felt less lonely. That’s easy to explain, + though. But it won’t go on much longer. The last thing I want to tell you + is this: in a real revolution—not a simple dynastic change or a mere + reform of institutions—in a real revolution the best characters do + not come to the front. A violent revolution falls into the hands of + narrow-minded fanatics and of tyrannical hypocrites at first. Afterwards + comes the turn of all the pretentious intellectual failures of the time. + Such are the chiefs and the leaders. You will notice that I have left out + the mere rogues. The scrupulous and the just, the noble, humane, and + devoted natures; the unselfish and the intelligent may begin a movement—but + it passes away from them. They are not the leaders of a revolution. They + are its victims: the victims of disgust, of disenchantment—often of + remorse. Hopes grotesquely betrayed, ideals caricatured—that is the + definition of revolutionary success. There have been in every revolution + hearts broken by such successes. But enough of that. My meaning is that I + don’t want you to be a victim.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could believe all you have said I still wouldn’t think of myself,” + protested Miss Haldin. “I would take liberty from any hand as a hungry man + would snatch at a piece of bread. The true progress must begin after. And + for that the right men shall be found. They are already amongst us. One + comes upon them in their obscurity, unknown, preparing themselves....” + </p> + <p> + She spread out the letter she had kept in her hand all the time, and + looking down at it— + </p> + <p> + “Yes! One comes upon such men!” she repeated, and then read out the words, + “Unstained, lofty, and solitary existences.” + </p> + <p> + Folding up the letter, while I looked at her interrogatively, she + explained— + </p> + <p> + “These are the words which my brother applies to a young man he came to + know in St. Petersburg. An intimate friend, I suppose. It must be. His is + the only name my brother mentions in all his correspondence with me. + Absolutely the only one, and—would you believe it?—the man is + here. He arrived recently in Geneva.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen him?” I inquired. “But, of course; you must have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “No! No! I haven’t! I didn’t know he was here. It’s Peter Ivanovitch + himself who told me. You have heard him yourself mentioning a new arrival + from Petersburg.... Well, that is the man of ‘unstained, lofty, and + solitary existence.’ My brother’s friend!” + </p> + <p> + “Compromised politically, I suppose,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Yes. It must be so. Who knows! Perhaps it was this very + friendship with my brother which.... But no! It is scarcely possible. + Really, I know nothing except what Peter Ivanovitch told me of him. He has + brought a letter of introduction from Father Zosim—you know, the + priest-democrat; you have heard of Father Zosim?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. The famous Father Zosim was staying here in Geneva for some two + months about a year ago,” I said. “When he left here he seems to have + disappeared from the world.” + </p> + <p> + “It appears that he is at work in Russia again. Somewhere in the centre,” + Miss Haldin said, with animation. “But please don’t mention that to any + one—don’t let it slip from you, because if it got into the papers it + would be dangerous for him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are anxious, of course, to meet that friend of your brother?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin put the letter into her pocket. Her eyes looked beyond my + shoulder at the door of her mother’s room. + </p> + <p> + “Not here,” she murmured. “Not for the first time, at least.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of silence I said good-bye, but Miss Haldin followed me + into the ante-room, closing the door behind us carefully. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you guess where I mean to go tomorrow?” + </p> + <p> + “You have made up your mind to call on Madame de S—.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am going to the Chateau Borel. I must.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you expect to hear there?” I asked, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + I wondered if she were not deluding herself with some impossible hope. It + was not that, however. + </p> + <p> + “Only think—such a friend. The only man mentioned in his letters. He + would have something to give me, if nothing more than a few poor words. It + may be something said and thought in those last days. Would you want me to + turn my back on what is left of my poor brother—a friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” I said. “I quite understand your pious curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “—Unstained, lofty, and solitary existences,” she murmured to + herself. “There are! There are! Well, let me question one of them about + the loved dead.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know, though, that you will meet him there? Is he staying in + the Chateau as a guest—do you suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t really tell,” she confessed. “He brought a written introduction + from Father Zosim—who, it seems, is a friend of Madame de S— + too. She can’t be such a worthless woman after all.” + </p> + <p> + “There were all sorts of rumours afloat about Father Zosim himself,” I + observed. + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Calumny is a weapon of our government too. It’s well known. Oh yes! It is + a fact that Father Zosim had the protection of the Governor-General of a + certain province. We talked on the subject with my brother two years ago, + I remember. But his work was good. And now he is proscribed. What better + proof can one require. But no matter what that priest was or is. All that + cannot affect my brother’s friend. If I don’t meet him there I shall ask + these people for his address. And, of course, mother must see him too, + later on. There is no guessing what he may have to tell us. It would be a + mercy if mamma could be soothed. You know what she imagines. Some + explanation perhaps may be found, or—or even made up, perhaps. It + would be no sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” I said, “it would be no sin. It may be a mistake, though.” + </p> + <p> + “I want her only to recover some of her old spirit. While she is like this + I cannot think of anything calmly.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to invent some sort of pious fraud for your mother’s sake?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why fraud? Such a friend is sure to know something of my brother in these + last days. He could tell us.... There is something in the facts which will + not let me rest. I am certain he meant to join us abroad—that he had + some plans—some great patriotic action in view; not only for + himself, but for both of us. I trusted in that. I looked forward to the + time! Oh! with such hope and impatience. I could have helped. And now + suddenly this appearance of recklessness—as if he had not cared....” + </p> + <p> + She remained silent for a time, then obstinately she concluded— + </p> + <p> + “I want to know....” + </p> + <p> + Thinking it over, later on, while I walked slowly away from the Boulevard + des Philosophes, I asked myself critically, what precisely was it that she + wanted to know? What I had heard of her history was enough to give me a + clue. In the educational establishment for girls where Miss Haldin + finished her studies she was looked upon rather unfavourably. She was + suspected of holding independent views on matters settled by official + teaching. Afterwards, when the two ladies returned to their country place, + both mother and daughter, by speaking their minds openly on public events, + had earned for themselves a reputation of liberalism. The three-horse trap + of the district police-captain began to be seen frequently in their + village. “I must keep an eye on the peasants”—so he explained his + visits up at the house. “Two lonely ladies must be looked after a little.” + He would inspect the walls as though he wanted to pierce them with his + eyes, peer at the photographs, turn over the books in the drawing-room + negligently, and after the usual refreshments, would depart. But the old + priest of the village came one evening in the greatest distress and + agitation, to confess that he—the priest—had been ordered to + watch and ascertain in other ways too (such as using his spiritual power + with the servants) all that was going on in the house, and especially in + respect of the visitors these ladies received, who they were, the length + of their stay, whether any of them were strangers to that part of the + country, and so on. The poor, simple old man was in an agony of + humiliation and terror. “I came to warn you. Be cautious in your conduct, + for the love of God. I am burning with shame, but there is no getting out + from under the net. I shall have to tell them what I see, because if I did + not there is my deacon. He would make the worst of things to curry favour. + And then my son-in-law, the husband of my Parasha, who is a writer in the + Government Domain office; they would soon kick him out—and maybe + send him away somewhere.” The old man lamented the necessities of the + times—“when people do not agree somehow” and wiped his eyes. He did + not wish to spend the evening of his days with a shaven head in the + penitent’s cell of some monastery—“and subjected to all the + severities of ecclesiastical discipline; for they would show no mercy to + an old man,” he groaned. He became almost hysterical, and the two ladies, + full of commiseration, soothed him the best they could before they let him + go back to his cottage. But, as a matter of fact, they had very few + visitors. The neighbours—some of them old friends—began to + keep away; a few from timidity, others with marked disdain, being grand + people that came only for the summer—Miss Haldin explained to me—aristocrats, + reactionaries. It was a solitary existence for a young girl. Her relations + with her mother were of the tenderest and most open kind; but Mrs. Haldin + had seen the experiences of her own generation, its sufferings, its + deceptions, its apostasies too. Her affection for her children was + expressed by the suppression of all signs of anxiety. She maintained a + heroic reserve. To Nathalie Haldin, her brother with his Petersburg + existence, not enigmatical in the least (there could be no doubt of what + he felt or thought) but conducted a little mysteriously, was the only + visible representative of a proscribed liberty. All the significance of + freedom, its indefinite promises, lived in their long discussions, which + breathed the loftiest hope of action and faith in success. Then, suddenly, + the action, the hopes, came to an end with the details ferreted out by the + English journalist. The concrete fact, the fact of his death remained! but + it remained obscure in its deeper causes. She felt herself abandoned + without explanation. But she did not suspect him. What she wanted was to + learn almost at any cost how she could remain faithful to his departed + spirit. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Several days elapsed before I met Nathalie Haldin again. I was crossing + the place in front of the theatre when I made out her shapely figure in + the very act of turning between the gate pillars of the unattractive + public promenade of the Bastions. She walked away from me, but I knew we + should meet as she returned down the main alley—unless, indeed, she + were going home. In that case, I don’t think I should have called on her + yet. My desire to keep her away from these people was as strong as ever, + but I had no illusions as to my power. I was but a Westerner, and it was + clear that Miss Haldin would not, could not listen to my wisdom; and as to + my desire of listening to her voice, it were better, I thought, not to + indulge overmuch in that pleasure. No, I should not have gone to the + Boulevard des Philosophes; but when at about the middle of the principal + alley I saw Miss Haldin coming towards me, I was too curious, and too + honest, perhaps, to run away. + </p> + <p> + There was something of the spring harshness in the air. The blue sky was + hard, but the young leaves clung like soft mist about the uninteresting + range of trees; and the clear sun put little points of gold into the grey + of Miss Haldin’s frank eyes, turned to me with a friendly greeting. + </p> + <p> + I inquired after the health of her mother. + </p> + <p> + She had a slight movement of the shoulders and a little sad sigh. + </p> + <p> + “But, you see, I did come out for a walk...for exercise, as you English + say.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled approvingly, and she added an unexpected remark— + </p> + <p> + “It is a glorious day.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice, slightly harsh, but fascinating with its masculine and + bird-like quality, had the accent of spontaneous conviction. I was glad of + it. It was as though she had become aware of her youth—for there was + but little of spring-like glory in the rectangular railed space of grass + and trees, framed visibly by the orderly roof-slopes of that town, comely + without grace, and hospitable without sympathy. In the very air through + which she moved there was but little warmth; and the sky, the sky of a + land without horizons, swept and washed clean by the April showers, + extended a cold cruel blue, without elevation, narrowed suddenly by the + ugly, dark wall of the Jura where, here and there, lingered yet a few + miserable trails and patches of snow. All the glory of the season must + have been within herself—and I was glad this feeling had come into + her life, if only for a little time. + </p> + <p> + “I am pleased to hear you say these words.” She gave me a quick look. + Quick, not stealthy. If there was one thing of which she was absolutely + incapable, it was stealthiness, Her sincerity was expressed in the very + rhythm of her walk. It was I who was looking at her covertly—if I + may say so. I knew where she had been, but I did not know what she had + seen and heard in that nest of aristocratic conspiracies. I use the word + aristocratic, for want of a better term. The Chateau Borel, embowered in + the trees and thickets of its neglected grounds, had its fame in our day, + like the residence of that other dangerous and exiled woman, Madame de + Stael, in the Napoleonic era. Only the Napoleonic despotism, the booted + heir of the Revolution, which counted that intellectual woman for an enemy + worthy to be watched, was something quite unlike the autocracy in mystic + vestments, engendered by the slavery of a Tartar conquest. And Madame de S— + was very far from resembling the gifted author of <i>Corinne</i>. She made + a great noise about being persecuted. I don’t know if she were regarded in + certain circles as dangerous. As to being watched, I imagine that the + Chateau Borel could be subjected only to a most distant observation. It + was in its exclusiveness an ideal abode for hatching superior plots—whether + serious or futile. But all this did not interest me. I wanted to know the + effect its extraordinary inhabitants and its special atmosphere had + produced on a girl like Miss Haldin, so true, so honest, but so + dangerously inexperienced! Her unconsciously lofty ignorance of the baser + instincts of mankind left her disarmed before her own impulses. And there + was also that friend of her brother, the significant new arrival from + Russia.... I wondered whether she had managed to meet him. + </p> + <p> + We walked for some time, slowly and in silence. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” I attacked her suddenly, “if you don’t intend telling me + anything, you must say so distinctly, and then, of course, it shall be + final. But I won’t play at delicacy. I ask you point-blank for all the + details.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly at my threatening tone. + </p> + <p> + “You are as curious as a child.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I am only an anxious old man,” I replied earnestly. + </p> + <p> + She rested her glance on me as if to ascertain the degree of my anxiety or + the number of my years. My physiognomy has never been expressive, I + believe, and as to my years I am not ancient enough as yet to be + strikingly decrepit. I have no long beard like the good hermit of a + romantic ballad; my footsteps are not tottering, my aspect not that of a + slow, venerable sage. Those picturesque advantages are not mine. I am old, + alas, in a brisk, commonplace way. And it seemed to me as though there + were some pity for me in Miss Haldin’s prolonged glance. She stepped out a + little quicker. + </p> + <p> + “You ask for all the details. Let me see. I ought to remember them. It was + novel enough for a—a village girl like me.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of silence she began by saying that the Chateau Borel was + almost as neglected inside as outside. It was nothing to wonder at, a + Hamburg banker, I believe, retired from business, had it built to cheer + his remaining days by the view of that lake whose precise, orderly, and + well-to-do beauty must have been attractive to the unromantic imagination + of a business man. But he died soon. His wife departed too (but only to + Italy), and this house of moneyed ease, presumably unsaleable, had stood + empty for several years. One went to it up a gravel drive, round a large, + coarse grass-plot, with plenty of time to observe the degradation of its + stuccoed front. Miss Haldin said that the impression was unpleasant. It + grew more depressing as one came nearer. + </p> + <p> + She observed green stains of moss on the steps of the terrace. The front + door stood wide open. There was no one about. She found herself in a wide, + lofty, and absolutely empty hall, with a good many doors. These doors were + all shut. A broad, bare stone staircase faced her, and the effect of the + whole was of an untenanted house. She stood still, disconcerted by the + solitude, but after a while she became aware of a voice speaking + continuously somewhere. + </p> + <p> + “You were probably being observed all the time,” I suggested. “There must + have been eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how that could be,” she retorted. “I haven’t seen even a bird + in the grounds. I don’t remember hearing a single twitter in the trees. + The whole place appeared utterly deserted except for the voice.” + </p> + <p> + She could not make out the language—Russian, French, or German. No + one seemed to answer it. It was as though the voice had been left behind + by the departed inhabitants to talk to the bare walls. It went on volubly, + with a pause now and then. It was lonely and sad. The time seemed very + long to Miss Haldin. An invincible repugnance prevented her from opening + one of the doors in the hall. It was so hopeless. No one would come, the + voice would never stop. She confessed to me that she had to resist an + impulse to turn round and go away unseen, as she had come. + </p> + <p> + “Really? You had that impulse?” I cried, full of regret. “What a pity you + did not obey it.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “What a strange memory it would have been for one. Those deserted grounds, + that empty hall, that impersonal, voluble voice, and—nobody, + nothing, not a soul.” + </p> + <p> + The memory would have been unique and harmless. But she was not a girl to + run away from an intimidating impression of solitude and mystery. “No, I + did not run away,” she said. “I stayed where I was—and I did see a + soul. Such a strange soul.” + </p> + <p> + As she was gazing up the broad staircase, and had concluded that the voice + came from somewhere above, a rustle of dress attracted her attention. She + looked down and saw a woman crossing the hall, having issued apparently + through one of the many doors. Her face was averted, so that at first she + was not aware of Miss Haldin. + </p> + <p> + On turning her head and seeing a stranger, she appeared very much + startled. From her slender figure Miss Haldin had taken her for a young + girl; but if her face was almost childishly round, it was also sallow and + wrinkled, with dark rings under the eyes. A thick crop of dusty brown hair + was parted boyishly on the side with a lateral wave above the dry, + furrowed forehead. After a moment of dumb blinking, she suddenly squatted + down on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by squatted down?” I asked, astonished. “This is a very + strange detail.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin explained the reason. This person when first seen was carrying + a small bowl in her hand. She had squatted down to put it on the floor for + the benefit of a large cat, which appeared then from behind her skirts, + and hid its head into the bowl greedily. She got up, and approaching Miss + Haldin asked with nervous bluntness— + </p> + <p> + “What do you want? Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin mentioned her name and also the name of Peter Ivanovitch. The + girlish, elderly woman nodded and puckered her face into a momentary + expression of sympathy. Her black silk blouse was old and even frayed in + places; the black serge skirt was short and shabby. She continued to blink + at close quarters, and her eyelashes and eyebrows seemed shabby too. Miss + Haldin, speaking gently to her, as if to an unhappy and sensitive person, + explained how it was that her visit could not be an altogether unexpected + event to Madame de S—. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Peter Ivanovitch brought you an invitation. How was I to know? A <i>dame + de compangnie</i> is not consulted, as you may imagine.” + </p> + <p> + The shabby woman laughed a little. Her teeth, splendidly white and + admirably even, looked absurdly out of place, like a string of pearls on + the neck of a ragged tramp. “Peter Ivanovitch is the greatest genius of + the century perhaps, but he is the most inconsiderate man living. So if + you have an appointment with him you must not be surprised to hear that he + is not here.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin explained that she had no appointment with Peter Ivanovitch. + She became interested at once in that bizarre person. + </p> + <p> + “Why should he put himself out for you or any one else? Oh! these + geniuses. If you only knew! Yes! And their books—I mean, of course, + the books that the world admires, the inspired books. But you have not + been behind the scenes. Wait till you have to sit at a table for a half a + day with a pen in your hand. He can walk up and down his rooms for hours + and hours. I used to get so stiff and numb that I was afraid I would lose + my balance and fall off the chair all at once.” + </p> + <p> + She kept her hands folded in front of her, and her eyes, fixed on Miss + Haldin’s face, betrayed no animation whatever. Miss Haldin, gathering that + the lady who called herself a <i>dame de compangnie</i> was proud of + having acted as secretary to Peter Ivanovitch, made an amiable remark. + </p> + <p> + “You could not imagine a more trying experience,” declared the lady. + “There is an Anglo-American journalist interviewing Madame de S— + now, or I would take you up,” she continued in a changed tone and glancing + towards the staircase. “I act as master of ceremonies.” + </p> + <p> + It appeared that Madame de S— could not bear Swiss servants about + her person; and, indeed, servants would not stay for very long in the + Chateau Borel. There were always difficulties. Miss Haldin had already + noticed that the hall was like a dusty barn of marble and stucco with + cobwebs in the corners and faint tracks of mud on the black and white + tessellated floor. + </p> + <p> + “I look also after this animal,” continued the <i>dame de compagnie</i>, + keeping her hands folded quietly in front of her; and she bent her worn + gaze upon the cat. “I don’t mind a bit. Animals have their rights; though, + strictly speaking, I see no reason why they should not suffer as well as + human beings. Do you? But of course they never suffer so much. That is + impossible. Only, in their case it is more pitiful because they cannot + make a revolution. I used to be a Republican. I suppose you are a + Republican?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin confessed to me that she did not know what to say. But she + nodded slightly, and asked in her turn— + </p> + <p> + “And are you no longer a Republican?” + </p> + <p> + “After taking down Peter Ivanovitch from dictation for two years, it is + difficult for me to be anything. First of all, you have to sit perfectly + motionless. The slightest movement you make puts to flight the ideas of + Peter Ivanovitch. You hardly dare to breathe. And as to coughing—God + forbid! Peter Ivanovitch changed the position of the table to the wall + because at first I could not help raising my eyes to look out of the + window, while waiting for him to go on with his dictation. That was not + allowed. He said I stared so stupidly. I was likewise not permitted to + look at him over my shoulder. Instantly Peter Ivanovitch stamped his foot, + and would roar, ‘Look down on the paper!’ It seems my expression, my face, + put him off. Well, I know that I am not beautiful, and that my expression + is not hopeful either. He said that my air of unintelligent expectation + irritated him. These are his own words.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin was shocked, but admitted to me that she was not altogether + surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that Peter Ivanovitch could treat any woman so rudely?” + she cried. + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i> nodded several times with an air of + discretion, then assured Miss Haldin that she did not mind in the least. + The trying part of it was to have the secret of the composition laid bare + before her; to see the great author of the revolutionary gospels grope for + words as if he were in the dark as to what he meant to say. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite willing to be the blind instrument of higher ends. To give + one’s life for the cause is nothing. But to have one’s illusions destroyed—that + is really almost more than one can bear. I really don’t exaggerate,” she + insisted. “It seemed to freeze my very beliefs in me—the more so + that when we worked in winter Peter Ivanovitch, walking up and down the + room, required no artificial heat to keep himself warm. Even when we move + to the South of France there are bitterly cold days, especially when you + have to sit still for six hours at a stretch. The walls of these villas on + the Riviera are so flimsy. Peter Ivanovitch did not seem to be aware of + anything. It is true that I kept down my shivers from fear of putting him + out. I used to set my teeth till my jaws felt absolutely locked. In the + moments when Peter Ivanovitch interrupted his dictation, and sometimes + these intervals were very long—often twenty minutes, no less, while + he walked to and fro behind my back muttering to himself—I felt I + was dying by inches, I assure you. Perhaps if I had let my teeth rattle + Peter Ivanovitch might have noticed my distress, but I don’t think it + would have had any practical effect. She’s very miserly in such matters.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i> glanced up the staircase. The big cat had + finished the milk and was rubbing its whiskered cheek sinuously against + her skirt. She dived to snatch it up from the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Miserliness is rather a quality than otherwise, you know,” she continued, + holding the cat in her folded arms. “With us it is misers who can spare + money for worthy objects—not the so-called generous natures. But + pray don’t think I am a sybarite. My father was a clerk in the Ministry of + Finances with no position at all. You may guess by this that our home was + far from luxurious, though of course we did not actually suffer from cold. + I ran away from my parents, you know, directly I began to think by myself. + It is not very easy, such thinking. One has got to be put in the way of + it, awakened to the truth. I am indebted for my salvation to an old + apple-woman, who had her stall under the gateway of the house we lived in. + She had a kind wrinkled face, and the most friendly voice imaginable. One + day, casually, we began to talk about a child, a ragged little girl we had + seen begging from men in the streets at dusk; and from one thing to + another my eyes began to open gradually to the horrors from which innocent + people are made to suffer in this world, only in order that governments + might exist. After I once understood the crime of the upper classes, I + could not go on living with my parents. Not a single charitable word was + to be heard in our home from year’s end to year’s end; there was nothing + but the talk of vile office intrigues, and of promotion and of salaries, + and of courting the favour of the chiefs. The mere idea of marrying one + day such another man as my father made me shudder. I don’t mean that there + was anyone wanting to marry me. There was not the slightest prospect of + anything of the kind. But was it not sin enough to live on a Government + salary while half Russia was dying of hunger? The Ministry of Finances! + What a grotesque horror it is! What does the starving, ignorant people + want with a Ministry of Finances? I kissed my old folks on both cheeks, + and went away from them to live in cellars, with the proletariat. I tried + to make myself useful to the utterly hopeless. I suppose you understand + what I mean? I mean the people who have nowhere to go and nothing to look + forward to in this life. Do you understand how frightful that is—nothing + to look forward to! Sometimes I think that it is only in Russia that there + are such people and such a depth of misery can be reached. Well, I plunged + into it, and—do you know—there isn’t much that one can do in + there. No, indeed—at least as long as there are Ministries of + Finances and such like grotesque horrors to stand in the way. I suppose I + would have gone mad there just trying to fight the vermin, if it had not + been for a man. It was my old friend and teacher, the poor saintly + apple-woman, who discovered him for me, quite accidentally. She came to + fetch me late one evening in her quiet way. I followed her where she would + lead; that part of my life was in her hands altogether, and without her my + spirit would have perished miserably. The man was a young workman, a + lithographer by trade, and he had got into trouble in connexion with that + affair of temperance tracts—you remember. There was a lot of people + put in prison for that. The Ministry of Finances again! What would become + of it if the poor folk ceased making beasts of themselves with drink? Upon + my word, I would think that finances and all the rest of it are an + invention of the devil; only that a belief in a supernatural source of + evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness. + Finances indeed!” + </p> + <p> + Hatred and contempt hissed in her utterance of the word “finances,” but at + the very moment she gently stroked the cat reposing in her arms. She even + raised them slightly, and inclining her head rubbed her cheek against the + fur of the animal, which received this caress with the complete detachment + so characteristic of its kind. Then looking at Miss Haldin she excused + herself once more for not taking her upstairs to Madame S— The + interview could not be interrupted. Presently the journalist would be seen + coming down the stairs. The best thing was to remain in the hall; and + besides, all these rooms (she glanced all round at the many doors), all + these rooms on the ground floor were unfurnished. + </p> + <p> + “Positively there is no chair down here to offer you,” she continued. “But + if you prefer your own thoughts to my chatter, I will sit down on the + bottom step here and keep silent.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin hastened to assure her that, on the contrary, she was very + much interested in the story of the journeyman lithographer. He was a + revolutionist, of course. + </p> + <p> + “A martyr, a simple man,” said the <i>dame de compangnie</i>, with a faint + sigh, and gazing through the open front door dreamily. She turned her + misty brown eyes on Miss Haldin. + </p> + <p> + “I lived with him for four months. It was like a nightmare.” + </p> + <p> + As Miss Haldin looked at her inquisitively she began to describe the + emaciated face of the man, his fleshless limbs, his destitution. The room + into which the apple-woman had led her was a tiny garret, a miserable den + under the roof of a sordid house. The plaster fallen off the walls covered + the floor, and when the door was opened a horrible tapestry of black + cobwebs waved in the draught. He had been liberated a few days before—flung + out of prison into the streets. And Miss Haldin seemed to see for the + first time, a name and a face upon the body of that suffering people whose + hard fate had been the subject of so many conversations, between her and + her brother, in the garden of their country house. + </p> + <p> + He had been arrested with scores and scores of other people in that affair + of the lithographed temperance tracts. Unluckily, having got hold of a + great many suspected persons, the police thought they could extract from + some of them other information relating to the revolutionist propaganda. + </p> + <p> + “They beat him so cruelly in the course of investigation,” went on the <i>dame + de compagnie</i>, “that they injured him internally. When they had done + with him he was doomed. He could do nothing for himself. I beheld him + lying on a wooden bedstead without any bedding, with his head on a bundle + of dirty rags, lent to him out of charity by an old rag-picker, who + happened to live in the basement of the house. There he was, uncovered, + burning with fever, and there was not even a jug in the room for the water + to quench his thirst with. There was nothing whatever—just that + bedstead and the bare floor.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there no one in all that great town amongst the liberals and + revolutionaries, to extend a helping hand to a brother?” asked Miss Haldin + indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But you do not know the most terrible part of that man’s misery. + Listen. It seems that they ill-used him so atrociously that, at last, his + firmness gave way, and he did let out some information. Poor soul, the + flesh is weak, you know. What it was he did not tell me. There was a + crushed spirit in that mangled body. Nothing I found to say could make him + whole. When they let him out, he crept into that hole, and bore his + remorse stoically. He would not go near anyone he knew. I would have + sought assistance for him, but, indeed, where could I have gone looking + for it? Where was I to look for anyone who had anything to spare or any + power to help? The people living round us were all starving and drunken. + They were the victims of the Ministry of Finances. Don’t ask me how we + lived. I couldn’t tell you. It was like a miracle of wretchedness. I had + nothing to sell, and I assure you my clothes were in such a state that it + was impossible for me to go out in the daytime. I was indecent. I had to + wait till it was dark before I ventured into the streets to beg for a + crust of bread, or whatever I could get, to keep him and me alive. Often I + got nothing, and then I would crawl back and lie on the floor by the side + of his couch. Oh yes, I can sleep quite soundly on bare boards. That is + nothing, and I am only mentioning it to you so that you should not think I + am a sybarite. It was infinitely less killing than the task of sitting for + hours at a table in a cold study to take the books of Peter Ivanovitch + from dictation. But you shall see yourself what that is like, so I needn’t + say any more about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is by no means certain that I will ever take Peter Ivanovitch from + dictation,” said Miss Haldin. + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried the other incredulously. “Not certain? You mean to say that + you have not made up your mind?” + </p> + <p> + When Miss Haldin assured her that there never had been any question of + that between her and Peter Ivanovitch, the woman with the cat compressed + her lips tightly for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you will find yourself settled at the table before you know that you + have made up your mind. Don’t make a mistake, it is disenchanting to hear + Peter Ivanovitch dictate, but at the same time there is a fascination + about it. He is a man of genius. Your face is certain not to irritate him; + you may perhaps even help his inspiration, make it easier for him to + deliver his message. As I look at you, I feel certain that you are the + kind of woman who is not likely to check the flow of his inspiration.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin thought it useless to protest against all these assumptions. + </p> + <p> + “But this man—this workman did he die under your care?” she said, + after a short silence. + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i>, listening up the stairs where now two voices + were alternating with some animation, made no answer for a time. When the + loud sounds of the discussion had sunk into an almost inaudible murmur, + she turned to Miss Haldin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he died, but not, literally speaking, in my arms, as you might + suppose. As a matter of fact, I was asleep when he breathed his last. So + even now I cannot say I have seen anybody die. A few days before the end, + some young men found us out in our extremity. They were revolutionists, as + you might guess. He ought to have trusted in his political friends when he + came out of prison. He had been liked and respected before, and nobody + would have dreamed of reproaching him with his indiscretion before the + police. Everybody knows how they go to work, and the strongest man has his + moments of weakness before pain. Why, even hunger alone is enough to give + one queer ideas as to what may be done. A doctor came, our lot was + alleviated as far as physical comforts go, but otherwise he could not be + consoled—poor man. I assure you, Miss Haldin, that he was very + lovable, but I had not the strength to weep. I was nearly dead myself. But + there were kind hearts to take care of me. A dress was found to clothe my + nakedness. I tell you, I was not decent—and after a time the + revolutionists placed me with a Jewish family going abroad, as governess. + Of course I could teach the children, I finished the sixth class of the + Lyceum; but the real object was, that I should carry some important papers + across the frontier. I was entrusted with a packet which I carried next my + heart. The gendarmes at the station did not suspect the governess of a + Jewish family, busy looking after three children. I don’t suppose those + Hebrews knew what I had on me, for I had been introduced to them in a very + roundabout way by persons who did not belong to the revolutionary + movement, and naturally I had been instructed to accept a very small + salary. When we reached Germany I left that family and delivered my papers + to a revolutionist in Stuttgart; after this I was employed in various + ways. But you do not want to hear all that. I have never felt that I was + very useful, but I live in hopes of seeing all the Ministries destroyed, + finances and all. The greatest joy of my life has been to hear what your + brother has done.” + </p> + <p> + She directed her round eyes again to the sunshine outside, while the cat + reposed within her folded arms in lordly beatitude and sphinx-like + meditation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! I rejoiced,” she began again. “For me there is a heroic ring about + the very name of Haldin. They must have been trembling with fear in their + Ministries—all those men with fiendish hearts. Here I stand talking + to you, and when I think of all the cruelties, oppressions, and injustices + that are going on at this very moment, my head begins to swim. I have + looked closely at what would seem inconceivable if one’s own eyes had not + to be trusted. I have looked at things that made me hate myself for my + helplessness. I hated my hands that had no power, my voice that could not + be heard, my very mind that would not become unhinged. Ah! I have seen + things. And you?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin was moved. She shook her head slightly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I have seen nothing for myself as yet,” she murmured “We have always + lived in the country. It was my brother’s wish.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a curious meeting—this—between you and me,” continued + the other. “Do you believe in chance, Miss Haldin? How could I have + expected to see you, his sister, with my own eyes? Do you know that when + the news came the revolutionaries here were as much surprised as pleased, + every bit? No one seemed to know anything about your brother. Peter + Ivanovitch himself had not foreseen that such a blow was going to be + struck. I suppose your brother was simply inspired. I myself think that + such deeds should be done by inspiration. It is a great privilege to have + the inspiration and the opportunity. Did he resemble you at all? Don’t you + rejoice, Miss Haldin?” + </p> + <p> + “You must not expect too much from me,” said Miss Haldin, repressing an + inclination to cry which came over her suddenly. She succeeded, then added + calmly, “I am not a heroic person!” + </p> + <p> + “You think you couldn’t have done such a thing yourself perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I must not even ask myself till I have lived a little + longer, seen more....” + </p> + <p> + The other moved her head appreciatively. The purring of the cat had a loud + complacency in the empty hall. No sound of voices came from upstairs. Miss + Haldin broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “What is it precisely that you heard people say about my brother? You said + that they were surprised. Yes, I supposed they were. Did it not seem + strange to them that my brother should have failed to save himself after + the most difficult part—that is, getting away from the spot—was + over? Conspirators should understand these things well. There are reasons + why I am very anxious to know how it is he failed to escape.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i> had advanced to the open hall-door. She + glanced rapidly over her shoulder at Miss Haldin, who remained within the + hall. + </p> + <p> + “Failed to escape,” she repeated absently. “Didn’t he make the sacrifice + of his life? Wasn’t he just simply inspired? Wasn’t it an act of + abnegation? Aren’t you certain?” + </p> + <p> + “What I am certain of,” said Miss Haldin, “is that it was not an act of + despair. Have you not heard some opinion expressed here upon his miserable + capture?” + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i> mused for a while in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Did I hear? Of course, everything is discussed here. Has not all the + world been speaking about your brother? For my part, the mere mention of + his achievement plunges me into an envious ecstasy. Why should a man + certain of immortality think of his life at all?” + </p> + <p> + She kept her back turned to Miss Haldin. Upstairs from behind a great + dingy white and gold door, visible behind the balustrade of the first + floor landing, a deep voice began to drone formally, as if reading over + notes or something of the sort. It paused frequently, and then ceased + altogether. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I can stay any longer now,” said Miss Haldin. “I may return + another day.” + </p> + <p> + She waited for the <i>dame de compagnie</i> to make room for her exit; but + the woman appeared lost in the contemplation of sunshine and shadows, + sharing between themselves the stillness of the deserted grounds. She + concealed the view of the drive from Miss Haldin. Suddenly she said— + </p> + <p> + “It will not be necessary; here is Peter Ivanovitch himself coming up. But + he is not alone. He is seldom alone now.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing that Peter Ivanovitch was approaching, Miss Haldin was not so + pleased as she might have been expected to be. Somehow she had lost the + desire to see either the heroic captive or Madame de S—, and the + reason of that shrinking which came upon her at the very last minute is + accounted for by the feeling that those two people had not been treating + the woman with the cat kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Would you please let me pass?” said Miss Haldin at last, touching lightly + the shoulder of the <i>dame de compagnie</i>. + </p> + <p> + But the other, pressing the cat to her breast, did not budge. + </p> + <p> + “I know who is with him,” she said, without even looking back. + </p> + <p> + More unaccountably than ever Miss Haldin felt a strong impulse to leave + the house. + </p> + <p> + “Madame de S— may be engaged for some time yet, and what I have got + to say to Peter Ivanovitch is just a simple question which I might put to + him when I meet him in the grounds on my way down. I really think I must + go. I have been some time here, and I am anxious to get back to my mother. + Will you let me pass, please?” + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i> turned her head at last. + </p> + <p> + “I never supposed that you really wanted to see Madame de S—,” she + said, with unexpected insight. “Not for a moment.” There was something + confidential and mysterious in her tone. She passed through the door, with + Miss Haldin following her, on to the terrace, and they descended side by + side the moss-grown stone steps. There was no one to be seen on the part + of the drive visible from the front of the house. + </p> + <p> + “They are hidden by the trees over there,” explained Miss Haldin’s new + acquaintance, “but you shall see them directly. I don’t know who that + young man is to whom Peter Ivanovitch has taken such a fancy. He must be + one of us, or he would not be admitted here when the others come. You know + what I mean by the others. But I must say that he is not at all mystically + inclined. I don’t know that I have made him out yet. Naturally I am never + for very long in the drawing-room. There is always something to do for me, + though the establishment here is not so extensive as the villa on the + Riviera. But still there are plenty of opportunities for me to make myself + useful.” + </p> + <p> + To the left, passing by the ivy-grown end of the stables, appeared Peter + Ivanovitch and his companion. They walked very slowly, conversing with + some animation. They stopped for a moment, and Peter Ivanovitch was seen + to gesticulate, while the young man listened motionless, with his arms + hanging down and his head bowed a little. He was dressed in a dark brown + suit and a black hat. The round eyes of the <i>dame de compagnie</i> + remained fixed on the two figures, which had resumed their leisurely + approach. + </p> + <p> + “An extremely polite young man,” she said. “You shall see what a bow he + will make; and it won’t altogether be so exceptional either. He bows in + the same way when he meets me alone in the hall.” + </p> + <p> + She moved on a few steps, with Miss Haldin by her side, and things + happened just as she had foretold. The young man took off his hat, bowed + and fell back, while Peter Ivanovitch advanced quicker, his black, thick + arms extended heartily, and seized hold of both Miss Haldin’s hands, shook + them, and peered at her through his dark glasses. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, that’s right!” he exclaimed twice, approvingly. “And so you + have been looked after by....” He frowned slightly at the <i>dame de + compagnie</i>, who was still nursing the cat. “I conclude Eleanor—Madame + de S— is engaged. I know she expected somebody to-day. So the + newspaper man did turn up, eh? She is engaged?” + </p> + <p> + For all answer the <i>dame de compagnie</i> turned away her head. + </p> + <p> + “It is very unfortunate—very unfortunate indeed. I very much regret + that you should have been....” He lowered suddenly his voice. “But what is + it—surely you are not departing, Natalia Victorovna? You got bored + waiting, didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” Miss Haldin protested. “Only I have been here some + time, and I am anxious to get back to my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “The time seemed long, eh? I am afraid our worthy friend here” (Peter + Ivanovitch suddenly jerked his head sideways towards his right shoulder + and jerked it up again),—“our worthy friend here has not the art of + shortening the moments of waiting. No, distinctly she has not the art; and + in that respect good intentions alone count for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>dame de compagnie</i> dropped her arms, and the cat found itself + suddenly on the ground. It remained quite still after alighting, one hind + leg stretched backwards. Miss Haldin was extremely indignant on behalf of + the lady companion. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, Peter Ivanovitch, that the moments I have passed in the hall + of this house have been not a little interesting, and very instructive + too. They are memorable. I do not regret the waiting, but I see that the + object of my call here can be attained without taking up Madame de S—‘s + time.” + </p> + <p> + At this point I interrupted Miss Haldin. The above relation is founded on + her narrative, which I have not so much dramatized as might be supposed. + She had rendered, with extraordinary feeling and animation, the very + accent almost of the disciple of the old apple-woman, the irreconcilable + hater of Ministries, the voluntary servant of the poor. Miss Haldin’s true + and delicate humanity had been extremely shocked by the uncongenial fate + of her new acquaintance, that lady companion, secretary, whatever she was. + For my own part, I was pleased to discover in it one more obstacle to + intimacy with Madame de S—. I had a positive abhorrence for the + painted, bedizened, dead-faced, glassy-eyed Egeria of Peter Ivanovitch. I + do not know what was her attitude to the unseen, but I know that in the + affairs of this world she was avaricious, greedy, and unscrupulous. It was + within my knowledge that she had been worsted in a sordid and desperate + quarrel about money matters with the family of her late husband, the + diplomatist. Some very august personages indeed (whom in her fury she had + insisted upon scandalously involving in her affairs) had incurred her + animosity. I find it perfectly easy to believe that she had come to within + an ace of being spirited away, for reasons of state, into some discreet <i>maison + de sante</i>—a madhouse of sorts, to be plain. It appears, however, + that certain high-placed personages opposed it for reasons which.... + </p> + <p> + But it’s no use to go into details. + </p> + <p> + Wonder may be expressed at a man in the position of a teacher of languages + knowing all this with such definiteness. A novelist says this and that of + his personages, and if only he knows how to say it earnestly enough he may + not be questioned upon the inventions of his brain in which his own belief + is made sufficiently manifest by a telling phrase, a poetic image, the + accent of emotion. Art is great! But I have no art, and not having + invented Madame de S—, I feel bound to explain how I came to know so + much about her. + </p> + <p> + My informant was the Russian wife of a friend of mine already mentioned, + the professor of Lausanne University. It was from her that I learned the + last fact of Madame de S—‘s history, with which I intend to trouble + my readers. She told me, speaking positively, as a person who trusts her + sources, of the cause of Madame de S—‘s flight from Russia, some + years before. It was neither more nor less than this: that she became + suspect to the police in connexion with the assassination of the Emperor + Alexander. The ground of this suspicion was either some unguarded + expressions that escaped her in public, or some talk overheard in her + salon. Overheard, we must believe, by some guest, perhaps a friend, who + hastened to play the informer, I suppose. At any rate, the overheard + matter seemed to imply her foreknowledge of that event, and I think she + was wise in not waiting for the investigation of such a charge. Some of my + readers may remember a little book from her pen, published in Paris, a + mystically bad-tempered, declamatory, and frightfully disconnected piece + of writing, in which she all but admits the foreknowledge, more than hints + at its supernatural origin, and plainly suggests in venomous innuendoes + that the guilt of the act was not with the terrorists, but with a palace + intrigue. When I observed to my friend, the professor’s wife, that the + life of Madame de S—, with its unofficial diplomacy, its intrigues, + lawsuits, favours, disgrace, expulsions, its atmosphere of scandal, + occultism, and charlatanism, was more fit for the eighteenth century than + for the conditions of our own time, she assented with a smile, but a + moment after went on in a reflective tone: “Charlatanism?—yes, in a + certain measure. Still, times are changed. There are forces now which were + non-existent in the eighteenth century. I should not be surprised if she + were more dangerous than an Englishman would be willing to believe. And + what’s more, she is looked upon as really dangerous by certain people—<i>chez + nous</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Chez nous</i> in this connexion meant Russia in general, and the + Russian political police in particular. The object of my digression from + the straight course of Miss Haldin’s relation (in my own words) of her + visit to the Chateau Borel, was to bring forward that statement of my + friend, the professor’s wife. I wanted to bring it forward simply to make + what I have to say presently of Mr. Razumov’s presence in Geneva, a little + more credible—for this is a Russian story for Western ears, which, + as I have observed already, are not attuned to certain tones of cynicism + and cruelty, of moral negation, and even of moral distress already + silenced at our end of Europe. And this I state as my excuse for having + left Miss Haldin standing, one of the little group of two women and two + men who had come together below the terrace of the Chateau Borel. + </p> + <p> + The knowledge which I have just stated was in my mind when, as I have + said, I interrupted Miss Haldin. I interrupted her with the cry of + profound satisfaction— + </p> + <p> + “So you never saw Madame de S—, after all?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin shook her head. It was very satisfactory to me. She had not + seen Madame de S—! That was excellent, excellent! I welcomed the + conviction that she would never know Madame de S— now. I could not + explain the reason of the conviction but by the knowledge that Miss Haldin + was standing face to face with her brother’s wonderful friend. I preferred + him to Madame de S— as the companion and guide of that young girl, + abandoned to her inexperience by the miserable end of her brother. But, at + any rate, that life now ended had been sincere, and perhaps its thoughts + might have been lofty, its moral sufferings profound, its last act a true + sacrifice. It is not for us, the staid lovers calmed by the possession of + a conquered liberty, to condemn without appeal the fierceness of thwarted + desire. + </p> + <p> + I am not ashamed of the warmth of my regard for Miss Haldin. It was, it + must be admitted, an unselfish sentiment, being its own reward. The late + Victor Haldin—in the light of that sentiment—appeared to me + not as a sinister conspirator, but as a pure enthusiast. I did not wish + indeed to judge him, but the very fact that he did not escape, that fact + which brought so much trouble to both his mother and his sister, spoke to + me in his favour. Meantime, in my fear of seeing the girl surrender to the + influence of the Chateau Borel revolutionary feminism, I was more than + willing to put my trust in that friend of the late Victor Haldin. He was + nothing but a name, you will say. Exactly! A name! And what’s more, the + only name; the only name to be found in the correspondence between brother + and sister. The young man had turned up; they had come face to face, and, + fortunately, without the direct interference of Madame de S—. What + will come of it? what will she tell me presently? I was asking myself. + </p> + <p> + It was only natural that my thought should turn to the young man, the + bearer of the only name uttered in all the dream-talk of a future to be + brought about by a revolution. And my thought took the shape of asking + myself why this young man had not called upon these ladies. He had been in + Geneva for some days before Miss Haldin heard of him first in my presence + from Peter Ivanovitch. I regretted that last’s presence at their meeting. + I would rather have had it happen somewhere out of his spectacled sight. + But I supposed that, having both these young people there, he introduced + them to each other. + </p> + <p> + I broke the silence by beginning a question on that point— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Peter Ivanovitch....” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin gave vent to her indignation. Peter Ivanovitch directly he had + got his answer from her had turned upon the <i>dame de compagnie</i> in a + shameful manner. + </p> + <p> + “Turned upon her?” I wondered. “What about? For what reason?” + </p> + <p> + “It was unheard of; it was shameful,” Miss Haldin pursued, with angry + eyes. “<i>Il lui a fait une scene</i>—like this, before strangers. + And for what? You would never guess. For some eggs.... Oh!” + </p> + <p> + I was astonished. “Eggs, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “For Madame de S—. That lady observes a special diet, or something + of the sort. It seems she complained the day before to Peter Ivanovitch + that the eggs were not rightly prepared. Peter Ivanovitch suddenly + remembered this against the poor woman, and flew out at her. It was most + astonishing. I stood as if rooted.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that the great feminist allowed himself to be abusive + to a woman?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not that! It was something you have no conception of. It was an + odious performance. Imagine, he raised his hat to begin with. He made his + voice soft and deprecatory. ‘Ah! you are not kind to us—you will not + deign to remember....’ This sort of phrases, that sort of tone. The poor + creature was terribly upset. Her eyes ran full of tears. She did not know + where to look. I shouldn’t wonder if she would have preferred abuse, or + even a blow.” + </p> + <p> + I did not remark that very possibly she was familiar with both on + occasions when no one was by. Miss Haldin walked by my side, her head up + in scornful and angry silence. + </p> + <p> + “Great men have their surprising peculiarities,” I observed inanely. + “Exactly like men who are not great. But that sort of thing cannot be kept + up for ever. How did the great feminist wind up this very characteristic + episode?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin, without turning her face my way, told me that the end was + brought about by the appearance of the interviewer, who had been closeted + with Madame de S—. + </p> + <p> + He came up rapidly, unnoticed, lifted his hat slightly, and paused to say + in French: “The Baroness has asked me, in case I met a lady on my way out, + to desire her to come in at once.” + </p> + <p> + After delivering this message, he hurried down the drive. The <i>dame de + compagnie</i> flew towards the house, and Peter Ivanovitch followed her + hastily, looking uneasy. In a moment Miss Haldin found herself alone with + the young man, who undoubtedly must have been the new arrival from Russia. + She wondered whether her brother’s friend had not already guessed who she + was. + </p> + <p> + I am in a position to say that, as a matter of fact, he had guessed. It is + clear to me that Peter Ivanovitch, for some reason or other, had refrained + from alluding to these ladies’ presence in Geneva. But Razumov had + guessed. The trustful girl! Every word uttered by Haldin lived in + Razumov’s memory. They were like haunting shapes; they could not be + exorcised. The most vivid amongst them was the mention of the sister. The + girl had existed for him ever since. But he did not recognize her at once. + Coming up with Peter Ivanovitch, he did observe her; their eyes had met, + even. He had responded, as no one could help responding, to the harmonious + charm of her whole person, its strength, its grace, its tranquil frankness—and + then he had turned his gaze away. He said to himself that all this was not + for him; the beauty of women and the friendship of men were not for him. + He accepted that feeling with a purposeful sternness, and tried to pass + on. It was only her outstretched hand which brought about the recognition. + It stands recorded in the pages of his self-confession, that it nearly + suffocated him physically with an emotional reaction of hate and dismay, + as though her appearance had been a piece of accomplished treachery. + </p> + <p> + He faced about. The considerable elevation of the terrace concealed them + from anyone lingering in the doorway of the house; and even from the + upstairs windows they could not have been seen. Through the thickets run + wild, and the trees of the gently sloping grounds, he had cold, placid + glimpses of the lake. A moment of perfect privacy had been vouchsafed to + them at this juncture. I wondered to myself what use they had made of that + fortunate circumstance. + </p> + <p> + “Did you have time for more than a few words?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + That animation with which she had related to me the incidents of her visit + to the Chateau Borel had left her completely. Strolling by my side, she + looked straight before her; but I noticed a little colour on her cheek. + She did not answer me. + </p> + <p> + After some little time I observed that they could not have hoped to remain + forgotten for very long, unless the other two had discovered Madame de S— + swooning with fatigue, perhaps, or in a state of morbid exaltation after + the long interview. Either would require their devoted ministrations. I + could depict to myself Peter Ivanovitch rushing busily out of the house + again, bareheaded, perhaps, and on across the terrace with his swinging + gait, the black skirts of the frock-coat floating clear of his stout light + grey legs. I confess to having looked upon these young people as the + quarry of the “heroic fugitive.” I had the notion that they would not be + allowed to escape capture. But of that I said nothing to Miss Haldin, only + as she still remained uncommunicative, I pressed her a little. + </p> + <p> + “Well—but you can tell me at least your impression.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her head to look at me, and turned away again. + </p> + <p> + “Impression?” she repeated slowly, almost dreamily; then in a quicker tone— + </p> + <p> + “He seems to be a man who has suffered more from his thoughts than from + evil fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “From his thoughts, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “And that is natural enough in a Russian,” she took me up. “In a young + Russian; so many of them are unfit for action, and yet unable to rest.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think he is that sort of man?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not judge him. How could I, so suddenly? You asked for my + impression—I explain my impression. I—I—don’t know the + world, nor yet the people in it; I have been too solitary—I am too + young to trust my own opinions.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust your instinct,” I advised her. “Most women trust to that, and make + no worse mistakes than men. In this case you have your brother’s letter to + help you.” + </p> + <p> + She drew a deep breath like a light sigh. “Unstained, lofty, and solitary + existences,” she quoted as if to herself. But I caught the wistful murmur + distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “High praise,” I whispered to her. + </p> + <p> + “The highest possible.” + </p> + <p> + “So high that, like the award of happiness, it is more fit to come only at + the end of a life. But still no common or altogether unworthy personality + could have suggested such a confident exaggeration of praise and...” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” She interrupted me ardently. “And if you had only known the heart + from which that judgment has come!” + </p> + <p> + She ceased on that note, and for a space I reflected on the character of + the words which I perceived very well must tip the scale of the girl’s + feelings in that young man’s favour. They had not the sound of a casual + utterance. Vague they were to my Western mind and to my Western sentiment, + but I could not forget that, standing by Miss Haldin’s side, I was like a + traveller in a strange country. It had also become clear to me that Miss + Haldin was unwilling to enter into the details of the only material part + of their visit to the Chateau Borel. But I was not hurt. Somehow I didn’t + feel it to be a want of confidence. It was some other difficulty—a + difficulty I could not resent. And it was without the slightest resentment + that I said— + </p> + <p> + “Very well. But on that high ground, which I will not dispute, you, like + anyone else in such circumstances, you must have made for yourself a + representation of that exceptional friend, a mental image of him, and—please + tell me—you were not disappointed?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? His personal appearance?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean precisely his good looks, or otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + We turned at the end of the alley and made a few steps without looking at + each other. + </p> + <p> + “His appearance is not ordinary,” said Miss Haldin at last. + </p> + <p> + “No, I should have thought not—from the little you’ve said of your + first impression. After all, one has to fall back on that word. + Impression! What I mean is that something indescribable which is likely to + mark a ‘not ordinary’ person.” + </p> + <p> + I perceived that she was not listening. There was no mistaking her + expression; and once more I had the sense of being out of it—not + because of my age, which at any rate could draw inferences—but + altogether out of it, on another plane whence I could only watch her from + afar. And so ceasing to speak I watched her stepping out by my side. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she exclaimed suddenly, “I could not have been disappointed with a + man of such strong feeling.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Strong feeling,” I muttered, thinking to myself censoriously: like + this, at once, all in a moment! + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” inquired Miss Haldin innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. I beg your pardon. Strong feeling. I am not surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t know how abruptly I behaved to him!” she cried + remorsefully. + </p> + <p> + I suppose I must have appeared surprised, for, looking at me with a still + more heightened colour, she said she was ashamed to admit that she had not + been sufficiently collected; she had failed to control her words and + actions as the situation demanded. She lost the fortitude worthy of both + the men, the dead and the living; the fortitude which should have been the + note of the meeting of Victor Haldin’s sister with Victor Haldin’s only + known friend. He was looking at her keenly, but said nothing, and she was—she + confessed—painfully affected by his want of comprehension. All she + could say was: “You are Mr. Razumov.” A slight frown passed over his + forehead. After a short, watchful pause, he made a little bow of assent, + and waited. + </p> + <p> + At the thought that she had before her the man so highly regarded by her + brother, the man who had known his value, spoken to him, understood him, + had listened to his confidences, perhaps had encouraged him—her lips + trembled, her eyes ran full of tears; she put out her hand, made a step + towards him impulsively, saying with an effort to restrain her emotion, + “Can’t you guess who I am?” He did not take the proffered hand. He even + recoiled a pace, and Miss Haldin imagined that he was unpleasantly + affected. Miss Haldin excused him, directing her displeasure at herself. + She had behaved unworthily, like an emotional French girl. A manifestation + of that kind could not be welcomed by a man of stern, self-contained + character. + </p> + <p> + He must have been stern indeed, or perhaps very timid with women, not to + respond in a more human way to the advances of a girl like Nathalie Haldin—I + thought to myself. Those lofty and solitary existences (I remembered the + words suddenly) make a young man shy and an old man savage—often. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I encouraged Miss Haldin to proceed. + </p> + <p> + She was still very dissatisfied with herself. + </p> + <p> + “I went from bad to worse,” she said, with an air of discouragement very + foreign to her. “I did everything foolish except actually bursting into + tears. I am thankful to say I did not do that. But I was unable to speak + for quite a long time.” + </p> + <p> + She had stood before him, speechless, swallowing her sobs, and when she + managed at last to utter something, it was only her brother’s name—“Victor—Victor + Haldin!” she gasped out, and again her voice failed her. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she commented to me, “this distressed him. He was quite + overcome. I have told you my opinion that he is a man of deep feeling—it + is impossible to doubt it. You should have seen his face. He positively + reeled. He leaned against the wall of the terrace. Their friendship must + have been the very brotherhood of souls! I was grateful to him for that + emotion, which made me feel less ashamed of my own lack of self-control. + Of course I had regained the power of speech at once, almost. All this + lasted not more than a few seconds. ‘I am his sister,’ I said. ‘Maybe you + have heard of me.’” + </p> + <p> + “And had he?” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. How could it have been otherwise? And yet.... But what does + that matter? I stood there before him, near enough to be touched and + surely not looking like an impostor. All I know is, that he put out both + his hands then to me, I may say flung them out at me, with the greatest + readiness and warmth, and that I seized and pressed them, feeling that I + was finding again a little of what I thought was lost to me for ever, with + the loss of my brother—some of that hope, inspiration, and support + which I used to get from my dear dead....” + </p> + <p> + I understood quite well what she meant. We strolled on slowly. I refrained + from looking at her. And it was as if answering my own thoughts that I + murmured— + </p> + <p> + “No doubt it was a great friendship—as you say. And that young man + ended by welcoming your name, so to speak, with both hands. After that, of + course, you would understand each other. Yes, you would understand each + other quickly.” + </p> + <p> + It was a moment before I heard her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Razumov seems to be a man of few words. A reserved man—even + when he is strongly moved.” + </p> + <p> + Unable to forget—-or even to forgive—the bass-toned + expansiveness of Peter Ivanovitch, the Archpatron of revolutionary + parties, I said that I took this for a favourable trait of character. It + was associated with sincerity—in my mind. + </p> + <p> + “And, besides, we had not much time,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “No, you would not have, of course.” My suspicion and even dread of the + feminist and his Egeria was so ineradicable that I could not help asking + with real anxiety, which I made smiling— + </p> + <p> + “But you escaped all right?” + </p> + <p> + She understood me, and smiled too, at my uneasiness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! I escaped, if you like to call it that. I walked away quickly. + There was no need to run. I am neither frightened nor yet fascinated, like + that poor woman who received me so strangely.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr.—Mr. Razumov...?” + </p> + <p> + “He remained there, of course. I suppose he went into the house after I + left him. You remember that he came here strongly recommended to Peter + Ivanovitch—possibly entrusted with important messages for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes! From that priest who...” + </p> + <p> + “Father Zosim—yes. Or from others, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “You left him, then. But have you seen him since, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + For some time Miss Haldin made no answer to this very direct question, + then— + </p> + <p> + “I have been expecting to see him here to-day,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “You have! Do you meet, then, in this garden? In that case I had better + leave you at once.” + </p> + <p> + “No, why leave me? And we don’t meet in this garden. I have not seen Mr. + Razumov since that first time. Not once. But I have been expecting + him....” + </p> + <p> + She paused. I wondered to myself why that young revolutionist should show + so little alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “Before we parted I told Mr. Razumov that I walked here for an hour every + day at this time. I could not explain to him then why I did not ask him to + come and see us at once. Mother must be prepared for such a visit. And + then, you see, I do not know myself what Mr. Razumov has to tell us. He, + too, must be told first how it is with poor mother. All these thoughts + flashed through my mind at once. So I told him hurriedly that there was a + reason why I could not ask him to see us at home, but that I was in the + habit of walking here.... This is a public place, but there are never many + people about at this hour. I thought it would do very well. And it is so + near our apartments. I don’t like to be very far away from mother. Our + servant knows where I am in case I should be wanted suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is very convenient from that point of view,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + In fact, I thought the Bastions a very convenient place, since the girl + did not think it prudent as yet to introduce that young man to her mother. + It was here, then, I thought, looking round at that plot of ground of + deplorable banality, that their acquaintance will begin and go on in the + exchange of generous indignations and of extreme sentiments, too poignant, + perhaps, for a non-Russian mind to conceive. I saw these two, escaped out + of four score of millions of human beings ground between the upper and + nether millstone, walking under these trees, their young heads close + together. Yes, an excellent place to stroll and talk in. It even occurred + to me, while we turned once more away from the wide iron gates, that when + tired they would have plenty of accommodation to rest themselves. There + was a quantity of tables and chairs displayed between the restaurant + chalet and the bandstand, a whole raft of painted deals spread out under + the trees. In the very middle of it I observed a solitary Swiss couple, + whose fate was made secure from the cradle to the grave by the perfected + mechanism of democratic institutions in a republic that could almost be + held in the palm of ones hand. The man, colourlessly uncouth, was drinking + beer out of a glittering glass; the woman, rustic and placid, leaning back + in the rough chair, gazed idly around. + </p> + <p> + There is little logic to be expected on this earth, not only in the matter + of thought, but also of sentiment. I was surprised to discover myself + displeased with that unknown young man. A week had gone by since they met. + Was he callous, or shy, or very stupid? I could not make it out. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think,” I asked Miss Haldin, after we had gone some distance up + the great alley, “that Mr Razumov understood your intention?” + </p> + <p> + “Understood what I meant?” she wondered. “He was greatly moved. That I + know! In my own agitation I could see it. But I spoke distinctly. He heard + me; he seemed, indeed, to hang on my words...” + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously she had hastened her pace. Her utterance, too, became + quicker. + </p> + <p> + I waited a little before I observed thoughtfully— + </p> + <p> + “And yet he allowed all these days to pass.” + </p> + <p> + “How can we tell what work he may have to do here? He is not an idler + travelling for his pleasure. His time may not be his own—nor yet his + thoughts, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + She slowed her pace suddenly, and in a lowered voice added— + </p> + <p> + “Or his very life”—then paused and stood still “For all I know, he + may have had to leave Geneva the very day he saw me.” + </p> + <p> + “Without telling you!” I exclaimed incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “I did not give him time. I left him quite abruptly. I behaved emotionally + to the end. I am sorry for it. Even if I had given him the opportunity he + would have been justified in taking me for a person not to be trusted. An + emotional, tearful girl is not a person to confide in. But even if he has + left Geneva for a time, I am confident that we shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are confident.... I dare say. But on what ground?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I’ve told him that I was in great need of some one, a + fellow-countryman, a fellow-believer, to whom I could give my confidence + in a certain matter.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. I don’t ask you what answer he made. I confess that this is good + ground for your belief in Mr. Razumov’s appearance before long. But he has + not turned up to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said quietly, “not to-day;” and we stood for a time in silence, + like people that have nothing more to say to each other and let their + thoughts run widely asunder before their bodies go off their different + ways. Miss Haldin glanced at the watch on her wrist and made a brusque + movement. She had already overstayed her time, it seemed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to be away from mother,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It + is not that she is very ill now. But somehow when I am not with her I am + more uneasy than ever.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Haldin had not made the slightest allusion to her son for the last + week or more. She sat, as usual, in the arm-chair by the window, looking + out silently on that hopeless stretch of the Boulevard des Philosophes. + When she spoke, a few lifeless words, it was of indifferent, trivial + things. + </p> + <p> + “For anyone who knows what the poor soul is thinking of, that sort of talk + is more painful than her silence. But that is bad too; I can hardly endure + it, and I dare not break it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin sighed, refastening a button of her glove which had come + undone. I knew well enough what a hard time of it she must be having. The + stress, its causes, its nature, would have undermined the health of an + Occidental girl; but Russian natures have a singular power of resistance + against the unfair strains of life. Straight and supple, with a short + jacket open on her black dress, which made her figure appear more slender + and her fresh but colourless face more pale, she compelled my wonder and + admiration. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t stay a moment longer. You ought to come soon to see mother. You + know she calls you ‘<i>L’ami.</i>’ It is an excellent name, and she really + means it. And now <i>au revoir</i>; I must run.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced vaguely down the broad walk—the hand she put out to me + eluded my grasp by an unexpected upward movement, and rested upon my + shoulder. Her red lips were slightly parted, not in a smile, however, but + expressing a sort of startled pleasure. She gazed towards the gates and + said quickly, with a gasp— + </p> + <p> + “There! I knew it. Here he comes!” + </p> + <p> + I understood that she must mean Mr. Razumov. A young man was walking up + the alley, without haste. His clothes were some dull shade of brown, and + he carried a stick. When my eyes first fell on him, his head was hanging + on his breast as if in deep thought. While I was looking at him he raised + it sharply, and at once stopped. I am certain he did, but that pause was + nothing more perceptible than a faltering check in his gait, + instantaneously overcome. Then he continued his approach, looking at us + steadily. Miss Haldin signed to me to remain, and advanced a step or two + to meet him. + </p> + <p> + I turned my head away from that meeting, and did not look at them again + till I heard Miss Haldin’s voice uttering his name in the way of + introduction. Mr. Razumov was informed, in a warm, low tone, that, besides + being a wonderful teacher, I was a great support “in our sorrow and + distress.” + </p> + <p> + Of course I was described also as an Englishman. Miss Haldin spoke + rapidly, faster than I have ever heard her speak, and that by contrast + made the quietness of her eyes more expressive. + </p> + <p> + “I have given him my confidence,” she added, looking all the time at Mr. + Razumov. That young man did, indeed, rest his gaze on Miss Haldin, but + certainly did not look into her eyes which were so ready for him. + Afterwards he glanced backwards and forwards at us both, while the faint + commencement of a forced smile, followed by the suspicion of a frown, + vanished one after another; I detected them, though neither could have + been noticed by a person less intensely bent upon divining him than + myself. I don’t know what Nathalie Haldin had observed, but my attention + seized the very shades of these movements. The attempted smile was given + up, the incipient frown was checked, and smoothed so that there should be + no sign; but I imagined him exclaiming inwardly— + </p> + <p> + “Her confidence! To this elderly person—this foreigner!” + </p> + <p> + I imagined this because he looked foreign enough to me. I was upon the + whole favourably impressed. He had an air of intelligence and even some + distinction quite above the average of the students and other inhabitants + of the <i>Petite Russie</i>. His features were more decided than in the + generality of Russian faces; he had a line of the jaw, a clean-shaven, + sallow cheek; his nose was a ridge, and not a mere protuberance. He wore + the hat well down over his eyes, his dark hair curled low on the nape of + his neck; in the ill-fitting brown clothes there were sturdy limbs; a + slight stoop brought out a satisfactory breadth of shoulders. Upon the + whole I was not disappointed. Studious—robust—shy. + </p> + <p> + Before Miss Haldin had ceased speaking I felt the grip of his hand on + mine, a muscular, firm grip, but unexpectedly hot and dry. Not a word or + even a mutter assisted this short and arid handshake. + </p> + <p> + I intended to leave them to themselves, but Miss Haldin touched me lightly + on the forearm with a significant contact, conveying a distinct wish. Let + him smile who likes, but I was only too ready to stay near Nathalie + Haldin, and I am not ashamed to say that it was no smiling matter to me. I + stayed, not as a youth would have stayed, uplifted, as it were poised in + the air, but soberly, with my feet on the ground and my mind trying to + penetrate her intention. She had turned to Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “Well. This is the place. Yes, it is here that I meant you to come. I have + been walking every day.... Don’t excuse yourself—I understand. I am + grateful to you for coming to-day, but all the same I cannot stay now. It + is impossible. I must hurry off home. Yes, even with you standing before + me, I must run off. I have been too long away.... You know how it is?” + </p> + <p> + These last words were addressed to me. I noticed that Mr. Razumov passed + the tip of his tongue over his lips just as a parched, feverish man might + do. He took her hand in its black glove, which closed on his, and held it—detained + it quite visibly to me against a drawing-back movement. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you once more for—for understanding me,” she went on warmly. + He interrupted her with a certain effect of roughness. I didn’t like him + speaking to this frank creature so much from under the brim of his hat, as + it were. And he produced a faint, rasping voice quite like a man with a + parched throat. + </p> + <p> + “What is there to thank me for? Understand you?... How did I understand + you?... You had better know that I understand nothing. I was aware that + you wanted to see me in this garden. I could not come before. I was + hindered. And even to-day, you see...late.” + </p> + <p> + She still held his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I can, at any rate, thank you for not dismissing me from your mind as a + weak, emotional girl. No doubt I want sustaining. I am very ignorant. But + I can be trusted. Indeed I can!” + </p> + <p> + “You are ignorant,” he repeated thoughtfully. He had raised his head, and + was looking straight into her face now, while she held his hand. They + stood like this for a long moment. She released his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You did come late. It was good of you to come on the chance of me + having loitered beyond my time. I was talking with this good friend here. + I was talking of you. Yes, Kirylo Sidorovitch, of you. He was with me when + I first heard of your being here in Geneva. He can tell you what comfort + it was to my bewildered spirit to hear that news. He knew I meant to seek + you out. It was the only object of my accepting the invitation of Peter + Ivanovitch.... + </p> + <p> + “Peter Ivanovitch talked to you of me,” he interrupted, in that wavering, + hoarse voice which suggested a horribly dry throat. + </p> + <p> + “Very little. Just told me your name, and that you had arrived here. Why + should I have asked for more? What could he have told me that I did not + know already from my brother’s letter? Three lines! And how much they + meant to me! I will show them to you one day, Kirylo Sidorovitch. But now + I must go. The first talk between us cannot be a matter of five minutes, + so we had better not begin....” + </p> + <p> + I had been standing a little aside, seeing them both in profile. At that + moment it occurred to me that Mr. Razumov’s face was older than his age. + </p> + <p> + “If mother”—the girl had turned suddenly to me, “were to wake up in + my absence (so much longer than usual) she would perhaps question me. She + seems to miss me more, you know, of late. She would want to know what + delayed me—and, you see, it would be painful for me to dissemble + before her.” + </p> + <p> + I understood the point very well. For the same reason she checked what + seemed to be on Mr. Razumov’s part a movement to accompany her. + </p> + <p> + “No! No! I go alone, but meet me here as soon as possible.” Then to me in + a lower, significant tone— + </p> + <p> + “Mother may be sitting at the window at this moment, looking down the + street. She must not know anything of Mr. Razumov’s presence here till—till + something is arranged.” She paused before she added a little louder, but + still speaking to me, “Mr. Razumov does not quite understand my + difficulty, but you know what it is.” + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + With a quick inclination of the head for us both, and an earnest, friendly + glance at the young man, Miss Haldin left us covering our heads and + looking after her straight, supple figure receding rapidly. Her walk was + not that hybrid and uncertain gliding affected by some women, but a frank, + strong, healthy movement forward. Rapidly she increased the distance—disappeared + with suddenness at last. I discovered only then that Mr. Razumov, after + ramming his hat well over his brow, was looking me over from head to foot. + I dare say I was a very unexpected fact for that young Russian to stumble + upon. I caught in his physiognomy, in his whole bearing, an expression + compounded of curiosity and scorn, tempered by alarm—as though he + had been holding his breath while I was not looking. But his eyes met mine + with a gaze direct enough. I saw then for the first time that they were of + a clear brown colour and fringed with thick black eyelashes. They were the + youngest feature of his face. Not at all unpleasant eyes. He swayed + slightly, leaning on his stick and generally hung in the wind. It flashed + upon me that in leaving us together Miss Haldin had an intention—that + something was entrusted to me, since, by a mere accident I had been found + at hand. On this assumed ground I put all possible friendliness into my + manner. I cast about for some right thing to say, and suddenly in Miss + Haldin’s last words I perceived the clue to the nature of my mission. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said gravely, if with a smile, “you cannot be expected to + understand.” + </p> + <p> + His clean-shaven lip quivered ever so little before he said, as if + wickedly amused— + </p> + <p> + “But haven’t you heard just now? I was thanked by that young lady for + understanding so well.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him rather hard. Was there a hidden and inexplicable sneer in + this retort? No. It was not that. It might have been resentment. Yes. But + what had he to resent? He looked as though he had not slept very well of + late. I could almost feel on me the weight of his unrefreshed, motionless + stare, the stare of a man who lies unwinking in the dark, angrily passive + in the toils of disastrous thoughts. Now, when I know how true it was, I + can honestly affirm that this was the effect he produced on me. It was + painful in a curiously indefinite way—for, of course, the definition + comes to me now while I sit writing in the fullness of my knowledge. But + this is what the effect was at that time of absolute ignorance. This new + sort of uneasiness which he seemed to be forcing upon me I attempted to + put down by assuming a conversational, easy familiarity. + </p> + <p> + “That extremely charming and essentially admirable young girl (I am—as + you see—old enough to be frank in my expressions) was referring to + her own feelings. Surely you must have understood that much?” + </p> + <p> + He made such a brusque movement that he even tottered a little. + </p> + <p> + “Must understand this! Not expected to understand that! I may have other + things to do. And the girl is charming and admirable. Well—and if + she is! I suppose I can see that for myself.” + </p> + <p> + This sally would have been insulting if his voice had not been practically + extinct, dried up in his throat; and the rustling effort of his speech too + painful to give real offence. + </p> + <p> + I remained silent, checked between the obvious fact and the subtle + impression. It was open to me to leave him there and then; but the sense + of having been entrusted with a mission, the suggestion of Miss Haldin’s + last glance, was strong upon me. After a moment of reflection I said— + </p> + <p> + “Shall we walk together a little?” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders so violently that he tottered again. I saw it + out of the corner of my eye as I moved on, with him at my elbow. He had + fallen back a little and was practically out of my sight, unless I turned + my head to look at him. I did not wish to indispose him still further by + an appearance of marked curiosity. It might have been distasteful to such + a young and secret refugee from under the pestilential shadow hiding the + true, kindly face of his land. And the shadow, the attendant of his + countrymen, stretching across the middle of Europe, was lying on him too, + darkening his figure to my mental vision. “Without doubt,” I said to + myself, “he seems a sombre, even a desperate revolutionist; but he is + young, he may be unselfish and humane, capable of compassion, of....” + </p> + <p> + I heard him clear gratingly his parched throat, and became all attention. + </p> + <p> + “This is beyond everything,” were his first words. “It is beyond + everything! I find you here, for no reason that I can understand, in + possession of something I cannot be expected to understand! A confidant! A + foreigner! Talking about an admirable Russian girl. Is the admirable girl + a fool, I begin to wonder? What are you at? What is your object?” + </p> + <p> + He was barely audible, as if his throat had no more resonance than a dry + rag, a piece of tinder. It was so pitiful that I found it extremely easy + to control my indignation. + </p> + <p> + “When you have lived a little longer, Mr. Razumov, you will discover that + no woman is an absolute fool. I am not a feminist, like that illustrious + author, Peter Ivanovitch, who, to say the truth, is not a little suspect + to me....” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me, in a surprising note of whispering astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Suspect to you! Peter Ivanovitch suspect to you! To you!...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in a certain aspect he is,” I said, dismissing my remark lightly. + “As I was saying, Mr. Razumov, when you have lived long enough, you will + learn to discriminate between the noble trustfulness of a nature foreign + to every meanness and the flattered credulity of some women; though even + the credulous, silly as they may be, unhappy as they are sure to be, are + never absolute fools. It is my belief that no woman is ever completely + deceived. Those that are lost leap into the abyss with their eyes open, if + all the truth were known.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” he cried at my elbow, “what is it to me whether women are + fools or lunatics? I really don’t care what you think of them. I—I + am not interested in them. I let them be. I am not a young man in a novel. + How do you know that I want to learn anything about women?... What is the + meaning of all this?” + </p> + <p> + “The object, you mean, of this conversation, which I admit I have forced + upon you in a measure.” + </p> + <p> + “Forced! Object!” he repeated, still keeping half a pace or so behind me. + “You wanted to talk about women, apparently. That’s a subject. But I don’t + care for it. I have never.... In fact, I have had other subjects to think + about.” + </p> + <p> + “I am concerned here with one woman only—a young girl—the + sister of your dead friend—Miss Haldin. Surely you can think a + little of her. What I meant from the first was that there is a situation + which you cannot be expected to understand.” + </p> + <p> + I listened to his unsteady footfalls by my side for the space of several + strides. + </p> + <p> + “I think that it may prepare the ground for your next interview with Miss + Haldin if I tell you of it. I imagine that she might have had something of + the kind in her mind when she left us together. I believe myself + authorized to speak. The peculiar situation I have alluded to has arisen + in the first grief and distress of Victor Haldin’s execution. There was + something peculiar in the circumstances of his arrest. You no doubt know + the whole truth....” + </p> + <p> + I felt my arm seized above the elbow, and next instant found myself swung + so as to face Mr. Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “You spring up from the ground before me with this talk. Who the devil are + you? This is not to be borne! Why! What for? What do you know what is or + is not peculiar? What have you to do with any confounded circumstances, or + with anything that happens in Russia, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + He leaned on his stick with his other hand, heavily; and when he let go my + arm, I was certain in my mind that he was hardly able to keep on his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sit down at one of these vacant tables,” I proposed, disregarding + this display of unexpectedly profound emotion. It was not without its + effect on me, I confess. I was sorry for him. + </p> + <p> + “What tables? What are you talking about? Oh—the empty tables? The + tables there. Certainly. I will sit at one of the empty tables.” + </p> + <p> + I led him away from the path to the very centre of the raft of deals + before the <i>chalet</i>. The Swiss couple were gone by that time. We were + alone on the raft, so to speak. Mr. Razumov dropped into a chair, let fall + his stick, and propped on his elbows, his head between his hands, stared + at me persistently, openly, and continuously, while I signalled the waiter + and ordered some beer. I could not quarrel with this silent inspection + very well, because, truth to tell, I felt somewhat guilty of having been + sprung on him with some abruptness—of having “sprung from the + ground,” as he expressed it. + </p> + <p> + While waiting to be served I mentioned that, born from parents settled in + St. Petersburg, I had acquired the language as a child. The town I did not + remember, having left it for good as a boy of nine, but in later years I + had renewed my acquaintance with the language. He listened, without as + much as moving his eyes the least little bit. He had to change his + position when the beer came, and the instant draining of his glass revived + him. He leaned back in his chair and, folding his arms across his chest, + continued to stare at me squarely. It occurred to me that his + clean-shaven, almost swarthy face was really of the very mobile sort, and + that the absolute stillness of it was the acquired habit of a + revolutionist, of a conspirator everlastingly on his guard against + self-betrayal in a world of secret spies. + </p> + <p> + “But you are an Englishman—a teacher of English literature,” he + murmured, in a voice that was no longer issuing from a parched throat. “I + have heard of you. People told me you have lived here for years.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true. More than twenty years. And I have been assisting Miss Haldin + with her English studies.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been reading English poetry with her,” he said, immovable now, + like another man altogether, a complete stranger to the man of the heavy + and uncertain footfalls a little while ago—at my elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, English poetry,” I said. “But the trouble of which I speak was + caused by an English newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + He continued to stare at me. I don’t think he was aware that the story of + the midnight arrest had been ferreted out by an English journalist and + given to the world. When I explained this to him he muttered + contemptuously, “It may have been altogether a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you are the best judge of that,” I retorted, a little + disconcerted. “I must confess that to me it looks to be true in the main.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell truth from lies?” he queried in his new, immovable + manner. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how you do it in Russia,” I began, rather nettled by his + attitude. He interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “In Russia, and in general everywhere—in a newspaper, for instance. + The colour of the ink and the shapes of the letters are the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there are other trifles one can go by. The character of the + publication, the general verisimilitude of the news, the consideration of + the motive, and so on. I don’t trust blindly the accuracy of special + correspondents—but why should this one have gone to the trouble of + concocting a circumstantial falsehood on a matter of no importance to the + world?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what it is,” he grumbled. “What’s going on with us is of no + importance—a mere sensational story to amuse the readers of the + papers—the superior contemptuous Europe. It is hateful to think of. + But let them wait a bit!” + </p> + <p> + He broke off on this sort of threat addressed to the western world. + Disregarding the anger in his stare, I pointed out that whether the + journalist was well- or ill-informed, the concern of the friends of these + ladies was with the effect the few lines of print in question had produced—the + effect alone. And surely he must be counted as one of the friends—if + only for the sake of his late comrade and intimate fellow-revolutionist. + At that point I thought he was going to speak vehemently; but he only + astounded me by the convulsive start of his whole body. He restrained + himself, folded his loosened arms tighter across his chest, and sat back + with a smile in which there was a twitch of scorn and malice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a comrade and an intimate.... Very well,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I ventured to speak to you on that assumption. And I cannot be mistaken. + I was present when Peter Ivanovitch announced your arrival here to Miss + Haldin, and I saw her relief and thankfulness when your name was + mentioned. Afterwards she showed me her brother’s letter, and read out the + few words in which he alludes to you. What else but a friend could you + have been?” + </p> + <p> + “Obviously. That’s perfectly well known. A friend. Quite correct.... Go + on. You were talking of some effect.” + </p> + <p> + I said to myself: “He puts on the callousness of a stern revolutionist, + the insensibility to common emotions of a man devoted to a destructive + idea. He is young, and his sincerity assumes a pose before a stranger, a + foreigner, an old man. Youth must assert itself....” As concisely as + possible I exposed to him the state of mind poor Mrs. Haldin had been + thrown into by the news of her son’s untimely end. + </p> + <p> + He listened—I felt it—with profound attention. His level stare + deflected gradually downwards, left my face, and rested at last on the + ground at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “You can enter into the sister’s feelings. As you said, I have only read a + little English poetry with her, and I won’t make myself ridiculous in your + eyes by trying to speak of her. But you have seen her. She is one of these + rare human beings that do not want explaining. At least I think so. They + had only that son, that brother, for a link with the wider world, with the + future. The very groundwork of active existence for Nathalie Haldin is + gone with him. Can you wonder then that she turns with eagerness to the + only man her brother mentions in his letters. Your name is a sort of + legacy.” + </p> + <p> + “What could he have written of me?” he cried, in a low, exasperated tone. + </p> + <p> + “Only a few words. It is not for me to repeat them to you, Mr. Razumov; + but you may believe my assertion that these words are forcible enough to + make both his mother and his sister believe implicitly in the worth of + your judgment and in the truth of anything you may have to say to them. + It’s impossible for you now to pass them by like strangers.” + </p> + <p> + I paused, and for a moment sat listening to the footsteps of the few + people passing up and down the broad central walk. While I was speaking + his head had sunk upon his breast above his folded arms. He raised it + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Must I go then and lie to that old woman!” + </p> + <p> + It was not anger; it was something else, something more poignant, and not + so simple. I was aware of it sympathetically, while I was profoundly + concerned at the nature of that exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! Won’t the truth do, then? I hoped you could have told them + something consoling. I am thinking of the poor mother now. Your Russia <i>is</i> + a cruel country.” + </p> + <p> + He moved a little in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I repeated. “I thought you would have had something authentic to + tell.” + </p> + <p> + The twitching of his lips before he spoke was curious. + </p> + <p> + “What if it is not worth telling?” + </p> + <p> + “Not worth—from what point of view? I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “From every point of view.” + </p> + <p> + I spoke with some asperity. + </p> + <p> + “I should think that anything which could explain the circumstances of + that midnight arrest....” + </p> + <p> + “Reported by a journalist for the amusement of the civilized Europe,” he + broke in scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, reported.... But aren’t they true? I can’t make out your attitude in + this? Either the man is a hero to you, or...” + </p> + <p> + He approached his face with fiercely distended nostrils close to mine so + suddenly that I had the greatest difficulty in not starting back. + </p> + <p> + “You ask me! I suppose it amuses you, all this. Look here! I am a worker. + I studied. Yes, I studied very hard. There is intelligence here.” (He + tapped his forehead with his finger-tips.) “Don’t you think a Russian may + have sane ambitions? Yes—I had even prospects. Certainly! I had. And + now you see me here, abroad, everything gone, lost, sacrificed. You see me + here—and you ask! You see me, don’t you?—sitting before you.” + </p> + <p> + He threw himself back violently. I kept outwardly calm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see you here; and I assume you are here on account of the Haldin + affair?” + </p> + <p> + His manner changed. + </p> + <p> + “You call it the Haldin affair—do you?” he observed indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “I have no right to ask you anything,” I said. “I wouldn’t presume. But in + that case the mother and the sister of him who must be a hero in your eyes + cannot be indifferent to you. The girl is a frank and generous creature, + having the noblest—well—illusions. You will tell her nothing—or + you will tell her everything. But speaking now of the object with which + I’ve approached you first, we have to deal with the morbid state of the + mother. Perhaps something could be invented under your authority as a cure + for a distracted and suffering soul filled with maternal affection.” + </p> + <p> + His air of weary indifference was accentuated, I could not help thinking, + wilfully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Something might,” he mumbled carelessly. + </p> + <p> + He put his hand over his mouth to conceal a yawn. When he uncovered his + lips they were smiling faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me. This has been a long conversation, and I have not had much + sleep the last two nights.” + </p> + <p> + This unexpected, somewhat insolent sort of apology had the merit of being + perfectly true. He had had no nightly rest to speak of since that day + when, in the grounds of the Chateau Borel, the sister of Victor Haldin had + appeared before him. The perplexities and the complex terrors—I may + say—of this sleeplessness are recorded in the document I was to see + later—the document which is the main source of this narrative. At + the moment he looked to me convincingly tired, gone slack all over, like a + man who has passed through some sort of crisis. + </p> + <p> + “I have had a lot of urgent writing to do,” he added. + </p> + <p> + I rose from my chair at once, and he followed my example, without haste, a + little heavily. + </p> + <p> + “I must apologize for detaining you so long,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Why apologize? One can’t very well go to bed before night. And you did + not detain me. I could have left you at any time.” + </p> + <p> + I had not stayed with him to be offended. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you have been sufficiently interested,” I said calmly. “No + merit of mine, though—the commonest sort of regard for the mother of + your friend was enough.... As to Miss Haldin herself, she at one time was + disposed to think that her brother had been betrayed to the police in some + way.” + </p> + <p> + To my great surprise Mr. Razumov sat down again suddenly. I stared at him, + and I must say that he returned my stare without winking for quite a + considerable time. + </p> + <p> + “In some way,” he mumbled, as if he had not understood or could not + believe his ears. + </p> + <p> + “Some unforeseen event, a sheer accident might have done that,” I went on. + “Or, as she characteristically put it to me, the folly or weakness of some + unhappy fellow-revolutionist.” + </p> + <p> + “Folly or weakness,” he repeated bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “She is a very generous creature,” I observed after a time. The man + admired by Victor Haldin fixed his eyes on the ground. I turned away and + moved off, apparently unnoticed by him. I nourished no resentment of the + moody brusqueness with which he had treated me. The sentiment I was + carrying away from that conversation was that of hopelessness. Before I + had got fairly clear of the raft of chairs and tables he had rejoined me. + </p> + <p> + “H’m, yes!” I heard him at my elbow again. “But what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + I did not look round even. + </p> + <p> + “I think that you people are under a curse.” + </p> + <p> + He made no sound. It was only on the pavement outside the gate that I + heard him again. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to walk with you a little.” + </p> + <p> + After all, I preferred this enigmatical young man to his celebrated + compatriot, the great Peter Ivanovitch. But I saw no reason for being + particularly gracious. + </p> + <p> + “I am going now to the railway station, by the shortest way from here, to + meet a friend from England,” I said, for all answer to his unexpected + proposal. I hoped that something informing could come of it. As we stood + on the curbstone waiting for a tramcar to pass, he remarked gloomily— + </p> + <p> + “I like what you said just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + We stepped off the pavement together. + </p> + <p> + “The great problem,” he went on, “is to understand thoroughly the nature + of the curse.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not very difficult, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so too,” he agreed with me, and his readiness, strangely enough, + did not make him less enigmatical in the least. + </p> + <p> + “A curse is an evil spell,” I tried him again. “And the important, the + great problem, is to find the means to break it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. To find the means.” + </p> + <p> + That was also an assent, but he seemed to be thinking of something else. + We had crossed diagonally the open space before the theatre, and began to + descend a broad, sparely frequented street in the direction of one of the + smaller bridges. He kept on by my side without speaking for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “You are not thinking of leaving Geneva soon?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He was silent for so long that I began to think I had been indiscreet, and + should get no answer at all. Yet on looking at him I almost believed that + my question had caused him something in the nature of positive anguish. I + detected it mainly in the clasping of his hands, in which he put a great + force stealthily. Once, however, he had overcome that sort of agonizing + hesitation sufficiently to tell me that he had no such intention, he + became rather communicative—at least relatively to the former + off-hand curtness of his speeches. The tone, too, was more amiable. He + informed me that he intended to study and also to write. He went even so + far as to tell me he had been to Stuttgart. Stuttgart, I was aware, was + one of the revolutionary centres. The directing committee of one of the + Russian parties (I can’t tell now which) was located in that town. It was + there that he got into touch with the active work of the revolutionists + outside Russia. + </p> + <p> + “I have never been abroad before,” he explained, in a rather inanimate + voice now. Then, after a slight hesitation, altogether different from the + agonizing irresolution my first simple question “whether he meant to stay + in Geneva” had aroused, he made me an unexpected confidence— + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, I have received a sort of mission from them.” + </p> + <p> + “Which will keep you here in Geneva?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Here. In this odious....” + </p> + <p> + I was satisfied with my faculty for putting two and two together when I + drew the inference that the mission had something to do with the person of + the great Peter Ivanovitch. But I kept that surmise to myself naturally, + and Mr. Razumov said nothing more for some considerable time. It was only + when we were nearly on the bridge we had been making for that he opened + his lips again, abruptly— + </p> + <p> + “Could I see that precious article anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + I had to think for a moment before I saw what he was referring to. + </p> + <p> + “It has been reproduced in parts by the Press here. There are files to be + seen in various places. My copy of the English newspaper I have left with + Miss Haldin, I remember, on the day after it reached me. I was + sufficiently worried by seeing it lying on a table by the side of the poor + mother’s chair for weeks. Then it disappeared. It was a relief, I assure + you.” + </p> + <p> + He had stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “I trust,” I continued, “that you will find time to see these ladies + fairly often—that you will make time.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me so queerly that I hardly know how to define his aspect. I + could not understand it in this connexion at all. What ailed him? I asked + myself. What strange thought had come into his head? What vision of all + the horrors that can be seen in his hopeless country had come suddenly to + haunt his brain? If it were anything connected with the fate of Victor + Haldin, then I hoped earnestly he would keep it to himself for ever. I + was, to speak plainly, so shocked that I tried to conceal my impression by—Heaven + forgive me—a smile and the assumption of a light manner. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” I exclaimed, “that needn’t cost you a great effort.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away from me and leaned over the parapet of the bridge. For a + moment I waited, looking at his back. And yet, I assure you, I was not + anxious just then to look at his face again. He did not move at all. He + did not mean to move. I walked on slowly on my way towards the station, + and at the end of the bridge I glanced over my shoulder. No, he had not + moved. He hung well over the parapet, as if captivated by the smooth rush + of the blue water under the arch. The current there is swift, extremely + swift; it makes some people dizzy; I myself can never look at it for any + length of time without experiencing a dread of being suddenly snatched + away by its destructive force. Some brains cannot resist the suggestion of + irresistible power and of headlong motion. + </p> + <p> + It apparently had a charm for Mr. Razumov. I left him hanging far over the + parapet of the bridge. The way he had behaved to me could not be put down + to mere boorishness. There was something else under his scorn and + impatience. Perhaps, I thought, with sudden approach to hidden truth, it + was the same thing which had kept him over a week, nearly ten days indeed, + from coming near Miss Haldin. But what it was I could not tell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART THIRD + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + The water under the bridge ran violent and deep. Its slightly undulating + rush seemed capable of scouring out a channel for itself through solid + granite while you looked. But had it flowed through Razumov’s breast, it + could not have washed away the accumulated bitterness the wrecking of his + life had deposited there. + </p> + <p> + “What is the meaning of all this?” he thought, staring downwards at the + headlong flow so smooth and clean that only the passage of a faint + air-bubble, or a thin vanishing streak of foam like a white hair, + disclosed its vertiginous rapidity, its terrible force. “Why has that + meddlesome old Englishman blundered against me? And what is this silly + tale of a crazy old woman?” + </p> + <p> + He was trying to think brutally on purpose, but he avoided any mental + reference to the young girl. “A crazy old woman,” he repeated to himself. + “It is a fatality! Or ought I to despise all this as absurd? But no! I am + wrong! I can’t afford to despise anything. An absurdity may be the + starting-point of the most dangerous complications. How is one to guard + against it? It puts to rout one’s intelligence. The more intelligent one + is the less one suspects an absurdity.” + </p> + <p> + A wave of wrath choked his thoughts for a moment. It even made his body + leaning over the parapet quiver; then he resumed his silent thinking, like + a secret dialogue with himself. And even in that privacy, his thought had + some reservations of which he was vaguely conscious. + </p> + <p> + “After all, this is not absurd. It is insignificant. It is absolutely + insignificant—absolutely. The craze of an old woman—the fussy + officiousness of a blundering elderly Englishman. What devil put him in + the way? Haven’t I treated him cavalierly enough? Haven’t I just? That’s + the way to treat these meddlesome persons. Is it possible that he still + stands behind my back, waiting?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt a faint chill run down his spine. It was not fear. He was + certain that it was not fear—not fear for himself—but it was, + all the same, a sort of apprehension as if for another, for some one he + knew without being able to put a name on the personality. But the + recollection that the officious Englishman had a train to meet + tranquillized him for a time. It was too stupid to suppose that he should + be wasting his time in waiting. It was unnecessary to look round and make + sure. + </p> + <p> + But what did the man mean by his extraordinary rigmarole about the + newspaper, and that crazy old woman? he thought suddenly. It was a + damnable presumption, anyhow, something that only an Englishman could be + capable of. All this was a sort of sport for him—the sport of + revolution—a game to look at from the height of his superiority. And + what on earth did he mean by his exclamation, “Won’t the truth do?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov pressed his folded arms to the stone coping over which he was + leaning with force. “Won’t the truth do? The truth for the crazy old + mother of the—” + </p> + <p> + The young man shuddered again. Yes. The truth would do! Apparently it + would do. Exactly. And receive thanks, he thought, formulating the + unspoken words cynically. “Fall on my neck in gratitude, no doubt,” he + jeered mentally. But this mood abandoned him at once. He felt sad, as if + his heart had become empty suddenly. “Well, I must be cautious,” he + concluded, coming to himself as though his brain had been awakened from a + trance. “There is nothing, no one, too insignificant, too absurd to be + disregarded,” he thought wearily. “I must be cautious.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov pushed himself with his hand away from the balustrade and, + retracing his steps along the bridge, walked straight to his lodgings, + where, for a few days, he led a solitary and retired existence. He + neglected Peter Ivanovitch, to whom he was accredited by the Stuttgart + group; he never went near the refugee revolutionists, to whom he had been + introduced on his arrival. He kept out of that world altogether. And he + felt that such conduct, causing surprise and arousing suspicion, contained + an element of danger for himself. + </p> + <p> + This is not to say that during these few days he never went out. I met him + several times in the streets, but he gave me no recognition. Once, going + home after an evening call on the ladies Haldin, I saw him crossing the + dark roadway of the Boulevard des Philosophes. He had a broad-brimmed soft + hat, and the collar of his coat turned up. I watched him make straight for + the house, but, instead of going in, he stopped opposite the still lighted + windows, and after a time went away down a side-street. + </p> + <p> + I knew that he had not been to see Mrs. Haldin yet. Miss Haldin told me he + was reluctant; moreover, the mental condition of Mrs. Haldin had changed. + She seemed to think now that her son was living, and she perhaps awaited + his arrival. Her immobility in the great arm-chair in front of the window + had an air of expectancy, even when the blind was down and the lamps + lighted. + </p> + <p> + For my part, I was convinced that she had received her death-stroke; Miss + Haldin, to whom, of course, I said nothing of my forebodings, thought that + no good would come from introducing Mr. Razumov just then, an opinion + which I shared fully. I knew that she met the young man on the Bastions. + Once or twice I saw them strolling slowly up the main alley. They met + every day for weeks. I avoided passing that way during the hour when Miss + Haldin took her exercise there. One day, however, in a fit of + absent-mindedness, I entered the gates and came upon her walking alone. I + stopped to exchange a few words. Mr. Razumov failed to turn up, and we + began to talk about him—naturally. + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you anything definite about your brother’s activities—his + end?” I ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “No,” admitted Miss Haldin, with some hesitation. “Nothing definite.” + </p> + <p> + I understood well enough that all their conversations must have been + referred mentally to that dead man who had brought them together. That was + unavoidable. But it was in the living man that she was interested. That + was unavoidable too, I suppose. And as I pushed my inquiries I discovered + that he had disclosed himself to her as a by no means conventional + revolutionist, contemptuous of catchwords, of theories, of men too. I was + rather pleased at that—but I was a little puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “His mind goes forward, far ahead of the struggle,” Miss Haldin explained. + “Of course, he is an actual worker too,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “And do you understand him?” I inquired point-blank. + </p> + <p> + She hesitated again. “Not altogether,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + I perceived that he had fascinated her by an assumption of mysterious + reserve. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think?” she went on, breaking through her reserved, + almost reluctant attitude: “I think that he is observing, studying me, to + discover whether I am worthy of his trust....” + </p> + <p> + “And that pleases you?” + </p> + <p> + She kept mysteriously silent for a moment. Then with energy, but in a + confidential tone— + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced;” she declared, “that this extraordinary man is meditating + some vast plan, some great undertaking; he is possessed by it—he + suffers from it—and from being alone in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “And so he’s looking for helpers?” I commented, turning away my head. + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + The dead brother, the dying mother, the foreign friend, had fallen into a + distant background. But, at the same time, Peter Ivanovitch was absolutely + nowhere now. And this thought consoled me. Yet I saw the gigantic shadow + of Russian life deepening around her like the darkness of an advancing + night. It would devour her presently. I inquired after Mrs. Haldin—that + other victim of the deadly shade. + </p> + <p> + A remorseful uneasiness appeared in her frank eyes. Mother seemed no + worse, but if I only knew what strange fancies she had sometimes! Then + Miss Haldin, glancing at her watch, declared that she could not stay a + moment longer, and with a hasty hand-shake ran off lightly. + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, Mr. Razumov was not to turn up that day. Incomprehensible + youth! + </p> + <p> + But less than an hour afterwards, while crossing the Place Mollard, I + caught sight of him boarding a South Shore tramcar. + </p> + <p> + “He’s going to the Chateau Borel,” I thought. + </p> + <p> + After depositing Razumov at the gates of the Chateau Borel, some half a + mile or so from the town, the car continued its journey between two + straight lines of shady trees. Across the roadway in the sunshine a short + wooden pier jutted into the shallow pale water, which farther out had an + intense blue tint contrasting unpleasantly with the green orderly slopes + on the opposite shore. The whole view, with the harbour jetties of white + stone underlining lividly the dark front of the town to the left, and the + expanding space of water to the right with jutting promontories of no + particular character, had the uninspiring, glittering quality of a very + fresh oleograph. Razumov turned his back on it with contempt. He thought + it odious—oppressively odious—in its unsuggestive finish: the + very perfection of mediocrity attained at last after centuries of toil and + culture. And turning his back on it, he faced the entrance to the grounds + of the Chateau Borel. + </p> + <p> + The bars of the central way and the wrought-iron arch between the dark + weather-stained stone piers were very rusty; and, though fresh tracks of + wheels ran under it, the gate looked as if it had not been opened for a + very long time. But close against the lodge, built of the same grey stone + as the piers (its windows were all boarded up), there was a small side + entrance. The bars of that were rusty too; it stood ajar and looked as + though it had not been closed for a long time. In fact, Razumov, trying to + push it open a little wider, discovered it was immovable. + </p> + <p> + “Democratic virtue. There are no thieves here, apparently,” he muttered to + himself, with displeasure. Before advancing into the grounds he looked + back sourly at an idle working man lounging on a bench in the clean, broad + avenue. The fellow had thrown his feet up; one of his arms hung over the + low back of the public seat; he was taking a day off in lordly repose, as + if everything in sight belonged to him. + </p> + <p> + “Elector! Eligible! Enlightened!” Razumov muttered to himself. “A brute, + all the same.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov entered the grounds and walked fast up the wide sweep of the + drive, trying to think of nothing—to rest his head, to rest his + emotions too. But arriving at the foot of the terrace before the house he + faltered, affected physically by some invisible interference. The + mysteriousness of his quickened heart-beats startled him. He stopped short + and looked at the brick wall of the terrace, faced with shallow arches, + meagrely clothed by a few unthriving creepers, with an ill-kept narrow + flower-bed along its foot. + </p> + <p> + “It is here!” he thought, with a sort of awe. “It is here—on this + very spot....” + </p> + <p> + He was tempted to flight at the mere recollection of his first meeting + with Nathalie Haldin. He confessed it to himself; but he did not move, and + that not because he wished to resist an unworthy weakness, but because he + knew that he had no place to fly to. Moreover, he could not leave Geneva. + He recognized, even without thinking, that it was impossible. It would + have been a fatal admission, an act of moral suicide. It would have been + also physically dangerous. Slowly he ascended the stairs of the terrace, + flanked by two stained greenish stone urns of funereal aspect. + </p> + <p> + Across the broad platform, where a few blades of grass sprouted on the + discoloured gravel, the door of the house, with its ground-floor windows + shuttered, faced him, wide open. He believed that his approach had been + noted, because, framed in the doorway, without his tall hat, Peter + Ivanovitch seemed to be waiting for his approach. + </p> + <p> + The ceremonious black frock-coat and the bared head of Europe’s greatest + feminist accentuated the dubiousness of his status in the house rented by + Madame de S—, his Egeria. His aspect combined the formality of the + caller with the freedom of the proprietor. Florid and bearded and masked + by the dark blue glasses, he met the visitor, and at once took him + familiarly under the arm. + </p> + <p> + Razumov suppressed every sign of repugnance by an effort which the + constant necessity of prudence had rendered almost mechanical. And this + necessity had settled his expression in a cast of austere, almost + fanatical, aloofness. The “heroic fugitive,” impressed afresh by the + severe detachment of this new arrival from revolutionary Russia, took a + conciliatory, even a confidential tone. Madame de S— was resting + after a bad night. She often had bad nights. He had left his hat upstairs + on the landing and had come down to suggest to his young friend a stroll + and a good open-hearted talk in one of the shady alleys behind the house. + After voicing this proposal, the great man glanced at the unmoved face by + his side, and could not restrain himself from exclaiming— + </p> + <p> + “On my word, young man, you are an extraordinary person.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you are mistaken, Peter Ivanovitch. If I were really an + extraordinary person, I would not be here, walking with you in a garden in + Switzerland, Canton of Geneva, Commune of—what’s the name of the + Commune this place belongs to?... Never mind—the heart of democracy, + anyhow. A fit heart for it; no bigger than a parched pea and about as much + value. I am no more extraordinary than the rest of us Russians, wandering + abroad.” + </p> + <p> + But Peter Ivanovitch dissented emphatically— + </p> + <p> + “No! No! You are not ordinary. I have some experience of Russians who are—well—living + abroad. You appear to me, and to others too, a marked personality.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he mean by this?” Razumov asked himself, turning his eyes fully + on his companion. The face of Peter Ivanovitch expressed a meditative + seriousness. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t suppose, Kirylo Sidorovitch, that I have not heard of you from + various points where you made yourself known on your way here? I have had + letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we are great in talking about each other,” interjected Razumov, who + had listened with great attention. “Gossip, tales, suspicions, and all + that sort of thing, we know how to deal in to perfection. Calumny, even.” + </p> + <p> + In indulging in this sally, Razumov managed very well to conceal the + feeling of anxiety which had come over him. At the same time he was saying + to himself that there could be no earthly reason for anxiety. He was + relieved by the evident sincerity of the protesting voice. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” cried Peter Ivanovitch. “What are you talking about? What + reason can <i>you</i> have to...?” + </p> + <p> + The great exile flung up his arms as if words had failed him in sober + truth. Razumov was satisfied. Yet he was moved to continue in the same + vein. + </p> + <p> + “I am talking of the poisonous plants which flourish in the world of + conspirators, like evil mushrooms in a dark cellar.” + </p> + <p> + “You are casting aspersions,” remonstrated Peter Ivanovitch, “which as far + as you are concerned—” + </p> + <p> + “No!” Razumov interrupted without heat. “Indeed, I don’t want to cast + aspersions, but it’s just as well to have no illusions.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch gave him an inscrutable glance of his dark spectacles, + accompanied by a faint smile. + </p> + <p> + “The man who says that he has no illusions has at least that one,” he + said, in a very friendly tone. “But I see how it is, Kirylo Sidorovitch. + You aim at stoicism.” + </p> + <p> + “Stoicism! That’s a pose of the Greeks and the Romans. Let’s leave it to + them. We are Russians, that is—children; that is—sincere; that + is—cynical, if you like. But that’s not a pose.” + </p> + <p> + A long silence ensued. They strolled slowly under the lime-trees. Peter + Ivanovitch had put his hands behind his back. Razumov felt the ungravelled + ground of the deeply shaded walk damp and as if slippery under his feet. + He asked himself, with uneasiness, if he were saying the right things. The + direction of the conversation ought to have been more under his control, + he reflected. The great man appeared to be reflecting on his side too. He + cleared his throat slightly, and Razumov felt at once a painful + reawakening of scorn and fear. + </p> + <p> + “I am astonished,” began Peter Ivanovitch gently. “Supposing you are right + in your indictment, how can you raise any question of calumny or gossip, + in your case? It is unreasonable. The fact is, Kirylo Sidorovitch, there + is not enough known of you to give hold to gossip or even calumny. Just + now you are a man associated with a great deed, which had been hoped for, + and tried for too, without success. People have perished for attempting + that which you and Haldin have done at last. You come to us out of Russia, + with that prestige. But you cannot deny that you have not been + communicative, Kirylo Sidorovitch. People you have met imparted their + impressions to me; one wrote this, another that, but I form my own + opinions. I waited to see you first. You are a man out of the common. + That’s positively so. You are close, very close. This taciturnity, this + severe brow, this something inflexible and secret in you, inspires hopes + and a little wonder as to what you may mean. There is something of a + Brutus....” + </p> + <p> + “Pray spare me those classical allusions!” burst out Razumov nervously. + “What comes Junius Brutus to do here? It is ridiculous! Do you mean to + say,” he added sarcastically, but lowering his voice, “that the Russian + revolutionists are all patricians and that I am an aristocrat?” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch, who had been helping himself with a few gestures, + clasped his hands again behind his back, and made a few steps, pondering. + </p> + <p> + “Not <i>all</i> patricians,” he muttered at last. “But you, at any rate, + are one of <i>us</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov smiled bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure my name is not Gugenheimer,” he said in a sneering tone. “I am + not a democratic Jew. How can I help it? Not everybody has such luck. I + have no name, I have no....” + </p> + <p> + The European celebrity showed a great concern. He stepped back a pace and + his arms flew in front of his person, extended, deprecatory, almost + entreating. His deep bass voice was full of pain. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear young friend!” he cried. “My dear Kirylo Sidorovitch....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “The very patronymic you are so civil as to use when addressing me I have + no legal right to—but what of that? I don’t wish to claim it. I have + no father. So much the better. But I will tell you what: my mother’s + grandfather was a peasant—a serf. See how much I am one of <i>you</i>. + I don’t want anyone to claim me. But Russia <i>can’t</i> disown me. She + cannot!” + </p> + <p> + Razumov struck his breast with his fist. + </p> + <p> + “I am <i>it</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch walked on slowly, his head lowered. Razumov followed, + vexed with himself. That was not the right sort of talk. All sincerity was + an imprudence. Yet one could not renounce truth altogether, he thought, + with despair. Peter Ivanovitch, meditating behind his dark glasses, became + to him suddenly so odious that if he had had a knife, he fancied he could + have stabbed him not only without compunction, but with a horrible, + triumphant satisfaction. His imagination dwelt on that atrocity in spite + of himself. It was as if he were becoming light-headed. “It is not what is + expected of me,” he repeated to himself. “It is not what is—I could + get away by breaking the fastening on the little gate I see there in the + back wall. It is a flimsy lock. Nobody in the house seems to know he is + here with me. Oh yes. The hat! These women would discover presently the + hat he has left on the landing. They would come upon him, lying dead in + this damp, gloomy shade—but I would be gone and no one could + ever...Lord! Am I going mad?” he asked himself in a fright. + </p> + <p> + The great man was heard—musing in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + “H’m, yes! That—no doubt—in a certain sense....” He raised his + voice. “There is a deal of pride about you....” + </p> + <p> + The intonation of Peter Ivanovitch took on a homely, familiar ring, + acknowledging, in a way, Razumov’s claim to peasant descent. + </p> + <p> + “A great deal of pride, brother Kirylo. And I don’t say that you have no + justification for it. I have admitted you had. I have ventured to allude + to the facts of your birth simply because I attach no mean importance to + it. You are one of us—<i>un des notres</i>. I reflect on that with + satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + “I attach some importance to it also,” said Razumov quietly. “I won’t even + deny that it may have some importance for you too,” he continued, after a + slight pause and with a touch of grimness of which he was himself aware, + with some annoyance. He hoped it had escaped the perception of Peter + Ivanovitch. “But suppose we talk no more about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we shall not—not after this one time, Kirylo Sidorovitch,” + persisted the noble arch-priest of Revolution. “This shall be the last + occasion. You cannot believe for a moment that I had the slightest idea of + wounding your feelings. You are clearly a superior nature—that’s how + I read you. Quite above the common—h’m—susceptibilities. But + the fact is, Kirylo Sidorovitch, I don’t know your susceptibilities. + Nobody, out of Russia, knows much of you—as yet!” + </p> + <p> + “You have been watching me?” suggested Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The great man had spoken in a tone of perfect frankness, but as they + turned their faces to each other Razumov felt baffled by the dark + spectacles. Under their cover, Peter Ivanovitch hinted that he had felt + for some time the need of meeting a man of energy and character, in view + of a certain project. He said nothing more precise, however; and after + some critical remarks upon the personalities of the various members of the + committee of revolutionary action in Stuttgart, he let the conversation + lapse for quite a long while. They paced the alley from end to end. + Razumov, silent too, raised his eyes from time to time to cast a glance at + the back of the house. It offered no sign of being inhabited. With its + grimy, weather-stained walls and all the windows shuttered from top to + bottom, it looked damp and gloomy and deserted. It might very well have + been haunted in traditional style by some doleful, groaning, futile ghost + of a middle-class order. The shades evoked, as worldly rumour had it, by + Madame de S— to meet statesmen, diplomatists, deputies of various + European Parliaments, must have been of another sort. Razumov had never + seen Madame de S— but in the carriage. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch came out of his abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “Two things I may say to you at once. I believe, first, that neither a + leader nor any decisive action can come out of the dregs of a people. Now, + if you ask me what are the dregs of a people—h’m—it would take + too long to tell. You would be surprised at the variety of ingredients + that for me go to the making up of these dregs—of that which ought, + <i>must</i> remain at the bottom. Moreover, such a statement might be + subject to discussion. But I can tell you what is <i>not</i> the dregs. On + that it is impossible for us to disagree. The peasantry of a people is not + the dregs; neither is its highest class—well—the nobility. + Reflect on that, Kirylo Sidorovitch! I believe you are well fitted for + reflection. Everything in a people that is not genuine, not its own by + origin or development, is—well—dirt! Intelligence in the wrong + place is that. Foreign-bred doctrines are that. Dirt! Dregs! The second + thing I would offer to your meditation is this: that for us at this moment + there yawns a chasm between the past and the future. It can never be + bridged by foreign liberalism. All attempts at it are either folly or + cheating. Bridged it can never be! It has to be filled up.” + </p> + <p> + A sort of sinister jocularity had crept into the tones of the burly + feminist. He seized Razumov’s arm above the elbow, and gave it a slight + shake. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand, enigmatical young man? It has got to be just filled + up.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov kept an unmoved countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think that I have already gone beyond meditation on that + subject?” he said, freeing his arm by a quiet movement which increased the + distance a little between himself and Peter Ivanovitch, as they went on + strolling abreast. And he added that surely whole cartloads of words and + theories could never fill that chasm. No meditation was necessary. A + sacrifice of many lives could alone—He fell silent without finishing + the phrase. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch inclined his big hairy head slowly. After a moment he + proposed that they should go and see if Madame de S— was now + visible. + </p> + <p> + “We shall get some tea,” he said, turning out of the shaded gloomy walk + with a brisker step. + </p> + <p> + The lady companion had been on the look out. Her dark skirt whisked into + the doorway as the two men came in sight round the corner. She ran off + somewhere altogether, and had disappeared when they entered the hall. In + the crude light falling from the dusty glass skylight upon the black and + white tessellated floor, covered with muddy tracks, their footsteps echoed + faintly. The great feminist led the way up the stairs. On the balustrade + of the first-floor landing a shiny tall hat reposed, rim upwards, opposite + the double door of the drawing-room, haunted, it was said, by evoked + ghosts, and frequented, it was to be supposed, by fugitive revolutionists. + The cracked white paint of the panels, the tarnished gilt of the + mouldings, permitted one to imagine nothing but dust and emptiness within. + Before turning the massive brass handle, Peter Ivanovitch gave his young + companion a sharp, partly critical, partly preparatory glance. + </p> + <p> + “No one is perfect,” he murmured discreetly. Thus, the possessor of a rare + jewel might, before opening the casket, warn the profane that no gem + perhaps is flawless. + </p> + <p> + He remained with his hand on the door-handle so long that Razumov assented + by a moody “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfection itself would not produce that effect,” pursued Peter + Ivanovitch, “in a world not meant for it. But you shall find there a mind—no!—the + quintessence of feminine intuition which will understand any perplexity + you may be suffering from by the irresistible, enlightening force of + sympathy. Nothing can remain obscure before that—that—inspired, + yes, inspired penetration, this true light of femininity.” + </p> + <p> + The gaze of the dark spectacles in its glossy steadfastness gave his face + an air of absolute conviction. Razumov felt a momentary shrinking before + that closed door. + </p> + <p> + “Penetration? Light,” he stammered out. “Do you mean some sort of + thought-reading?” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch seemed shocked. + </p> + <p> + “I mean something utterly different,” he retorted, with a faint, pitying + smile. + </p> + <p> + Razumov began to feel angry, very much against his wish. + </p> + <p> + “This is very mysterious,” he muttered through his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t object to being understood, to being guided?” queried the great + feminist. Razumov exploded in a fierce whisper. + </p> + <p> + “In what sense? Be pleased to understand that I am a serious person. Who + do you take me for?” + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other very closely. Razumov’s temper was cooled by the + impenetrable earnestness of the blue glasses meeting his stare. Peter + Ivanovitch turned the handle at last. + </p> + <p> + “You shall know directly,” he said, pushing the door open. + </p> + <p> + A low-pitched grating voice was heard within the room. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Enfin</i>.” + </p> + <p> + In the doorway, his black-coated bulk blocking the view, Peter Ivanovitch + boomed in a hearty tone with something boastful in it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Here I am!” + </p> + <p> + He glanced over his shoulder at Razumov, who waited for him to move on. + </p> + <p> + “And I am bringing you a proved conspirator—a real one this time. <i>Un + vrai celui la</i>.” + </p> + <p> + This pause in the doorway gave the “proved conspirator” time to make sure + that his face did not betray his angry curiosity and his mental disgust. + </p> + <p> + These sentiments stand confessed in Mr. Razumov’s memorandum of his first + interview with Madame de S—. The very words I use in my narrative + are written where their sincerity cannot be suspected. The record, which + could not have been meant for anyone’s eyes but his own, was not, I think, + the outcome of that strange impulse of indiscretion common to men who lead + secret lives, and accounting for the invariable existence of “compromising + documents” in all the plots and conspiracies of history. Mr. Razumov + looked at it, I suppose, as a man looks at himself in a mirror, with + wonder, perhaps with anguish, with anger or despair. Yes, as a threatened + man may look fearfully at his own face in the glass, formulating to + himself reassuring excuses for his appearance marked by the taint of some + insidious hereditary disease. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The Egeria of the “Russian Mazzini” produced, at first view, a strong + effect by the death-like immobility of an obviously painted face. The eyes + appeared extraordinarily brilliant. The figure, in a close-fitting dress, + admirably made, but by no means fresh, had an elegant stiffness. The + rasping voice inviting him to sit down; the rigidity of the upright + attitude with one arm extended along the back of the sofa, the white gleam + of the big eyeballs setting off the black, fathomless stare of the + enlarged pupils, impressed Razumov more than anything he had seen since + his hasty and secret departure from St. Petersburg. A witch in Parisian + clothes, he thought. A portent! He actually hesitated in his advance, and + did not even comprehend, at first, what the rasping voice was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down. Draw your chair nearer me. There—” + </p> + <p> + He sat down. At close quarters the rouged cheekbones, the wrinkles, the + fine lines on each side of the vivid lips, astounded him. He was being + received graciously, with a smile which made him think of a grinning + skull. + </p> + <p> + “We have been hearing about you for some time.” + </p> + <p> + He did not know what to say, and murmured some disconnected words. The + grinning skull effect vanished. + </p> + <p> + “And do you know that the general complaint is that you have shown + yourself very reserved everywhere?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov remained silent for a time, thinking of his answer. + </p> + <p> + “I, don’t you see, am a man of action,” he said huskily, glancing upwards. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch stood in portentous expectant silence by the side of his + chair. A slight feeling of nausea came over Razumov. What could be the + relations of these two people to each other? She like a galvanized corpse + out of some Hoffman’s Tale—he the preacher of feminist gospel for + all the world, and a super-revolutionist besides! This ancient, painted + mummy with unfathomable eyes, and this burly, bull-necked, + deferential...what was it? Witchcraft, fascination.... “It’s for her + money,” he thought. “She has millions!” + </p> + <p> + The walls, the floor of the room were bare like a barn. The few pieces of + furniture had been discovered in the garrets and dragged down into service + without having been properly dusted, even. It was the refuse the banker’s + widow had left behind her. The windows without curtains had an indigent, + sleepless look. In two of them the dirty yellowy-white blinds had been + pulled down. All this spoke, not of poverty, but of sordid penuriousness. + </p> + <p> + The hoarse voice on the sofa uttered angrily— + </p> + <p> + “You are looking round, Kirylo Sidorovitch. I have been shamefully robbed, + positively ruined.” + </p> + <p> + A rattling laugh, which seemed beyond her control, interrupted her for a + moment. + </p> + <p> + “A slavish nature would find consolation in the fact that the principal + robber was an exalted and almost a sacrosanct person—a Grand Duke, + in fact. Do you understand, Mr. Razumov? A Grand Duke—No! You have + no idea what thieves those people are! Downright thieves!” + </p> + <p> + Her bosom heaved, but her left arm remained rigidly extended along the + back of the couch. + </p> + <p> + “You will only upset yourself,” breathed out a deep voice, which, to + Razumov’s startled glance, seemed to proceed from under the steady + spectacles of Peter Ivanovitch, rather than from his lips, which had + hardly moved. + </p> + <p> + “What of hat? I say thieves! <i>Voleurs! Voleurs!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Razumov was quite confounded by this unexpected clamour, which had in it + something of wailing and croaking, and more than a suspicion of hysteria. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Voleurs! Voleurs! Vol</i>....” + </p> + <p> + “No power on earth can rob you of your genius,” shouted Peter Ivanovitch + in an overpowering bass, but without stirring, without a gesture of any + kind. A profound silence fell. + </p> + <p> + Razumov remained outwardly impassive. “What is the meaning of this + performance?” he was asking himself. But with a preliminary sound of + bumping outside some door behind him, the lady companion, in a threadbare + black skirt and frayed blouse, came in rapidly, walking on her heels, and + carrying in both hands a big Russian samovar, obviously too heavy for her. + Razumov made an instinctive movement to help, which startled her so much + that she nearly dropped her hissing burden. She managed, however, to land + it on the table, and looked so frightened that Razumov hastened to sit + down. She produced then, from an adjacent room, four glass tumblers, a + teapot, and a sugar-basin, on a black iron tray. + </p> + <p> + The rasping voice asked from the sofa abruptly— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Les gateaux</i>? Have you remembered to bring the cakes?” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch, without a word, marched out on to the landing, and + returned instantly with a parcel wrapped up in white glazed paper, which + he must have extracted from the interior of his hat. With imperturbable + gravity he undid the string and smoothed the paper open on a part of the + table within reach of Madame de S—‘s hand. The lady companion poured + out the tea, then retired into a distant corner out of everybody’s sight. + From time to time Madame de S— extended a claw-like hand, glittering + with costly rings, towards the paper of cakes, took up one and devoured + it, displaying her big false teeth ghoulishly. Meantime she talked in a + hoarse tone of the political situation in the Balkans. She built great + hopes on some complication in the peninsula for arousing a great movement + of national indignation in Russia against “these thieves—thieves + thieves.” + </p> + <p> + “You will only upset yourself,” Peter Ivanovitch interposed, raising his + glassy gaze. He smoked cigarettes and drank tea in silence, continuously. + When he had finished a glass, he flourished his hand above his shoulder. + At that signal the lady companion, ensconced in her corner, with round + eyes like a watchful animal, would dart out to the table and pour him out + another tumblerful. + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked at her once or twice. She was anxious, tremulous, though + neither Madame de S— nor Peter Ivanovitch paid the slightest + attention to her. “What have they done between them to that forlorn + creature?” Razumov asked himself. “Have they terrified her out of her + senses with ghosts, or simply have they only been beating her?” When she + gave him his second glass of tea, he noticed that her lips trembled in the + manner of a scared person about to burst into speech. But of course she + said nothing, and retired into her corner, as if hugging to herself the + smile of thanks he gave her. + </p> + <p> + “She may be worth cultivating,” thought Razumov suddenly. + </p> + <p> + He was calming down, getting hold of the actuality into which he had been + thrown—for the first time perhaps since Victor Haldin had entered + his room...and had gone out again. He was distinctly aware of being the + object of the famous—or notorious—Madame de S—‘s ghastly + graciousness. + </p> + <p> + Madame de S— was pleased to discover that this young man was + different from the other types of revolutionist members of committees, + secret emissaries, vulgar and unmannerly fugitive professors, rough + students, ex-cobblers with apostolic faces, consumptive and ragged + enthusiasts, Hebrew youths, common fellows of all sorts that used to come + and go around Peter Ivanovitch—fanatics, pedants, proletarians all. + It was pleasant to talk to this young man of notably good appearance—for + Madame de S— was not always in a mystical state of mind. Razumov’s + taciturnity only excited her to a quicker, more voluble utterance. It + still dealt with the Balkans. She knew all the statesmen of that region, + Turks, Bulgarians, Montenegrins, Roumanians, Greeks, Armenians, and + nondescripts, young and old, the living and the dead. With some money an + intrigue could be started which would set the Peninsula in a blaze and + outrage the sentiment of the Russian people. A cry of abandoned brothers + could be raised, and then, with the nation seething with indignation, a + couple of regiments or so would be enough to begin a military revolution + in St. Petersburg and make an end of these thieves.... + </p> + <p> + “Apparently I’ve got only to sit still and listen,” the silent Razumov + thought to himself. “As to that hairy and obscene brute” (in such terms + did Mr. Razumov refer mentally to the popular expounder of a feministic + conception of social state), “as to him, for all his cunning he too shall + speak out some day.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov ceased to think for a moment. Then a sombre-toned reflection + formulated itself in his mind, ironical and bitter. “I have the gift of + inspiring confidence.” He heard himself laughing aloud. It was like a goad + to the painted, shiny-eyed harridan on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “You may well laugh!” she cried hoarsely. “What else can one do! Perfect + swindlers—and what base swindlers at that! Cheap Germans—Holstein-Gottorps! + Though, indeed, it’s hardly safe to say who and what they are. A family + that counts a creature like Catherine the Great in its ancestry—you + understand!” + </p> + <p> + “You are only upsetting yourself,” said Peter Ivanovitch, patiently but in + a firm tone. This admonition had its usual effect on the Egeria. She + dropped her thick, discoloured eyelids and changed her position on the + sofa. All her angular and lifeless movements seemed completely automatic + now that her eyes were closed. Presently she opened them very full. Peter + Ivanovitch drank tea steadily, without haste. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I declare!” She addressed Razumov directly. “The people who have + seen you on your way here are right. You are very reserved. You haven’t + said twenty words altogether since you came in. You let nothing of your + thoughts be seen in your face either.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been listening, Madame,” said Razumov, using French for the first + time, hesitatingly, not being certain of his accent. But it seemed to + produce an excellent impression. Madame de S— looked meaningly into + Peter Ivanovitch’s spectacles, as if to convey her conviction of this + young man’s merit. She even nodded the least bit in his direction, and + Razumov heard her murmur under her breath the words, “Later on in the + diplomatic service,” which could not but refer to the favourable + impression he had made. The fantastic absurdity of it revolted him because + it seemed to outrage his ruined hopes with the vision of a mock-career. + Peter Ivanovitch, impassive as though he were deaf, drank some more tea. + Razumov felt that he must say something. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he began deliberately, as if uttering a meditated opinion. + “Clearly. Even in planning a purely military revolution the temper of the + people should be taken into account.” + </p> + <p> + “You have understood me perfectly. The discontent should be spiritualized. + That is what the ordinary heads of revolutionary committees will not + understand. They aren’t capable of it. For instance, Mordatiev was in + Geneva last month. Peter Ivanovitch brought him here. You know Mordatiev? + Well, yes—you have heard of him. They call him an eagle—a + hero! He has never done half as much as you have. Never attempted—not + half....” + </p> + <p> + Madame de S— agitated herself angularly on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “We, of course, talked to him. And do you know what he said to me? ‘What + have we to do with Balkan intrigues? We must simply extirpate the + scoundrels.’ Extirpate is all very well—but what then? The imbecile! + I screamed at him, ‘But you must spiritualize—don’t you understand?—spiritualize + the discontent.’...” + </p> + <p> + She felt nervously in her pocket for a handkerchief; she pressed it to her + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Spiritualize?” said Razumov interrogatively, watching her heaving breast. + The long ends of an old black lace scarf she wore over her head slipped + off her shoulders and hung down on each side of her ghastly rosy cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “An odious creature,” she burst out again. “Imagine a man who takes five + lumps of sugar in his tea.... Yes, I said spiritualize! How else can you + make discontent effective and universal?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to this, young man.” Peter Ivanovitch made himself heard solemnly. + “Effective and universal.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked at him suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Some say hunger will do that,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know. Our people are starving in heaps. But you can’t make famine + universal. And it is not despair that we want to create. There is no moral + support to be got out of that. It is indignation....” + </p> + <p> + Madame de S— let her thin, extended arm sink on her knees. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a Mordatiev,” began Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “Bien sur!” murmured Madame de S—. + </p> + <p> + “Though I too am ready to say extirpate, extirpate! But in my ignorance of + political work, permit me to ask: A Balkan—well—intrigue, + wouldn’t that take a very long time?” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch got up and moved off quietly, to stand with his face to + the window. Razumov heard a door close; he turned his head and perceived + that the lady companion had scuttled out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “In matters of politics I am a supernaturalist.” Madame de S— broke + the silence harshly. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch moved away from the window and struck Razumov lightly on + the shoulder. This was a signal for leaving, but at the same time he + addressed Madame de S— in a peculiar reminding tone—- + </p> + <p> + “Eleanor!” + </p> + <p> + Whatever it meant, she did not seem to hear him. She leaned back in the + corner of the sofa like a wooden figure. The immovable peevishness of the + face, framed in the limp, rusty lace, had a character of cruelty. + </p> + <p> + “As to extirpating,” she croaked at the attentive Razumov, “there is only + one class in Russia which must be extirpated. Only one. And that class + consists of only one family. You understand me? That one family must be + extirpated.” + </p> + <p> + Her rigidity was frightful, like the rigor of a corpse galvanized into + harsh speech and glittering stare by the force of murderous hate. The + sight fascinated Razumov—yet he felt more self-possessed than at any + other time since he had entered this weirdly bare room. He was interested. + But the great feminist by his side again uttered his appeal— + </p> + <p> + “Eleanor!” + </p> + <p> + She disregarded it. Her carmine lips vaticinated with an extraordinary + rapidity. The liberating spirit would use arms before which rivers would + part like Jordan, and ramparts fall down like the walls of Jericho. The + deliverance from bondage would be effected by plagues and by signs, by + wonders and by war. The women.... + </p> + <p> + “Eleanor!” + </p> + <p> + She ceased; she had heard him at last. She pressed her hand to her + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Ah yes! That girl—the sister of....” + </p> + <p> + It was Miss Haldin that she meant. That young girl and her mother had been + leading a very retired life. They were provincial ladies—were they + not? The mother had been very beautiful—traces were left yet. Peter + Ivanovitch, when he called there for the first time, was greatly + struck....But the cold way they received him was really surprising. + </p> + <p> + “He is one of our national glories,” Madams de S— cried out, with + sudden vehemence. “All the world listens to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know these ladies,” said Razumov loudly rising from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “What are you saying, Kirylo Sidorovitch? I understand that she was + talking to you here, in the garden, the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in the garden,” said Razumov gloomily. Then, with an effort, “She + made herself known to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And then ran away from us all,” Madame de S— continued, with + ghastly vivacity. “After coming to the very door! What a peculiar + proceeding! Well, I have been a shy little provincial girl at one time. + Yes, Razumov” (she fell into this familiarity intentionally, with an + appalling grimace of graciousness. Razumov gave a perceptible start), + “yes, that’s my origin. A simple provincial family. + </p> + <p> + “You are a marvel,” Peter Ivanovich uttered. + </p> + <p> + But it was to Razumov that she gave her death’s-head smile. Her tone was + quite imperious. + </p> + <p> + “You must bring the wild young thing here. She is wanted. I reckon upon + your success—mind!” + </p> + <p> + “She is not a wild young thing,” muttered Razumov, in a surly voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—that’s all the same. She may be one of these young + conceited democrats. Do you know what I think? I think she is very much + like you in character. There is a smouldering fire of scorn in you. You + are darkly self-sufficient, but I can see your very soul.” + </p> + <p> + Her shiny eyes had a dry, intense stare, which, missing Razumov, gave him + an absurd notion that she was looking at something which was visible to + her behind him. He cursed himself for an impressionable fool, and asked + with forced calmness— + </p> + <p> + “What is it you see? Anything resembling me?” + </p> + <p> + She moved her rigidly set face from left to right, negatively. + </p> + <p> + “Some sort of phantom in my image?” pursued Razumov slowly. “For, I + suppose, a soul when it is seen is just that. A vain thing. There are + phantoms of the living as well as of the dead.” + </p> + <p> + The tenseness of Madame de S—‘s stare had relaxed, and now she + looked at Razumov in a silence that became disconcerting. + </p> + <p> + “I myself have had an experience,” he stammered out, as if compelled. + “I’ve seen a phantom once.” The unnaturally red lips moved to frame a + question harshly. + </p> + <p> + “Of a dead person?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Living.” + </p> + <p> + “A friend?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “An enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “I hated him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It was not a woman, then?” + </p> + <p> + “A woman!” repeated Razumov, his eyes looking straight into the eyes of + Madame de S—. “Why should it have been a woman? And why this + conclusion? Why should I not have been able to hate a woman?” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, the idea of hating a woman was new to him. At that + moment he hated Madame de S—. But it was not exactly hate. It was + more like the abhorrence that may be caused by a wooden or plaster figure + of a repulsive kind. She moved no more than if she were such a figure; + even her eyes, whose unwinking stare plunged into his own, though shining, + were lifeless, as though they were as artificial as her teeth. For the + first time Razumov became aware of a faint perfume, but faint as it was it + nauseated him exceedingly. Again Peter Ivanovitch tapped him slightly on + the shoulder. Thereupon he bowed, and was about to turn away when he + received the unexpected favour of a bony, inanimate hand extended to him, + with the two words in hoarse French— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Au revoir!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He bowed over the skeleton hand and left the room, escorted by the great + man, who made him go out first. The voice from the sofa cried after them— + </p> + <p> + “You remain here, <i>Pierre</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, <i>ma chere amie</i>.” + </p> + <p> + But he left the room with Razumov, shutting the door behind him. The + landing was prolonged into a bare corridor, right and left, desolate + perspectives of white and gold decoration without a strip of carpet. The + very light, pouring through a large window at the end, seemed dusty; and a + solitary speck reposing on the balustrade of white marble—the silk + top-hat of the great feminist—asserted itself extremely, black and + glossy in all that crude whiteness. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch escorted the visitor without opening his lips. Even when + they had reached the head of the stairs Peter Ivanovitch did not break the + silence. Razumov’s impulse to continue down the flight and out of the + house without as much as a nod abandoned him suddenly. He stopped on the + first step and leaned his back against the wall. Below him the great hall + with its chequered floor of black and white seemed absurdly large and like + some public place where a great power of resonance awaits the provocation + of footfalls and voices. As if afraid of awakening the loud echoes of that + empty house, Razumov adopted a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “I really have no mind to turn into a dilettante spiritualist.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch shook his head slightly, very serious. + </p> + <p> + “Or spend my time in spiritual ecstasies or sublime meditations upon the + gospel of feminism,” continued Razumov. “I made my way here for my share + of action—action, most respected Peter Ivanovitch! It was not the + great European writer who attracted me, here, to this odious town of + liberty. It was somebody much greater. It was the idea of the chief which + attracted me. There are starving young men in Russia who believe in you so + much that it seems the only thing that keeps them alive in their misery. + Think of that, Peter Ivanovitch! No! But only think of that!” + </p> + <p> + The great man, thus entreated, perfectly motionless and silent, was the + very image of patient, placid respectability. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I don’t speak of the people. They are brutes,” added Razumov, + in the same subdued but forcible tone. At this, a protesting murmur issued + from the “heroic fugitive’s” beard. A murmur of authority. + </p> + <p> + “Say—children.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Brutes!” Razumov insisted bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “But they are sound, they are innocent,” the great man pleaded in a + whisper. + </p> + <p> + “As far as that goes, a brute is sound enough.” Razumov raised his voice + at last. “And you can’t deny the natural innocence of a brute. But what’s + the use of disputing about names? You just try to give these children the + power and stature of men and see what they will be like. You just give it + to them and see.... But never mind. I tell you, Peter Ivanovitch, that + half a dozen young men do not come together nowadays in a shabby student’s + room without your name being whispered, not as a leader of thought, but as + a centre of revolutionary energies—the centre of action. What else + has drawn me near you, do you think? It is not what all the world knows of + you, surely. It’s precisely what the world at large does not know. I was + irresistibly drawn-let us say impelled, yes, impelled; or, rather, + compelled, driven—driven,” repented Razumov loudly, and ceased, as + if startled by the hollow reverberation of the word “driven” along two + bare corridors and in the great empty hall. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch did not seem startled in the least. The young man could + not control a dry, uneasy laugh. The great revolutionist remained unmoved + with an effect of commonplace, homely superiority. + </p> + <p> + “Curse him,” said Razumov to himself, “he is waiting behind his spectacles + for me to give myself away.” Then aloud, with a satanic enjoyment of the + scorn prompting him to play with the greatness of the great man— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Peter Ivanovitch, if you only knew the force which drew—no, + which <i>drove</i> me towards you! The irresistible force.” + </p> + <p> + He did not feel any desire to laugh now. This time Peter Ivanovitch moved + his head sideways, knowingly, as much as to say, “Don’t I?” This + expressive movement was almost imperceptible. Razumov went on in secret + derision— + </p> + <p> + “All these days you have been trying to read me, Peter Ivanovitch. That is + natural. I have perceived it and I have been frank. Perhaps you may think + I have not been very expansive? But with a man like you it was not needed; + it would have looked like an impertinence, perhaps. And besides, we + Russians are prone to talk too much as a rule. I have always felt that. + And yet, as a nation, we are dumb. I assure you that I am not likely to + talk to you so much again—ha! ha!—” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, still keeping on the lower step, came a little nearer to the + great man. + </p> + <p> + “You have been condescending enough. I quite understood it was to lead me + on. You must render me the justice that I have not tried to please. I have + been impelled, compelled, or rather sent—let us say sent—towards + you for a work that no one but myself can do. You would call it a harmless + delusion: a ridiculous delusion at which you don’t even smile. It is + absurd of me to talk like this, yet some day you shall remember these + words, I hope. Enough of this. Here I stand before you-confessed! But one + thing more I must add to complete it: a mere blind tool I can never + consent to be.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever acknowledgment Razumov was prepared for, he was not prepared to + have both his hands seized in the great man’s grasp. The swiftness of the + movement was aggressive enough to startle. The burly feminist could not + have been quicker had his purpose been to jerk Razumov treacherously up on + the landing and bundle him behind one of the numerous closed doors near + by. This idea actually occurred to Razumov; his hands being released after + a darkly eloquent squeeze, he smiled, with a beating heart, straight at + the beard and the spectacles hiding that impenetrable man. + </p> + <p> + He thought to himself (it stands confessed in his handwriting), “I won’t + move from here till he either speaks or turns away. This is a duel.” Many + seconds passed without a sign or sound. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” the great man said hurriedly, in subdued tones, as if the + whole thing had been a stolen, breathless interview. “Exactly. Come to see + us here in a few days. This must be gone into deeply—deeply, between + you and me. Quite to the bottom. To the...And, by the by, you must bring + along Natalia Victorovna—you know, the Haldin girl.... + </p> + <p> + “Am I to take this as my first instruction from you?” inquired Razumov + stiffly. + </p> + <p> + Peter Ivanovitch seemed perplexed by this new attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! h’m! You are naturally the proper person—<i>la personne + indiquee</i>. Every one shall be wanted presently. Every one.” + </p> + <p> + He bent down from the landing over Razumov, who had lowered his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The moment of action approaches,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + Razumov did not look up. He did not move till he heard the door of the + drawing-room close behind the greatest of feminists returning to his + painted Egeria. Then he walked down slowly into the hall. The door stood + open, and the shadow of the house was lying aslant over the greatest part + of the terrace. While crossing it slowly, he lifted his hat and wiped his + damp forehead, expelling his breath with force to get rid of the last + vestiges of the air he had been breathing inside. He looked at the palms + of his hands, and rubbed them gently against his thighs. + </p> + <p> + He felt, bizarre as it may seem, as though another self, an independent + sharer of his mind, had been able to view his whole person very distinctly + indeed. “This is curious,” he thought. After a while he formulated his + opinion of it in the mental ejaculation: “Beastly!” This disgust vanished + before a marked uneasiness. “This is an effect of nervous exhaustion,” he + reflected with weary sagacity. “How am I to go on day after day if I have + no more power of resistance—moral resistance?” + </p> + <p> + He followed the path at the foot of the terrace. “Moral resistance, moral + resistance;” he kept on repeating these words mentally. Moral endurance. + Yes, that was the necessity of the situation. An immense longing to make + his way out of these grounds and to the other end of the town, of throwing + himself on his bed and going to sleep for hours, swept everything clean + out of his mind for a moment. “Is it possible that I am but a weak + creature after all?” he asked himself, in sudden alarm. “Eh! What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + He gave a start as if awakened from a dream. He even swayed a little + before recovering himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You stole away from us quietly to walk about here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The lady companion stood before him, but how she came there he had not the + slightest idea. Her folded arms were closely cherishing the cat. + </p> + <p> + “I have been unconscious as I walked, it’s a positive fact,” said Razumov + to himself in wonder. He raised his hat with marked civility. + </p> + <p> + The sallow woman blushed duskily. She had her invariably scared + expression, as if somebody had just disclosed to her some terrible news. + But she held her ground, Razumov noticed, without timidity. “She is + incredibly shabby,” he thought. In the sunlight her black costume looked + greenish, with here and there threadbare patches where the stuff seemed + decomposed by age into a velvety, black, furry state. Her very hair and + eyebrows looked shabby. Razumov wondered whether she were sixty years old. + Her figure, though, was young enough. He observed that she did not appear + starved, but rather as if she had been fed on unwholesome scraps and + leavings of plates. + </p> + <p> + Razumov smiled amiably and moved out of her way. She turned her head to + keep her scared eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you have been told in there,” she affirmed, without + preliminaries. Her tone, in contrast with her manner, had an unexpectedly + assured character which put Razumov at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “Do you? You must have heard all sorts of talk on many occasions in + there.” + </p> + <p> + She varied her phrase, with the same incongruous effect of positiveness. + </p> + <p> + “I know to a certainty what you have been told to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” Razumov shrugged his shoulders a little. He was about to pass on + with a bow, when a sudden thought struck him. “Yes. To be sure! In your + confidential position you are aware of many things,” he murmured, looking + at the cat. + </p> + <p> + That animal got a momentary convulsive hug from the lady companion. + </p> + <p> + “Everything was disclosed to me a long time ago,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” Razumov repeated absently. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Ivanovitch is an awful despot,” she jerked out. + </p> + <p> + Razumov went on studying the stripes on the grey fur of the cat. + </p> + <p> + “An iron will is an integral part of such a temperament. How else could he + be a leader? And I think that you are mistaken in—” + </p> + <p> + “There!” she cried. “You tell me that I am mistaken. But I tell you all + the same that he cares for no one.” She jerked her head up. “Don’t you + bring that girl here. That’s what you have been told to do—to bring + that girl here. Listen to me; you had better tie a stone round her neck + and throw her into the lake.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had a sensation of chill and gloom, as if a heavy cloud had passed + over the sun. + </p> + <p> + “The girl?” he said. “What have I to do with her?” + </p> + <p> + “But you have been told to bring Nathalie Haldin here. Am I not right? Of + course I am right. I was not in the room, but I know. I know Peter + Ivanovitch sufficiently well. He is a great man. Great men are horrible. + Well, that’s it. Have nothing to do with her. That’s the best you can do, + unless you want her to become like me—disillusioned! Disillusioned!” + </p> + <p> + “Like you,” repeated Razumov, glaring at her face, as devoid of all + comeliness of feature and complexion as the most miserable beggar is of + money. He smiled, still feeling chilly: a peculiar sensation which annoyed + him. “Disillusioned as to Peter Ivanovitch! Is that all you have lost?” + </p> + <p> + She declared, looking frightened, but with immense conviction, “Peter + Ivanovitch stands for everything.” Then she added, in another tone, “Keep + the girl away from this house.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you absolutely inciting me to disobey Peter Ivanovitch just + because—because you are disillusioned?” + </p> + <p> + She began to blink. + </p> + <p> + “Directly I saw you for the first time I was comforted. You took your hat + off to me. You looked as if one could trust you. Oh!” + </p> + <p> + She shrank before Razumov’s savage snarl of, “I have heard something like + this before.” + </p> + <p> + She was so confounded that she could do nothing but blink for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “It was your humane manner,” she explained plaintively. “I have been + starving for, I won’t say kindness, but just for a little civility, for I + don’t know how long. And now you are angry....” + </p> + <p> + “But no, on the contrary,” he protested. “I am very glad you trust me. + It’s possible that later on I may...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you were to get ill,” she interrupted eagerly, “or meet some + bitter trouble, you would find I am not a useless fool. You have only to + let me know. I will come to you. I will indeed. And I will stick to you. + Misery and I are old acquaintances—but this life here is worse than + starving.” + </p> + <p> + She paused anxiously, then in a voice for the first time sounding really + timid, she added— + </p> + <p> + “Or if you were engaged in some dangerous work. Sometimes a humble + companion—I would not want to know anything. I would follow you with + joy. I could carry out orders. I have the courage.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked attentively at the scared round eyes, at the withered, + sallow, round cheeks. They were quivering about the corners of the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “She wants to escape from here,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I were to tell you that I am engaged in dangerous work?” he + uttered slowly. + </p> + <p> + She pressed the cat to her threadbare bosom with a breathless exclamation. + “Ah!” Then not much above a whisper: “Under Peter Ivanovitch?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not under Peter Ivanovitch.” + </p> + <p> + He read admiration in her eyes, and made an effort to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Then—alone?” + </p> + <p> + He held up his closed hand with the index raised. “Like this finger,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + She was trembling slightly. But it occurred to Razumov that they might + have been observed from the house, and he became anxious to be gone. She + blinked, raising up to him her puckered face, and seemed to beg mutely to + be told something more, to be given a word of encouragement for her + starving, grotesque, and pathetic devotion. + </p> + <p> + “Can we be seen from the house?” asked Razumov confidentially. + </p> + <p> + She answered, without showing the slightest surprise at the question— + </p> + <p> + “No, we can’t, on account of this end of the stables.” And she added, with + an acuteness which surprised Razumov, “But anybody looking out of an + upstairs window would know that you have not passed through the gates + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s likely to spy out of the window?” queried Razumov. “Peter + Ivanovitch?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Why should he trouble his head?” + </p> + <p> + “He expects somebody this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “You know the person?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s more than one.” + </p> + <p> + She had lowered her eyelids. Razumov looked at her curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. You hear everything they say.” + </p> + <p> + She murmured without any animosity— + </p> + <p> + “So do the tables and chairs.” + </p> + <p> + He understood that the bitterness accumulated in the heart of that + helpless creature had got into her veins, and, like some subtle poison, + had decomposed her fidelity to that hateful pair. It was a great piece of + luck for him, he reflected; because women are seldom venal after the + manner of men, who can be bought for material considerations. She would be + a good ally, though it was not likely that she was allowed to hear as much + as the tables and chairs of the Chateau Borel. That could not be expected. + But still.... And, at any rate, she could be made to talk. + </p> + <p> + When she looked up her eyes met the fixed stare of Razumov, who began to + speak at once. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, dear...but upon my word, I haven’t the pleasure of knowing + your name yet. Isn’t it strange?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time she made a movement of the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Is it strange? No one is told my name. No one cares. No one talks to me, + no one writes to me. My parents don’t even know if I’m alive. I have no + use for a name, and I have almost forgotten it myself.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov murmured gravely, “Yes, but still...” + </p> + <p> + She went on much slower, with indifference— + </p> + <p> + “You may call me Tekla, then. My poor Andrei called me so. I was devoted + to him. He lived in wretchedness and suffering, and died in misery. That + is the lot of all us Russians, nameless Russians. There is nothing else + for us, and no hope anywhere, unless...” + </p> + <p> + “Unless what?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless all these people with names are done away with,” she finished, + blinking and pursing up her lips. + </p> + <p> + “It will be easier to call you Tekla, as you direct me,” said Razumov, “if + you consent to call me Kirylo, when we are talking like this—quietly—only + you and me.” + </p> + <p> + And he said to himself, “Here’s a being who must be terribly afraid of the + world, else she would have run away from this situation before.” Then he + reflected that the mere fact of leaving the great man abruptly would make + her a suspect. She could expect no support or countenance from anyone. + This revolutionist was not fit for an independent existence. + </p> + <p> + She moved with him a few steps, blinking and nursing the cat with a small + balancing movement of her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—only you and I. That’s how I was with my poor Andrei, only he + was dying, killed by these official brutes—while you! You are + strong. You kill the monsters. You have done a great deed. Peter + Ivanovitch himself must consider you. Well—don’t forget me—especially + if you are going back to work in Russia. I could follow you, carrying + anything that was wanted—at a distance, you know. Or I could watch + for hours at the corner of a street if necessary,—in wet or snow—yes, + I could—all day long. Or I could write for you dangerous documents, + lists of names or instructions, so that in case of mischance the + handwriting could not compromise you. And you need not be afraid if they + were to catch me. I would know how to keep dumb. We women are not so + easily daunted by pain. I heard Peter Ivanovitch say it is our blunt + nerves or something. We can stand it better. And it’s true; I would just + as soon bite my tongue out and throw it at them as not. What’s the good of + speech to me? Who would ever want to hear what I could say? Ever since I + closed the eyes of my poor Andrei I haven’t met a man who seemed to care + for the sound of my voice. I should never have spoken to you if the very + first time you appeared here you had not taken notice of me so nicely. I + could not help speaking of you to that charming dear girl. Oh, the sweet + creature! And strong! One can see that at once. If you have a heart don’t + let her set her foot in here. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + Razumov caught her by the arm. Her emotion at being thus seized manifested + itself by a short struggle, after which she stood still, not looking at + him. + </p> + <p> + “But you can tell me,” he spoke in her ear, “why they—these people + in that house there—are so anxious to get hold of her?” + </p> + <p> + She freed herself to turn upon him, as if made angry by the question. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you understand that Peter Ivanovitch must direct, inspire, + influence? It is the breath of his life. There can never be too many + disciples. He can’t bear thinking of anyone escaping him. And a woman, + too! There is nothing to be done without women, he says. He has written + it. He—” + </p> + <p> + The young man was staring at her passion when she broke off suddenly and + ran away behind the stable. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + Razumov, thus left to himself, took the direction of the gate. But on this + day of many conversations, he discovered that very probably he could not + leave the grounds without having to hold another one. + </p> + <p> + Stepping in view from beyond the lodge appeared the expected visitors of + Peter Ivanovitch: a small party composed of two men and a woman. They + noticed him too, immediately, and stopped short as if to consult. But in a + moment the woman, moving aside, motioned with her arm to the two men, who, + leaving the drive at once, struck across the large neglected lawn, or + rather grass-plot, and made directly for the house. The woman remained on + the path waiting for Razumov’s approach. She had recognized him. He, too, + had recognized her at the first glance. He had been made known to her at + Zurich, where he had broken his journey while on his way from Dresden. + They had been much together for the three days of his stay. + </p> + <p> + She was wearing the very same costume in which he had seen her first. A + blouse of crimson silk made her noticeable at a distance. With that she + wore a short brown skirt and a leather belt. Her complexion was the colour + of coffee and milk, but very clear; her eyes black and glittering, her + figure erect. A lot of thick hair, nearly white, was done up loosely under + a dusty Tyrolese hat of dark cloth, which seemed to have lost some of its + trimmings. + </p> + <p> + The expression of her face was grave, intent; so grave that Razumov, after + approaching her close, felt obliged to smile. She greeted him with a manly + hand-grasp. + </p> + <p> + “What! Are you going away?” she exclaimed. “How is that, Razumov?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going away because I haven’t been asked to stay,” Razumov answered, + returning the pressure of her hand with much less force than she had put + into it. + </p> + <p> + She jerked her head sideways like one who understands. Meantime Razumov’s + eyes had strayed after the two men. They were crossing the grass-plot + obliquely, without haste. The shorter of the two was buttoned up in a + narrow overcoat of some thin grey material, which came nearly to his + heels. His companion, much taller and broader, wore a short, close-fitting + jacket and tight trousers tucked into shabby top-boots. + </p> + <p> + The woman, who had sent them out of Razumov’s way apparently, spoke in a + businesslike voice. + </p> + <p> + “I had to come rushing from Zurich on purpose to meet the train and take + these two along here to see Peter Ivanovitch. I’ve just managed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! indeed,” Razumov said perfunctorily, and very vexed at her staying + behind to talk to him “From Zurich—yes, of course. And these two, + they come from....” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted, without emphasis— + </p> + <p> + “From quite another direction. From a distance, too. A considerable + distance.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov shrugged his shoulders. The two men from a distance, after having + reached the wall of the terrace, disappeared suddenly at its foot as if + the earth had opened to swallow them up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, they have just come from America.” The woman in the crimson + blouse shrugged her shoulders too a little before making that statement. + “The time is drawing near,” she interjected, as if speaking to herself. “I + did not tell them who you were. Yakovlitch would have wanted to embrace + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that he with the wisp of hair hanging from his chin, in the long + coat?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve guessed aright. That’s Yakovlitch.” + </p> + <p> + “And they could not find their way here from the station without you + coming on purpose from Zurich to show it to them? Verily, without women we + can do nothing. So it stands written, and apparently so it is.” + </p> + <p> + He was conscious of an immense lassitude under his effort to be sarcastic. + And he could see that she had detected it with those steady, brilliant + black eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Nothing. I’ve had a devil of a day.” + </p> + <p> + She waited, with her black eyes fixed on his face. Then— + </p> + <p> + “What of that? You men are so impressionable and self-conscious. One day + is like another, hard, hard—and there’s an end of it, till the great + day comes. I came over for a very good reason. They wrote to warn Peter + Ivanovitch of their arrival. But where from? Only from Cherbourg on a bit + of ship’s notepaper. Anybody could have done that. Yakovlitch has lived + for years and years in America. I am the only one at hand who had known + him well in the old days. I knew him very well indeed. So Peter Ivanovitch + telegraphed, asking me to come. It’s natural enough, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “You came to vouch for his identity?” inquired Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Something of the kind. Fifteen years of a life like his make changes + in a man. Lonely, like a crow in a strange country. When I think of + Yakovlitch before he went to America—” + </p> + <p> + The softness of the low tone caused Razumov to glance at her sideways. She + sighed; her black eyes were looking away; she had plunged the fingers of + her right hand deep into the mass of nearly white hair, and stirred them + there absently. When she withdrew her hand the little hat perched on the + top of her head remained slightly tilted, with a queer inquisitive effect, + contrasting strongly with the reminiscent murmur that escaped her. + </p> + <p> + “We were not in our first youth even then. But a man is a child always.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov thought suddenly, “They have been living together.” Then aloud— + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you follow him to America?” he asked point-blank. + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with a perturbed air. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you remember what was going on fifteen years ago? It was a time of + activity. The Revolution has its history by this time. You are in it and + yet you don’t seem to know it. Yakovlitch went away then on a mission; I + went back to Russia. It had to be so. Afterwards there was nothing for him + to come back to.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! indeed,” muttered Razumov, with affected surprise. “Nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you trying to insinuate” she exclaimed quickly. “Well, and what + then if he did get discouraged a little....” + </p> + <p> + “He looks like a Yankee, with that goatee hanging from his chin. A regular + Uncle Sam,” growled Razumov. “Well, and you? You who went to Russia? You + did not get discouraged.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Yakovlitch is a man who cannot be doubted. He, at any rate, + is the right sort.” + </p> + <p> + Her black, penetrating gaze remained fixed upon Razumov while she spoke, + and for a moment afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” Razumov inquired coldly, “but does it mean that you, for + instance, think that I am not the right sort?” + </p> + <p> + She made no protest, gave no sign of having heard the question; she + continued looking at him in a manner which he judged not to be absolutely + unfriendly. In Zurich when he passed through she had taken him under her + charge, in a way, and was with him from morning till night during his stay + of two days. She took him round to see several people. At first she talked + to him a great deal and rather unreservedly, but always avoiding all + reference to herself; towards the middle of the second day she fell + silent, attending him zealously as before, and even seeing him off at the + railway station, where she pressed his hand firmly through the lowered + carriage window, and, stepping back without a word, waited till the train + moved. He had noticed that she was treated with quiet regard. He knew + nothing of her parentage, nothing of her private history or political + record; he judged her from his own private point of view, as being a + distinct danger in his path. “Judged” is not perhaps the right word. It + was more of a feeling, the summing up of slight impressions aided by the + discovery that he could not despise her as he despised all the others. He + had not expected to see her again so soon. + </p> + <p> + No, decidedly; her expression was not unfriendly. Yet he perceived an + acceleration in the beat of his heart. The conversation could not be + abandoned at that point. He went on in accents of scrupulous inquiry— + </p> + <p> + “Is it perhaps because I don’t seem to accept blindly every development of + the general doctrine—such for instance as the feminism of our great + Peter Ivanovitch? If that is what makes me suspect, then I can only say I + would scorn to be a slave even to an idea.” + </p> + <p> + She had been looking at him all the time, not as a listener looks at one, + but as if the words he chose to say were only of secondary interest. When + he finished she slipped her hand, by a sudden and decided movement, under + his arm and impelled him gently towards the gate of the grounds. He felt + her firmness and obeyed the impulsion at once, just as the other two men + had, a moment before, obeyed unquestioningly the wave of her hand. + </p> + <p> + They made a few steps like this. + </p> + <p> + “No, Razumov, your ideas are probably all right,” she said. “You may be + valuable—very valuable. What’s the matter with you is that you don’t + like us.” + </p> + <p> + She released him. He met her with a frosty smile. + </p> + <p> + “Am I expected then to have love as well as convictions?” + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You know very well what I mean. People have been thinking you not quite + whole-hearted. I have heard that opinion from one side and another. But I + have understood you at the end of the first day....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov interrupted her, speaking steadily. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that your perspicacity is at fault here.” + </p> + <p> + “What phrases he uses!” she exclaimed parenthetically. “Ah! Kirylo + Sidorovitch, you like other men are fastidious, full of self-love and + afraid of trifles. Moreover, you had no training. What you want is to be + taken in hand by some woman. I am sorry I am not staying here a few days. + I am going back to Zurich to-morrow, and shall take Yakovlitch with me + most likely.” + </p> + <p> + This information relieved Razumov. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry too,” he said. “But, all the same, I don’t think you + understand me.” + </p> + <p> + He breathed more freely; she did not protest, but asked, “And how did you + get on with Peter Ivanovitch? You have seen a good deal of each other. How + is it between you two?” + </p> + <p> + Not knowing what answer to make, the young man inclined his head slowly. + </p> + <p> + Her lips had been parted in expectation. She pressed them together, and + seemed to reflect. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right.” + </p> + <p> + This had a sound of finality, but she did not leave him. It was impossible + to guess what she had in her mind. Razumov muttered— + </p> + <p> + “It is not of me that you should have asked that question. In a moment you + shall see Peter Ivanovitch himself, and the subject will come up + naturally. He will be curious to know what has delayed you so long in this + garden.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt Peter Ivanovitch will have something to say to me. Several + things. He may even speak of you—question me. Peter Ivanovitch is + inclined to trust me generally.” + </p> + <p> + “Question you? That’s very likely.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, half serious. + </p> + <p> + “Well—and what shall I say to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. You may tell him of your discovery.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—my lack of love for....” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That’s between ourselves,” she interrupted, it was hard to say + whether in jest or earnest. + </p> + <p> + “I see that you want to tell Peter Ivanovitch something in my favour,” + said Razumov, with grim playfulness. “Well, then, you can tell him that I + am very much in earnest about my mission. I mean to succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been given a mission!” she exclaimed quickly. + </p> + <p> + “It amounts to that. I have been told to bring about a certain event.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him searchingly. + </p> + <p> + “A mission,” she repeated, very grave and interested all at once. “What + sort of mission?” + </p> + <p> + “Something in the nature of propaganda work.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Far away from here?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Not very far,” said Razumov, restraining a sudden desire to laugh, + although he did not feel joyous in the least. + </p> + <p> + “So!” she said thoughtfully. “Well, I am not asking questions. It’s + sufficient that Peter Ivanovitch should know what each of us is doing. + Everything is bound to come right in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think, young man. I just simply believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it to Peter Ivanovitch that you owe that faith?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer the question, and they stood idle, silent, as if + reluctant to part with each other. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just like a man,” she murmured at last. “As if it were possible to + tell how a belief comes to one.” Her thin Mephistophelian eyebrows moved a + little. “Truly there are millions of people in Russia who would envy the + life of dogs in this country. It is a horror and a shame to confess this + even between ourselves. One must believe for very pity. This can’t go on. + No! It can’t go on. For twenty years I have been coming and going, looking + neither to the left nor to the right.... What are you smiling to yourself + for? You are only at the beginning. You have begun well, but you just wait + till you have trodden every particle of yourself under your feet in your + comings and goings. For that is what it comes to. You’ve got to trample + down every particle of your own feelings; for stop you cannot, you must + not. I have been young, too—but perhaps you think that I am + complaining-eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think anything of the sort,” protested Razumov indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you don’t, you dear superior creature. You don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + She plunged her fingers into the bunch of hair on the left side, and that + brusque movement had the effect of setting the Tyrolese hat straight on + her head. She frowned under it without animosity, in the manner of an + investigator. Razumov averted his face carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “You men are all alike. You mistake luck for merit. You do it in good + faith too! I would not be too hard on you. It’s masculine nature. You men + are ridiculously pitiful in your aptitude to cherish childish illusions + down to the very grave. There are a lot of us who have been at work for + fifteen years—I mean constantly—trying one way after another, + underground and above ground, looking neither to the right nor to the + left! I can talk about it. I have been one of these that never rested.... + There! What’s the use of talking.... Look at my grey hairs! And here two + babies come along—I mean you and Haldin—you come along and + manage to strike a blow at the very first try.” + </p> + <p> + At the name of Haldin falling from the rapid and energetic lips of the + woman revolutionist, Razumov had the usual brusque consciousness of the + irrevocable. But in all the months which had passed over his head he had + become hardened to the experience. The consciousness was no longer + accompanied by the blank dismay and the blind anger of the early days. He + had argued himself into new beliefs; and he had made for himself a mental + atmosphere of gloomy and sardonic reverie, a sort of murky medium through + which the event appeared like a featureless shadow having vaguely the + shape of a man; a shape extremely familiar, yet utterly inexpressive, + except for its air of discreet waiting in the dusk. It was not alarming. + </p> + <p> + “What was he like?” the woman revolutionist asked unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “What was he like?” echoed Razumov, making a painful effort not to turn + upon her savagely. But he relieved himself by laughing a little while he + stole a glance at her out of the corners of his eyes. This reception of + her inquiry disturbed her. + </p> + <p> + “How like a woman,” he went on. “What is the good of concerning yourself + with his appearance? Whatever it was, he is removed beyond all feminine + influences now.” + </p> + <p> + A frown, making three folds at the root of her nose, accentuated the + Mephistophelian slant of her eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “You suffer, Razumov,” she suggested, in her low, confident voice. + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” Razumov faced the woman fairly. “But now I think of it, I + am not sure that he is beyond the influence of one woman at least; the one + over there—Madame de S—, you know. Formerly the dead were + allowed to rest, but now it seems they are at the beck and call of a crazy + old harridan. We revolutionists make wonderful discoveries. It is true + that they are not exactly our own. We have nothing of our own. But + couldn’t the friend of Peter Ivanovitch satisfy your feminine curiosity? + Couldn’t she conjure him up for you?”—he jested like a man in pain. + </p> + <p> + Her concentrated frowning expression relaxed, and she said, a little + wearily, “Let us hope she will make an effort and conjure up some tea for + us. But that is by no means certain. I am tired, Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + “You tired! What a confession! Well, there has been tea up there. I had + some. If you hurry on after Yakovlitch, instead of wasting your time with + such an unsatisfactory sceptical person as myself, you may find the ghost + of it—the cold ghost of it—still lingering in the temple. But + as to you being tired I can hardly believe it. We are not supposed to be. + We mustn’t, We can’t. The other day I read in some paper or other an + alarmist article on the tireless activity of the revolutionary parties. It + impresses the world. It’s our prestige.” + </p> + <p> + “He flings out continually these flouts and sneers;” the woman in the + crimson blouse spoke as if appealing quietly to a third person, but her + black eyes never left Razumov’s face. “And what for, pray? Simply because + some of his conventional notions are shocked, some of his petty masculine + standards. You might think he was one of these nervous sensitives that + come to a bad end. And yet,” she went on, after a short, reflective pause + and changing the mode of her address, “and yet I have just learned + something which makes me think that you are a man of character, Kirylo + Sidorovitch. Yes! indeed—you are.” + </p> + <p> + The mysterious positiveness of this assertion startled Razumov. Their eyes + met. He looked away and, through the bars of the rusty gate, stared at the + clean, wide road shaded by the leafy trees. An electric tramcar, quite + empty, ran along the avenue with a metallic rustle. It seemed to him he + would have given anything to be sitting inside all alone. He was + inexpressibly weary, weary in every fibre of his body, but he had a reason + for not being the first to break off the conversation. At any instant, in + the visionary and criminal babble of revolutionists, some momentous words + might fall on his ear; from her lips, from anybody’s lips. As long as he + managed to preserve a clear mind and to keep down his irritability there + was nothing to fear. The only condition of success and safety was + indomitable will-power, he reminded himself. + </p> + <p> + He longed to be on the other side of the bars, as though he were actually + a prisoner within the grounds of this centre of revolutionary plots, of + this house of folly, of blindness, of villainy and crime. Silently he + indulged his wounded spirit in a feeling of immense moral and mental + remoteness. He did not even smile when he heard her repeat the words— + </p> + <p> + “Yes! A strong character.” + </p> + <p> + He continued to gaze through the bars like a moody prisoner, not thinking + of escape, but merely pondering upon the faded memories of freedom. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t look out,” he mumbled, still looking away, “you shall + certainly miss seeing as much as the mere ghost of that tea.” + </p> + <p> + She was not to be shaken off in such a way. As a matter of fact he had not + expected to succeed. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, it will be no great loss. I mean the missing of her tea and + only the ghost of it at that. As to the lady, you must understand that she + has her positive uses. See <i>that</i>, Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his head at this imperative appeal and saw the woman + revolutionist making the motions of counting money into the palm of her + hand. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what it is. You see?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov uttered a slow “I see,” and returned to his prisoner-like gazing + upon the neat and shady road. + </p> + <p> + “Material means must be obtained in some way, and this is easier than + breaking into banks. More certain too. There! I am joking.... What is he + muttering to himself now?” she cried under her breath. + </p> + <p> + “My admiration of Peter Ivanovitch’s devoted self-sacrifice, that’s all. + It’s enough to make one sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you squeamish, masculine creature. Sick! Makes him sick! And what do + you know of the truth of it? There’s no looking into the secrets of the + heart. Peter Ivanovitch knew her years ago, in his worldly days, when he + was a young officer in the Guards. It is not for us to judge an inspired + person. That’s where you men have an advantage. You are inspired sometimes + both in thought and action. I have always admitted that when you <i>are</i> + inspired, when you manage to throw off your masculine cowardice and + prudishness you are not to be equalled by us. Only, how seldom.... Whereas + the silliest woman can always be made of use. And why? Because we have + passion, unappeasable passion.... I should like to know what he is smiling + at?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not smiling,” protested Razumov gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Well! How is one to call it? You made some sort of face. Yes, I know! You + men can love here and hate there and desire something or other—and + you make a great to-do about it, and you call it passion! Yes! While it + lasts. But we women are in love with love, and with hate, with these very + things I tell you, and with desire itself. That’s why we can’t be bribed + off so easily as you men. In life, you see, there is not much choice. You + have either to rot or to burn. And there is not one of us, painted or + unpainted, that would not rather burn than rot.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with energy, but in a matter-of-fact tone. Razumov’s attention + had wandered away on a track of its own—outside the bars of the gate—but + not out of earshot. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Rot or burn! Powerfully stated. Painted or unpainted. Very vigorous. + Painted or...Do tell me—she would be infernally jealous of him, + wouldn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? What? The Baroness? Eleanor Maximovna? Jealous of Peter Ivanovitch? + Heavens! Are these the questions the man’s mind is running on? Such a + thing is not to be thought of.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Can’t a wealthy old woman be jealous? Or, are they all pure spirits + together?” + </p> + <p> + “But what put it into your head to ask such a question?” she wondered. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I just asked. Masculine frivolity, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like,” she retorted at once. “It is not the time to be frivolous. + What are you flinging your very heart against? Or, perhaps, you are only + playing a part.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had felt that woman’s observation of him like a physical contact, + like a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. At that moment he received + the mysterious impression of her having made up her mind for a closer + grip. He stiffened himself inwardly to bear it without betraying himself. + </p> + <p> + “Playing a Part,” he repeated, presenting to her an unmoved profile. “It + must be done very badly since you see through the assumption.” + </p> + <p> + She watched him, her forehead drawn into perpendicular folds, the thin + black eyebrows diverging upwards like the antennae of an insect. He added + hardly audibly— + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken. I am doing it no more than the rest of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is doing it?” she snapped out. + </p> + <p> + “Who? Everybody,” he said impatiently. “You are a materialist, aren’t + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! My dear soul, I have outlived all that nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must remember the definition of Cabanis: ‘Man is a digestive + tube.’ I imagine now....” + </p> + <p> + “I spit on him.” + </p> + <p> + “What? On Cabanis? All right. But you can’t ignore the importance of a + good digestion. The joy of life—you know the joy of life?—depends + on a sound stomach, whereas a bad digestion inclines one to scepticism, + breeds black fancies and thoughts of death. These are facts ascertained by + physiologists. Well, I assure you that ever since I came over from Russia + I have been stuffed with indigestible foreign concoctions of the most + nauseating kind—pah!” + </p> + <p> + “You are joking,” she murmured incredulously. He assented in a detached + way. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is all a joke. It’s hardly worth while talking to a man like me. + Yet for that very reason men have been known to take their own life.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I think it is worth while talking to you.” + </p> + <p> + He kept her in the corner of his eye. She seemed to be thinking out some + scathing retort, but ended by only shrugging her shoulders slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Shallow talk! I suppose one must pardon this weakness in you,” she said, + putting a special accent on the last word. There was something anxious in + her indulgent conclusion. + </p> + <p> + Razumov noted the slightest shades in this conversation, which he had not + expected, for which he was not prepared. That was it. “I was not + prepared,” he said to himself. “It has taken me unawares.” It seemed to + him that if he only could allow himself to pant openly like a dog for a + time this oppression would pass away. “I shall never be found prepared,” + he thought, with despair. He laughed a little, saying as lightly as he + could— + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I don’t ask for mercy.” Then affecting a playful uneasiness, “But + aren’t you afraid Peter Ivanovitch might suspect us of plotting something + unauthorized together by the gate here?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not afraid. You are quite safe from suspicions while you are + with me, my dear young man.” The humorous gleam in her black eyes went + out. “Peter Ivanovitch trusts me,” she went on, quite austerely. “He takes + my advice. I am his right hand, as it were, in certain most important + things.... That amuses you what? Do you think I am boasting?” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid. I was just only saying to myself that Peter Ivanovitch seems + to have solved the woman question pretty completely.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke he reproached himself for his words, for his tone. All + day long he had been saying the wrong things. It was folly, worse than + folly. It was weakness; it was this disease of perversity overcoming his + will. Was this the way to meet speeches which certainly contained the + promise of future confidences from that woman who apparently had a great + store of secret knowledge and so much influence? Why give her this + puzzling impression? But she did not seem inimical. There was no anger in + her voice. It was strangely speculative. + </p> + <p> + “One does not know what to think, Razumov. You must have bitten something + bitter in your cradle.” Razumov gave her a sidelong glance. + </p> + <p> + “H’m! Something bitter? That’s an explanation,” he muttered. “Only it was + much later. And don’t you think, Sophia Antonovna, that you and I come + from the same cradle?” + </p> + <p> + The woman, whose name he had forced himself at last to pronounce (he had + experienced a strong repugnance in letting it pass his lips), the woman + revolutionist murmured, after a pause— + </p> + <p> + “You mean—Russia?” + </p> + <p> + He disdained even to nod. She seemed softened, her black eyes very still, + as though she were pursuing the simile in her thoughts to all its tender + associations. But suddenly she knitted her brows in a Mephistophelian + frown. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Perhaps no wonder, then. Yes. One lies there lapped up in evils, + watched over by beings that are worse than ogres, ghouls, and vampires. + They must be driven away, destroyed utterly. In regard of that task + nothing else matters if men and women are determined and faithful. That’s + how I came to feel in the end. The great thing is not to quarrel amongst + ourselves about all sorts of conventional trifles. Remember that, + Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov was not listening. He had even lost the sense of being watched in + a sort of heavy tranquillity. His uneasiness, his exasperation, his scorn + were blunted at last by all these trying hours. It seemed to him that now + they were blunted for ever. “I am a match for them all,” he thought, with + a conviction too firm to be exulting. The woman revolutionist had ceased + speaking; he was not looking at her; there was no one passing along the + road. He almost forgot that he was not alone. He heard her voice again, + curt, businesslike, and yet betraying the hesitation which had been the + real reason of her prolonged silence. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Razumov!” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, whose face was turned away from her, made a grimace like a man + who hears a false note. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me: is it true that on the very morning of the deed you actually + attended the lectures at the University?” + </p> + <p> + An appreciable fraction of a second elapsed before the real import of the + question reached him, like a bullet which strikes some time after the + flash of the fired shot. Luckily his disengaged hand was ready to grip a + bar of the gate. He held it with a terrible force, but his presence of + mind was gone. He could make only a sort of gurgling, grumpy sound. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Kirylo Sidorovitch!” she urged him. “I know you are not a boastful + man. <i>That</i> one must say for you. You are a silent man. Too silent, + perhaps. You are feeding on some bitterness of your own. You are not an + enthusiast. You are, perhaps, all the stronger for that. But you might + tell me. One would like to understand you a little more. I was so + immensely struck.... Have you really done it?” + </p> + <p> + He got his voice back. The shot had missed him. It had been fired at + random, altogether, more like a signal for coming to close quarters. It + was to be a plain struggle for self-preservation. And she was a dangerous + adversary too. But he was ready for battle; he was so ready that when he + turned towards her not a muscle of his face moved. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said, without animation, secretly strung up but perfectly + sure of himself. “Lectures—certainly, But what makes you ask?” + </p> + <p> + It was she who was animated. + </p> + <p> + “I had it in a letter, written by a young man in Petersburg; one of us, of + course. You were seen—you were observed with your notebook, + impassible, taking notes....” + </p> + <p> + He enveloped her with his fixed stare. + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” + </p> + <p> + “I call such coolness superb—that’s all. It is a proof of uncommon + strength of character. The young man writes that nobody could have guessed + from your face and manner the part you had played only some two hours + before—the great, momentous, glorious part....” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. Nobody could have guessed,” assented Razumov gravely, “because, + don’t you see, nobody at that time....” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. But all the same you are a man of exceptional fortitude, it + seems. You looked exactly as usual. It was remembered afterwards with + wonder....” + </p> + <p> + “It cost me no effort,” Razumov declared, with the same staring gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s almost more wonderful still!” she exclaimed, and fell silent + while Razumov asked himself whether he had not said there something + utterly unnecessary—or even worse. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Your intention was to stay in Russia? You had planned....” + </p> + <p> + “No,” interrupted Razumov without haste. “I had made no plans of any + sort.” + </p> + <p> + “You just simply walked away?” she struck in. + </p> + <p> + He bowed his head in slow assent. “Simply—yes.” He had gradually + released his hold on the bar of the gate, as though he had acquired the + conviction that no random shot could knock him over now. And suddenly he + was inspired to add, “The snow was coming down very thick, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She had a slight appreciative movement of the head, like an expert in such + enterprises, very interested, capable of taking every point + professionally. Razumov remembered something he had heard. + </p> + <p> + “I turned into a narrow side street, you understand,” he went on + negligently, and paused as if it were not worth talking about. Then he + remembered another detail and dropped it before her, like a disdainful + dole to her curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “I felt inclined to lie down and go to sleep there.” + </p> + <p> + She clicked her tongue at that symptom, very struck indeed. Then— + </p> + <p> + “But the notebook! The amazing notebook, man. You don’t mean to say you + had put it in your pocket beforehand!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Razumov gave a start. It might have been a sign of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “I went home. Straight home to my rooms,” he said distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “The coolness of the man! You dared?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I assure you I was perfectly calm. Ha! Calmer than I am now + perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “I like you much better as you are now than when you indulge that bitter + vein of yours, Razumov. And nobody in the house saw you return—eh? + That might have appeared queer.” + </p> + <p> + “No one,” Razumov said firmly. “Dvornik, landlady, girl, all out of the + way. I went up like a shadow. It was a murky morning. The stairs were + dark. I glided up like a phantom. Fate? Luck? What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I just see it!” The eyes of the woman revolutionist snapped darkly. “Well—and + then you considered....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had it all ready in his head. + </p> + <p> + “No. I looked at my watch, since you want to know. There was just time. I + took that notebook, and ran down the stairs on tiptoe. Have you ever + listened to the pit-pat of a man running round and round the shaft of a + deep staircase? They have a gaslight at the bottom burning night and day. + I suppose it’s gleaming down there now.... The sound dies out—the + flame winks....” + </p> + <p> + He noticed the vacillation of surprise passing over the steady curiosity + of the black eyes fastened on his face as if the woman revolutionist + received the sound of his voice into her pupils instead of her ears. He + checked himself, passed his hand over his forehead, confused, like a man + who has been dreaming aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Where could a student be running if not to his lectures in the morning? + At night it’s another matter. I did not care if all the house had been + there to look at me. But I don’t suppose there was anyone. It’s best not + to be seen or heard. Aha! The people that are neither seen nor heard are + the lucky ones—in Russia. Don’t you admire my luck?” + </p> + <p> + “Astonishing,” she said. “If you have luck as well as determination, then + indeed you are likely to turn out an invaluable acquisition for the work + in hand.” + </p> + <p> + Her tone was earnest; and it seemed to Razumov that it was speculative, + even as though she were already apportioning him, in her mind, his share + of the work. Her eyes were cast down. He waited, not very alert now, but + with the grip of the ever-present danger giving him an air of attentive + gravity. Who could have written about him in that letter from Petersburg? + A fellow student, surely—some imbecile victim of revolutionary + propaganda, some foolish slave of foreign, subversive ideals. A long, + famine-stricken, red-nosed figure presented itself to his mental search. + That must have been the fellow! + </p> + <p> + He smiled inwardly at the absolute wrong-headedness of the whole thing, + the self-deception of a criminal idealist shattering his existence like a + thunder-clap out of a clear sky, and re-echoing amongst the wreckage in + the false assumptions of those other fools. Fancy that hungry and piteous + imbecile furnishing to the curiosity of the revolutionist refugees this + utterly fantastic detail! He appreciated it as by no means constituting a + danger. On the contrary. As things stood it was for his advantage rather, + a piece of sinister luck which had only to be accepted with proper + caution. + </p> + <p> + “And yet, Razumov,” he heard the musing voice of the woman, “you have not + the face of a lucky man.” She raised her eyes with renewed interest. “And + so that was the way of it. After doing your work you simply walked off and + made for your rooms. That sort of thing succeeds sometimes. I suppose it + was agreed beforehand that, once the business over, each of you would go + his own way?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov preserved the seriousness of his expression and the deliberate, if + cautious, manner of speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Was not that the best thing to do?” he asked, in a dispassionate tone. + “And anyway,” he added, after waiting a moment, “we did not give much + thought to what would come after. We never discussed formally any line of + conduct. It was understood, I think.” + </p> + <p> + She approved his statement with slight nods. + </p> + <p> + “You, of course, wished to remain in Russia?” + </p> + <p> + “In St. Petersburg itself,” emphasized Razumov. “It was the only safe + course for me. And, moreover, I had nowhere else to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Yes! I know. Clearly. And the other—this wonderful Haldin + appearing only to be regretted—you don’t know what he intended?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had foreseen that such a question would certainly come to meet him + sooner or later. He raised his hands a little and let them fall helplessly + by his side—nothing more. + </p> + <p> + It was the white-haired woman conspirator who was the first to break the + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Very curious,” she pronounced slowly. “And you did not think, Kirylo + Sidorovitch, that he might perhaps wish to get in touch with you again?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov discovered that he could not suppress the trembling of his lips. + But he thought that he owed it to himself to speak. A negative sign would + not do again. Speak he must, if only to get at the bottom of what that St. + Petersburg letter might have contained. + </p> + <p> + “I stayed at home next day,” he said, bending down a little and plunging + his glance into the black eyes of the woman so that she should not observe + the trembling of his lips. “Yes, I stayed at home. As my actions are + remembered and written about, then perhaps you are aware that I was <i>not</i> + seen at the lectures next day. Eh? You didn’t know? Well, I stopped at + home-the live-long day.” + </p> + <p> + As if moved by his agitated tone, she murmured a sympathetic “I see! It + must have been trying enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to understand one’s feelings,” said Razumov steadily. “It was + trying. It was horrible; it was an atrocious day. It was not the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand. Afterwards, when you heard they had got him. Don’t I + know how one feels after losing a comrade in the good fight? One’s ashamed + of being left. And I can remember so many. Never mind. They shall be + avenged before long. And what is death? At any rate, it is not a shameful + thing like some kinds of life.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt something stir in his breast, a sort of feeble and unpleasant + tremor. + </p> + <p> + “Some kinds of life?” he repeated, looking at her searchingly. + </p> + <p> + “The subservient, submissive life. Life? No! Vegetation on the filthy heap + of iniquity which the world is. Life, Razumov, not to be vile must be a + revolt—a pitiless protest—all the time.” + </p> + <p> + She calmed down, the gleam of suffused tears in her eyes dried out + instantly by the heat of her passion, and it was in her capable, + businesslike manner that she went on— + </p> + <p> + “You understand me, Razumov. You are not an enthusiast, but there is an + immense force of revolt in you. I felt it from the first, directly I set + my eyes on you—you remember—in Zurich. Oh! You are full of + bitter revolt. That is good. Indignation flags sometimes, revenge itself + may become a weariness, but that uncompromising sense of necessity and + justice which armed your and Haldin’s hands to strike down that fanatical + brute...for it was that—nothing but that! I have been thinking it + out. It could have been nothing else but that.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov made a slight bow, the irony of which was concealed by an almost + sinister immobility of feature. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t speak for the dead. As for myself, I can assure you that my + conduct was dictated by necessity and by the sense of—well—retributive + justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, that,” he said to himself, while her eyes rested upon him, black + and impenetrable like the mental caverns where revolutionary thought + should sit plotting the violent way of its dream of changes. As if + anything could be changed! In this world of men nothing can be changed—neither + happiness nor misery. They can only be displaced at the cost of corrupted + consciences and broken lives—a futile game for arrogant philosophers + and sanguinary triflers. Those thoughts darted through Razumov’s head + while he stood facing the old revolutionary hand, the respected, trusted, + and influential Sophia Antonovna, whose word had such a weight in the + “active” section of every party. She was much more representative than the + great Peter Ivanovitch. Stripped of rhetoric, mysticism, and theories, she + was the true spirit of destructive revolution. And she was the personal + adversary he had to meet. It gave him a feeling of triumphant pleasure to + deceive her out of her own mouth. The epigrammatic saying that speech has + been given to us for the purpose of concealing our thoughts came into his + mind. Of that cynical theory this was a very subtle and a very scornful + application, flouting in its own words the very spirit of ruthless + revolution, embodied in that woman with her white hair and black eyebrows, + like slightly sinuous lines of Indian ink, drawn together by the + perpendicular folds of a thoughtful frown. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it. Retributive. No pity!” was the conclusion of her silence. And + this once broken, she went on impulsively in short, vibrating sentences— + </p> + <p> + “Listen to my story, Razumov!...” Her father was a clever but unlucky + artisan. No joy had lighted up his laborious days. He died at fifty; all + the years of his life he had panted under the thumb of masters whose + rapacity exacted from him the price of the water, of the salt, of the very + air he breathed; taxed the sweat of his brow and claimed the blood of his + sons. No protection, no guidance! What had society to say to him? Be + submissive and be honest. If you rebel I shall kill you. If you steal I + shall imprison you. But if you suffer I have nothing for you—nothing + except perhaps a beggarly dole of bread—but no consolation for your + trouble, no respect for your manhood, no pity for the sorrows of your + miserable life. + </p> + <p> + And so he laboured, he suffered, and he died. He died in the hospital. + Standing by the common grave she thought of his tormented existence—she + saw it whole. She reckoned the simple joys of life, the birthright of the + humblest, of which his gentle heart had been robbed by the crime of a + society which nothing can absolve. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Razumov,” she continued, in an impressive, lowered voice, “it was + like a lurid light in which I stood, still almost a child, and cursed not + the toil, not the misery which had been his lot, but the great social + iniquity of the system resting on unrequited toil and unpitied sufferings. + From that moment I was a revolutionist.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, trying to raise himself above the dangerous weaknesses of + contempt or compassion, had preserved an impassive countenance. She, with + an unaffected touch of mere bitterness, the first he could notice since he + had come in contact with the woman, went on— + </p> + <p> + “As I could not go to the Church where the priests of the system exhorted + such unconsidered vermin as I to resignation, I went to the secret + societies as soon as I knew how to find my way. I was sixteen years old—no + more, Razumov! And—look at my white hair.” + </p> + <p> + In these last words there was neither pride nor sadness. The bitterness + too was gone. + </p> + <p> + “There is a lot of it. I had always magnificent hair, even as a chit of a + girl. Only, at that time we were cutting it short and thinking that there + was the first step towards crushing the social infamy. Crush the Infamy! A + fine watchword! I would placard it on the walls of prisons and palaces, + carve it on hard rocks, hang it out in letters of fire on that empty sky + for a sign of hope and terror—a portent of the end....” + </p> + <p> + “You are eloquent, Sophia Antonovna,” Razumov interrupted suddenly. “Only, + so far you seem to have been writing it in water....” + </p> + <p> + She was checked but not offended. “Who knows? Very soon it may become a + fact written all over that great land of ours,” she hinted meaningly. “And + then one would have lived long enough. White hair won’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked at her white hair: and this mark of so many uneasy years + seemed nothing but a testimony to the invincible vigour of revolt. It + threw out into an astonishing relief the unwrinkled face, the brilliant + black glance, the upright compact figure, the simple, brisk + self-possession of the mature personality—as though in her + revolutionary pilgrimage she had discovered the secret, not of everlasting + youth, but of everlasting endurance. + </p> + <p> + How un-Russian she looked, thought Razumov. Her mother might have been a + Jewess or an Armenian or devil knew what. He reflected that a + revolutionist is seldom true to the settled type. All revolt is the + expression of strong individualism—ran his thought vaguely. One can + tell them a mile off in any society, in any surroundings. It was + astonishing that the police.... + </p> + <p> + “We shall not meet again very soon, I think,” she was saying. “I am + leaving to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “For Zurich?” Razumov asked casually, but feeling relieved, not from any + distinct apprehension, but from a feeling of stress as if after a + wrestling match. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Zurich—and farther on, perhaps, much farther. Another journey. + When I think of all my journeys! The last must come some day. Never mind, + Razumov. We had to have a good long talk. I would have certainly tried to + see you if we had not met. Peter Ivanovitch knows where you live? Yes. I + meant to have asked him—but it’s better like this. You see, we + expect two more men; and I had much rather wait here talking with you than + up there at the house with....” + </p> + <p> + Having cast a glance beyond the gate, she interrupted herself. “Here they + are,” she said rapidly. “Well, Kirylo Sidorovitch, we shall have to say + good-bye, presently.” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + In his incertitude of the ground on which he stood Razumov felt perturbed. + Turning his head quickly, he saw two men on the opposite side of the road. + Seeing themselves noticed by Sophia Antonovna, they crossed over at once, + and passed one after another through the little gate by the side of the + empty lodge. They looked hard at the stranger, but without mistrust, the + crimson blouse being a flaring safety signal. The first, great white + hairless face, double chin, prominent stomach, which he seemed to carry + forward consciously within a strongly distended overcoat, only nodded and + averted his eyes peevishly; his companion—lean, flushed cheekbones, + a military red moustache below a sharp, salient nose—approached at + once Sophia Antonovna, greeting her warmly. His voice was very strong but + inarticulate. It sounded like a deep buzzing. The woman revolutionist was + quietly cordial. + </p> + <p> + “This is Razumov,” she announced in a clear voice. + </p> + <p> + The lean new-comer made an eager half-turn. “He will want to embrace me,” + thought our young man with a deep recoil of all his being, while his limbs + seemed too heavy to move. But it was a groundless alarm. He had to do now + with a generation of conspirators who did not kiss each other on both + cheeks; and raising an arm that felt like lead he dropped his hand into a + largely-outstretched palm, fleshless and hot as if dried up by fever, + giving a bony pressure, expressive, seeming to say, “Between us there’s no + need of words.” The man had big, wide-open eyes. Razumov fancied he could + see a smile behind their sadness. + </p> + <p> + “This is Razumov,” Sophia Antonovna repeated loudly for the benefit of the + fat man, who at some distance displayed the profile of his stomach. + </p> + <p> + No one moved. Everything, sounds, attitudes, movements, and immobility + seemed to be part of an experiment, the result of which was a thin voice + piping with comic peevishness— + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! Razumov. We have been hearing of nothing but Mr. Razumov for + months. For my part, I confess I would rather have seen Haldin on this + spot instead of Mr. Razumov.” + </p> + <p> + The squeaky stress put on the name “Razumov—Mr. Razumov” pierced the + ear ridiculously, like the falsetto of a circus clown beginning an + elaborate joke. Astonishment was Razumov’s first response, followed by + sudden indignation. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked in a stern tone. + </p> + <p> + “Tut! Silliness. He’s always like that.” Sophia Antonovna was obviously + vexed. But she dropped the information, “Necator,” from her lips just loud + enough to be heard by Razumov. The abrupt squeaks of the fat man seemed to + proceed from that thing like a balloon he carried under his overcoat. The + stolidity of his attitude, the big feet, the lifeless, hanging hands, the + enormous bloodless cheek, the thin wisps of hair straggling down the fat + nape of the neck, fascinated Razumov into a stare on the verge of horror + and laughter. + </p> + <p> + Nikita, surnamed Necator, with a sinister aptness of alliteration! Razumov + had heard of him. He had heard so much since crossing the frontier of + these celebrities of the militant revolution; the legends, the stories, + the authentic chronicle, which now and then peeps out before a + half-incredulous world. Razumov had heard of him. He was supposed to have + killed more, gendarmes and police agents than any revolutionist living. He + had been entrusted with executions. + </p> + <p> + The paper with the letters N.N., the very pseudonym of murder, found + pinned on the stabbed breast of a certain notorious spy (this picturesque + detail of a sensational murder case had got into the newspapers), was the + mark of his handiwork. “By order of the Committee.—N.N.” A corner of + the curtain lifted to strike the imagination of the gaping world. He was + said to have been innumerable times in and out of Russia, the Necator of + bureaucrats, of provincial governors, of obscure informers. He lived + between whiles, Razumov had heard, on the shores of the Lake of Como, with + a charming wife, devoted to the cause, and two young children. But how + could that creature, so grotesque as to set town dogs barking at its mere + sight, go about on those deadly errands and slip through the meshes of the + police? + </p> + <p> + “What now? what now?” the voice squeaked. “I am only sincere. It’s not + denied that the other was the leading spirit. Well, it would have been + better if he had been the one spared to us. More useful. I am not a + sentimentalist. Say what I think...only natural.” + </p> + <p> + Squeak, squeak, squeak, without a gesture, without a stir—the + horrible squeaky burlesque of professional jealousy—this man of a + sinister alliterative nickname, this executioner of revolutionary + verdicts, the terrifying N.N. exasperated like a fashionable tenor by the + attention attracted to the performance of an obscure amateur. Sophia + Antonovna shrugged her shoulders. The comrade with the martial red + moustache hurried towards Razumov full of conciliatory intentions in his + strong buzzing voice. + </p> + <p> + “Devil take it! And in this place, too, in the public street, so to speak. + But you can see yourself how it is. One of his fantastic sallies. + Absolutely of no consequence.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray don’t concern yourself,” cried Razumov, going off into a long fit of + laughter. “Don’t mention it.” + </p> + <p> + The other, his hectic flush like a pair of burns on his cheek-bones, + stared for a moment and burst out laughing too. Razumov, whose hilarity + died out all at once, made a step forward. + </p> + <p> + “Enough of this,” he began in a clear, incisive voice, though he could + hardly control the trembling of his legs. “I will have no more of it. I + shall not permit anyone.... I can see very well what you are at with those + allusions.... Inquire, investigate! I defy you, but I will not be played + with.” + </p> + <p> + He had spoken such words before. He had been driven to cry them out in the + face of other suspicions. It was an infernal cycle bringing round that + protest like a fatal necessity of his existence. But it was no use. He + would be always played with. Luckily life does not last for ever. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have it!” he shouted, striking his fist into the palm of his + other hand. + </p> + <p> + “Kirylo Sidorovitch—what has come to you?” The woman revolutionist + interfered with authority. They were all looking at Razumov now; the + slayer of spies and gendarmes had turned about, presenting his enormous + stomach in full, like a shield. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shout. There are people passing.” Sophia Antonovna was apprehensive + of another outburst. A steam-launch from Monrepos had come to the + landing-stage opposite the gate, its hoarse whistle and the churning noise + alongside all unnoticed, had landed a small bunch of local passengers who + were dispersing their several ways. Only a specimen of early tourist in + knickerbockers, conspicuous by a brand-new yellow leather glass-case, hung + about for a moment, scenting something unusual about these four people + within the rusty iron gates of what looked the grounds run wild of an + unoccupied private house. Ah! If he had only known what the chance of + commonplace travelling had suddenly put in his way! But he was a well-bred + person; he averted his gaze and moved off with short steps along the + avenue, on the watch for a tramcar. + </p> + <p> + A gesture from Sophia Antonovna, “Leave him to me,” had sent the two men + away—the buzzing of the inarticulate voice growing fainter and + fainter, and the thin pipe of “What now? what’s the matter?” reduced to + the proportions of a squeaking toy by the distance. They had left him to + her. So many things could be left safely to the experience of Sophia + Antonovna. And at once, her black eyes turned to Razumov, her mind tried + to get at the heart of that outburst. It had some meaning. No one is born + an active revolutionist. The change comes disturbingly, with the force of + a sudden vocation, bringing in its train agonizing doubts, assertive + violences, an unstable state of the soul, till the final appeasement of + the convert in the perfect fierceness of conviction. She had seen—often + had only divined—scores of these young men and young women going + through an emotional crisis. This young man looked like a moody egotist. + And besides, it was a special—a unique case. She had never met an + individuality which interested and puzzled her so much. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Razumov, my good friend. If you carry on like this you will go + mad. You are angry with everybody and bitter with yourself, and on the + look out for something to torment yourself with.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s intolerable!” Razumov could only speak in gasps. “You must admit + that I can have no illusions on the attitude which...it isn’t clear...or + rather only too clear.” + </p> + <p> + He made a gesture of despair. It was not his courage that failed him. The + choking fumes of falsehood had taken him by the throat—the thought + of being condemned to struggle on and on in that tainted atmosphere + without the hope of ever renewing his strength by a breath of fresh air. + </p> + <p> + “A glass of cold water is what you want.” Sophia Antonovna glanced up the + grounds at the house and shook her head, then out of the gate at the + brimful placidity of the lake. With a half-comical shrug of the shoulders, + she gave the remedy up in the face of that abundance. + </p> + <p> + “It is you, my dear soul, who are flinging yourself at something which + does not exist. What is it? Self-reproach, or what? It’s absurd. You + couldn’t have gone and given yourself up because your comrade was taken.” + </p> + <p> + She remonstrated with him reasonably, at some length too. He had nothing + to complain of in his reception. Every new-comer was discussed more or + less. Everybody had to be thoroughly understood before being accepted. No + one that she could remember had been shown from the first so much + confidence. Soon, very soon, perhaps sooner than he expected, he would be + given an opportunity of showing his devotion to the sacred task of + crushing the Infamy. + </p> + <p> + Razumov, listening quietly, thought: “It may be that she is trying to lull + my suspicions to sleep. On the other hand, it is obvious that most of them + are fools.” He moved aside a couple of paces and, folding his arms on his + breast, leaned back against the stone pillar of the gate. + </p> + <p> + “As to what remains obscure in the fate of that poor Haldin,” Sophia + Antonovna dropped into a slowness of utterance which was to Razumov like + the falling of molten lead drop by drop; “as to that—though no one + ever hinted that either from fear or neglect your conduct has not been + what it should have been—well, I have a bit of intelligence....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov could not prevent himself from raising his head, and Sophia + Antonovna nodded slightly. + </p> + <p> + “I have. You remember that letter from St. Petersburg I mentioned to you a + moment ago?” + </p> + <p> + “The letter? Perfectly. Some busybody has been reporting my conduct on a + certain day. It’s rather sickening. I suppose our police are greatly + edified when they open these interesting and—and—superfluous + letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear no! The police do not get hold of our letters as easily as you + imagine. The letter in question did not leave St. Petersburg till the ice + broke up. It went by the first English steamer which left the Neva this + spring. They have a fireman on board—one of us, in fact. It has + reached me from Hull....” + </p> + <p> + She paused as if she were surprised at the sullen fixity of Razumov’s + gaze, but went on at once, and much faster. + </p> + <p> + “We have some of our people there who...but never mind. The writer of the + letter relates an incident which he thinks may possibly be connected with + Haldin’s arrest. I was just going to tell you when those two men came + along.” + </p> + <p> + “That also was an incident,” muttered Razumov, “of a very charming kind—for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave off that!” cried Sophia Antonovna. “Nobody cares for Nikita’s + barking. There’s no malice in him. Listen to what I have to say. You may + be able to throw a light. There was in St. Petersburg a sort of town + peasant—a man who owned horses. He came to town years ago to work + for some relation as a driver and ended by owning a cab or two.” + </p> + <p> + She might well have spared herself the slight effort of the gesture: + “Wait!” Razumov did not mean to speak; he could not have interrupted her + now, not to save his life. The contraction of his facial muscles had been + involuntary, a mere surface stir, leaving him sullenly attentive as + before. + </p> + <p> + “He was not a quite ordinary man of his class—it seems,” she went + on. “The people of the house—my informant talked with many of them—you + know, one of those enormous houses of shame and misery....” + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna need not have enlarged on the character of the house. + Razumov saw clearly, towering at her back, a dark mass of masonry veiled + in snowflakes, with the long row of windows of the eating-shop shining + greasily very near the ground. The ghost of that night pursued him. He + stood up to it with rage and with weariness. + </p> + <p> + “Did the late Haldin ever by chance speak to you of that house?” Sophia + Antonovna was anxious to know. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Razumov, making that answer, wondered whether he were falling into + a trap. It was so humiliating to lie to these people that he probably + could not have said no. “He mentioned to me once,” he added, as if making + an effort of memory, “a house of that sort. He used to visit some workmen + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna triumphed. Her correspondent had discovered that fact + quite accidentally from the talk of the people of the house, having made + friends with a workman who occupied a room there. They described Haldin’s + appearance perfectly. He brought comforting words of hope into their + misery. He came irregularly, but he came very often, and—her + correspondent wrote—sometimes he spent a night in the house, + sleeping, they thought, in a stable which opened upon the inner yard. + </p> + <p> + “Note that, Razumov! In a stable.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov had listened with a sort of ferocious but amused acquiescence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In the straw. It was probably the cleanest spot in the whole house.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” assented the woman with that deep frown which seemed to draw + closer together her black eyes in a sinister fashion. No four-footed beast + could stand the filth and wretchedness so many human beings were condemned + to suffer from in Russia. The point of this discovery was that it proved + Haldin to have been familiar with that horse-owning peasant—a + reckless, independent, free-living fellow not much liked by the other + inhabitants of the house. He was believed to have been the associate of a + band of housebreakers. Some of these got captured. Not while he was + driving them, however; but still there was a suspicion against the fellow + of having given a hint to the police and... + </p> + <p> + The woman revolutionist checked herself suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “And you? Have you ever heard your friend refer to a certain Ziemianitch?” + </p> + <p> + Razumov was ready for the name. He had been looking out for the question. + “When it comes I shall own up,” he had said to himself. But he took his + time. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure!” he began slowly. “Ziemianitch, a peasant owning a team of + horses. Yes. On one occasion. Ziemianitch! Certainly! Ziemianitch of the + horses.... How could it have slipped my memory like this? One of the last + conversations we had together.” + </p> + <p> + “That means,”—Sophia Antonovna looked very grave,—“that means, + Razumov, it was very shortly before—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Before what?” shouted Razumov, advancing at the woman, who looked + astonished but stood her ground. “Before.... Oh! Of course, it was before! + How could it have been after? Only a few hours before.” + </p> + <p> + “And he spoke of him favourably?” + </p> + <p> + “With enthusiasm! The horses of Ziemianitch! The free soul of + Ziemianitch!” + </p> + <p> + Razumov took a savage delight in the loud utterance of that name, which + had never before crossed his lips audibly. He fixed his blazing eyes on + the woman till at last her fascinated expression recalled him to himself. + </p> + <p> + “The late Haldin,” he said, holding himself in, with downcast eyes, “was + inclined to take sudden fancies to people, on—on—what shall I + say—insufficient grounds.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” Sophia Antonovna clapped her hands. “That, to my mind, settles + it. The suspicions of my correspondent were aroused....” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Your correspondent,” Razumov said in an almost openly mocking tone. + “What suspicions? How aroused? By this Ziemianitch? Probably some drunken, + gabbling, plausible...” + </p> + <p> + “You talk as if you had known him.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked up. + </p> + <p> + “No. But I knew Haldin.” + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna nodded gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I see. Every word you say confirms to my mind the suspicion communicated + to me in that very interesting letter. This Ziemianitch was found one + morning hanging from a hook in the stable—dead.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov felt a profound trouble. It was visible, because Sophia Antonovna + was moved to observe vivaciously— + </p> + <p> + “Aha! You begin to see.” + </p> + <p> + He saw it clearly enough—in the light of a lantern casting spokes of + shadow in a cellar-like stable, the body in a sheepskin coat and long + boots hanging against the wall. A pointed hood, with the ends wound about + up to the eyes, hid the face. “But that does not concern me,” he + reflected. “It does not affect my position at all. He never knew who had + thrashed him. He could not have known.” Razumov felt sorry for the old + lover of the bottle and women. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Some of them end like that,” he muttered. “What is your idea, Sophia + Antonovna?” + </p> + <p> + It was really the idea of her correspondent, but Sophia Antonovna had + adopted it fully. She stated it in one word—“Remorse.” Razumov + opened his eyes very wide at that. Sophia Antonovna’s informant, by + listening to the talk of the house, by putting this and that together, had + managed to come very near to the truth of Haldin’s relation to + Ziemianitch. + </p> + <p> + “It is I who can tell you what you were not certain of—that your + friend had some plan for saving himself afterwards, for getting out of St. + Petersburg, at any rate. Perhaps that and no more, trusting to luck for + the rest. And that fellow’s horses were part of the plan.” + </p> + <p> + “They have actually got at the truth,” Razumov marvelled to himself, while + he nodded judicially. “Yes, that’s possible, very possible.” But the woman + revolutionist was very positive that it was so. First of all, a + conversation about horses between Haldin and Ziemianitch had been partly + overheard. Then there were the suspicions of the people in the house when + their “young gentleman” (they did not know Haldin by his name) ceased to + call at the house. Some of them used to charge Ziemianitch with knowing + something of this absence. He denied it with exasperation; but the fact + was that ever since Haldin’s disappearance he was not himself, growing + moody and thin. Finally, during a quarrel with some woman (to whom he was + making up), in which most of the inmates of the house took part + apparently, he was openly abused by his chief enemy, an athletic pedlar, + for an informer, and for having driven “our young gentleman to Siberia, + the same as you did those young fellows who broke into houses.” In + consequence of this there was a fight, and Ziemianitch got flung down a + flight of stairs. Thereupon he drank and moped for a week, and then hanged + himself. + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna drew her conclusions from the tale. She charged + Ziemianitch either with drunken indiscretion as to a driving job on a + certain date, overheard by some spy in some low grog-shop—perhaps in + the very eating-shop on the ground floor of the house—or, maybe, a + downright denunciation, followed by remorse. A man like that would be + capable of anything. People said he was a flighty old chap. And if he had + been once before mixed up with the police—as seemed certain, though + he always denied it—in connexion with these thieves, he would be + sure to be acquainted with some police underlings, always on the look out + for something to report. Possibly at first his tale was not made anything + of till the day that scoundrel de P—- got his deserts. Ah! But then + every bit and scrap of hint and information would be acted on, and fatally + they were bound to get Haldin. + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna spread out her hands—“Fatally.” + </p> + <p> + Fatality—chance! Razumov meditated in silent astonishment upon the + queer verisimilitude of these inferences. They were obviously to his + advantage. + </p> + <p> + “It is right now to make this conclusive evidence known generally.” Sophia + Antonovna was very calm and deliberate again. She had received the letter + three days ago, but did not write at once to Peter Ivanovitch. She knew + then that she would have the opportunity presently of meeting several men + of action assembled for an important purpose. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it would be more effective if I could show the letter itself at + large. I have it in my pocket now. You understand how pleased I was to + come upon you.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov was saying to himself, “She won’t offer to show the letter to me. + Not likely. Has she told me everything that correspondent of hers has + found out?” He longed to see the letter, but he felt he must not ask. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, please, was this an investigation ordered, as it were?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she protested. “There you are again with your sensitiveness. It + makes you stupid. Don’t you see, there was no starting-point for an + investigation even if any one had thought of it. A perfect blank! That’s + exactly what some people were pointing out as the reason for receiving you + cautiously. It was all perfectly accidental, arising from my informant + striking an acquaintance with an intelligent skindresser lodging in that + particular slum-house. A wonderful coincidence!” + </p> + <p> + “A pious person,” suggested Razumov, with a pale smile, “would say that + the hand of God has done it all.” + </p> + <p> + “My poor father would have said that.” Sophia Antonovna did not smile. She + dropped her eyes. “Not that his God ever helped him. It’s a long time + since God has done anything for the people. Anyway, it’s done.” + </p> + <p> + “All this would be quite final,” said Razumov, with every appearance of + reflective impartiality, “if there was any certitude that the ‘our young + gentleman’ of these people was Victor Haldin. Have we got that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There’s no mistake. My correspondent was as familiar with Haldin’s + personal appearance as with your own,” the woman affirmed decisively. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the red-nosed fellow beyond a doubt,” Razumov said to himself, with + reawakened uneasiness. Had his own visit to that accursed house passed + unnoticed? It was barely possible. Yet it was hardly probable. It was just + the right sort of food for the popular gossip that gaunt busybody had been + picking up. But the letter did not seem to contain any allusion to that. + Unless she had suppressed it. And, if so, why? If it had really escaped + the prying of that hunger-stricken democrat with a confounded genius for + recognizing people from description, it could only be for a time. He would + come upon it presently and hasten to write another letter—and then! + </p> + <p> + For all the envenomed recklessness of his temper, fed on hate and disdain, + Razumov shuddered inwardly. It guarded him from common fear, but it could + not defend him from disgust at being dealt with in any way by these + people. It was a sort of superstitious dread. Now, since his position had + been made more secure by their own folly at the cost of Ziemianitch, he + felt the need of perfect safety, with its freedom from direct lying, with + its power of moving amongst them silent, unquestioning, listening, + impenetrable, like the very fate of their crimes and their folly. Was this + advantage his already? Or not yet? Or never would be? + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sophia Antonovna,” his air of reluctant concession was genuine in + so far that he was really loath to part with her without testing her + sincerity by a question it was impossible to bring about in any way; + “well, Sophia Antonovna, if that is so, then—” + </p> + <p> + “The creature has done justice to himself,” the woman observed, as if + thinking aloud. + </p> + <p> + “What? Ah yes! Remorse,” Razumov muttered, with equivocal contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be harsh, Kirylo Sidorovitch, if you have lost a friend.” There was + no hint of softness in her tone, only the black glitter of her eyes seemed + detached for an instant from vengeful visions. “He was a man of the + people. The simple Russian soul is never wholly impenitent. It’s something + to know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Consoling?” insinuated Razumov, in a tone of inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Leave off railing,” she checked him explosively. “Remember, Razumov, that + women, children, and revolutionists hate irony, which is the negation of + all saving instincts, of all faith, of all devotion, of all action. Don’t + rail! Leave off.... I don’t know how it is, but there are moments when you + are abhorrent to me....” + </p> + <p> + She averted her face. A languid silence, as if all the electricity of the + situation had been discharged in this flash of passion, lasted for some + time. Razumov had not flinched. Suddenly she laid the tips of her fingers + on his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mind.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mind,” he said very quietly. + </p> + <p> + He was proud to feel that she could read nothing on his face. He was + really mollified, relieved, if only for a moment, from an obscure + oppression. And suddenly he asked himself, “Why the devil did I go to that + house? It was an imbecile thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + A profound disgust came over him. Sophia Antonovna lingered, talking in a + friendly manner with an evident conciliatory intention. And it was still + about the famous letter, referring to various minute details given by her + informant, who had never seen Ziemianitch. The “victim of remorse” had + been buried several weeks before her correspondent began frequenting the + house. It—the house—contained very good revolutionary + material. The spirit of the heroic Haldin had passed through these dens of + black wretchedness with a promise of universal redemption from all the + miseries that oppress mankind. Razumov listened without hearing, gnawed by + the newborn desire of safety with its independence from that degrading + method of direct lying which at times he found it almost impossible to + practice. + </p> + <p> + No. The point he wanted to hear about could never come into this + conversation. There was no way of bringing it forward. He regretted not + having composed a perfect story for use abroad, in which his fatal + connexion with the house might have been owned up to. But when he left + Russia he did not know that Ziemianitch had hanged himself. And, anyway, + who could have foreseen this woman’s “informant” stumbling upon that + particular slum, of all the slums awaiting destruction in the purifying + flame of social revolution? Who could have foreseen? Nobody! “It’s a + perfect, diabolic surprise,” thought Razumov, calm-faced in his attitude + of inscrutable superiority, nodding assent to Sophia Antonovna’s remarks + upon the psychology of “the people,” “Oh yes—certainly,” rather + coldly, but with a nervous longing in his fingers to tear some sort of + confession out of her throat. + </p> + <p> + Then, at the very last, on the point of separating, the feeling of relaxed + tension already upon him, he heard Sophia Antonovna allude to the subject + of his uneasiness. How it came about he could only guess, his mind being + absent at the moment, but it must have sprung from Sophia Antonovna’s + complaints of the illogical absurdity of the people. For instance—that + Ziemianitch was notoriously irreligious, and yet, in the last weeks of his + life, he suffered from the notion that he had been beaten by the devil. + </p> + <p> + “The devil,” repeated Razumov, as though he had not heard aright. + </p> + <p> + “The actual devil. The devil in person. You may well look astonished, + Kirylo Sidorovitch. Early on the very night poor Haldin was taken, a + complete stranger turned up and gave Ziemianitch a most fearful thrashing + while he was lying dead-drunk in the stable. The wretched creature’s body + was one mass of bruises. He showed them to the people in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, Sophia Antonovna, you don’t believe in the actual devil?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” retorted the woman curtly. “Not but that there are plenty of men + worse than devils to make a hell of this earth,” she muttered to herself. + </p> + <p> + Razumov watched her, vigorous and white-haired, with the deep fold between + her thin eyebrows, and her black glance turned idly away. It was obvious + that she did not make much of the story—unless, indeed, this was the + perfection of duplicity. “A dark young man,” she explained further. “Never + seen there before, never seen afterwards. Why are you smiling, Razumov?” + </p> + <p> + “At the devil being still young after all these ages,” he answered + composedly. “But who was able to describe him, since the victim, you say, + was dead-drunk at the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! The eating-house keeper has described him. An overbearing, swarthy + young man in a student’s cloak, who came rushing in, demanded Ziemianitch, + beat him furiously, and rushed away without a word, leaving the + eating-house keeper paralysed with astonishment.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he, too, believe it was the devil?” + </p> + <p> + “That I can’t say. I am told he’s very reserved on the matter. Those + sellers of spirits are great scoundrels generally. I should think he knows + more of it than anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and you, Sophia Antonovna, what’s your theory?” asked Razumov in a + tone of great interest. “Yours and your informant’s, who is on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + “I agree with him. Some police-hound in disguise. Who else could beat a + helpless man so unmercifully? As for the rest, if they were out that day + on every trail, old and new, it is probable enough that they might have + thought it just as well to have Ziemianitch at hand for more information, + or for identification, or what not. Some scoundrelly detective was sent to + fetch him along, and being vexed at finding him so drunk broke a stable + fork over his ribs. Later on, after they had the big game safe in the net, + they troubled their heads no more about that peasant.” + </p> + <p> + Such were the last words of the woman revolutionist in this conversation, + keeping so close to the truth, departing from it so far in the + verisimilitude of thoughts and conclusions as to give one the notion of + the invincible nature of human error, a glimpse into the utmost depths of + self-deception. Razumov, after shaking hands with Sophia Antonovna, left + the grounds, crossed the road, and walking out on the little steamboat + pier leaned over the rail. + </p> + <p> + His mind was at ease; ease such as he had not known for many days, ever + since that night...the night. The conversation with the woman + revolutionist had given him the view of his danger at the very moment this + danger vanished, characteristically enough. “I ought to have foreseen the + doubts that would arise in those people’s minds,” he thought. Then his + attention being attracted by a stone of peculiar shape, which he could see + clearly lying at the bottom, he began to speculate as to the depth of + water in that spot. But very soon, with a start of wonder at this + extraordinary instance of ill-timed detachment, he returned to his train + of thought. “I ought to have told very circumstantial lies from the + first,” he said to himself, with a mortal distaste of the mere idea which + silenced his mental utterance for quite a perceptible interval. “Luckily, + that’s all right now,” he reflected, and after a time spoke to himself, + half aloud, “Thanks to the devil,” and laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + The end of Ziemianitch then arrested his wandering thoughts. He was not + exactly amused at the interpretation, but he could not help detecting in + it a certain piquancy. He owned to himself that, had he known of that + suicide before leaving Russia, he would have been incapable of making such + excellent use of it for his own purposes. He ought to be infinitely + obliged to the fellow with the red nose for his patience and ingenuity, “A + wonderful psychologist apparently,” he said to himself sarcastically. + Remorse, indeed! It was a striking example of your true conspirator’s + blindness, of the stupid subtlety of people with one idea. This was a + drama of love, not of conscience, Razumov continued to himself mockingly. + A woman the old fellow was making up to! A robust pedlar, clearly a rival, + throwing him down a flight of stairs.... And at sixty, for a lifelong + lover, it was not an easy matter to get over. That was a feminist of a + different stamp from Peter Ivanovitch. Even the comfort of the bottle + might conceivably fail him in this supreme crisis. At such an age nothing + but a halter could cure the pangs of an unquenchable passion. And, + besides, there was the wild exasperation aroused by the unjust aspersions + and the contumely of the house, with the maddening impossibility to + account for that mysterious thrashing, added to these simple and bitter + sorrows. “Devil, eh?” Razumov exclaimed, with mental excitement, as if he + had made an interesting discovery. “Ziemianitch ended by falling into + mysticism. So many of our true Russian souls end in that way! Very + characteristic.” He felt pity for Ziemianitch, a large neutral pity, such + as one may feel for an unconscious multitude, a great people seen from + above—like a community of crawling ants working out its destiny. It + was as if this Ziemianitch could not possibly have done anything else. And + Sophia Antonovna’s cocksure and contemptuous “some police-hound” was + characteristically Russian in another way. But there was no tragedy there. + This was a comedy of errors. It was as if the devil himself were playing a + game with all of them in turn. First with him, then with Ziemianitch, then + with those revolutionists. The devil’s own game this.... He interrupted + his earnest mental soliloquy with a jocular thought at his own expense. + “Hallo! I am falling into mysticism too.” + </p> + <p> + His mind was more at ease than ever. Turning about he put his back against + the rail comfortably. “All this fits with marvellous aptness,” he + continued to think. “The brilliance of my reputed exploit is no longer + darkened by the fate of my supposed colleague. The mystic Ziemianitch + accounts for that. An incredible chance has served me. No more need of + lies. I shall have only to listen and to keep my scorn from getting the + upper hand of my caution.” + </p> + <p> + He sighed, folded his arms, his chin dropped on his breast, and it was a + long time before he started forward from that pose, with the recollection + that he had made up his mind to do something important that day. What it + was he could not immediately recall, yet he made no effort of memory, for + he was uneasily certain that he would remember presently. + </p> + <p> + He had not gone more than a hundred yards towards the town when he slowed + down, almost faltered in his walk, at the sight of a figure walking in the + contrary direction, draped in a cloak, under a soft, broad-brimmed hat, + picturesque but diminutive, as if seen through the big end of an + opera-glass. It was impossible to avoid that tiny man, for there was no + issue for retreat. + </p> + <p> + “Another one going to that mysterious meeting,” thought Razumov. He was + right in his surmise, only <i>this</i> one, unlike the others who came + from a distance, was known to him personally. Still, he hoped to pass on + with a mere bow, but it was impossible to ignore the little thin hand with + hairy wrist and knuckles protruded in a friendly wave from under the folds + of the cloak, worn Spanish-wise, in disregard of a fairly warm day, a + corner flung over the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “And how is Herr Razumov?” sounded the greeting in German, by that alone + made more odious to the object of the affable recognition. At closer + quarters the diminutive personage looked like a reduction of an + ordinary-sized man, with a lofty brow bared for a moment by the raising of + the hat, the great pepper-and salt full beard spread over the + proportionally broad chest. A fine bold nose jutted over a thin mouth + hidden in the mass of fine hair. All this, accented features, strong limbs + in their relative smallness, appeared delicate without the slightest sign + of debility. The eyes alone, almond-shaped and brown, were too big, with + the whites slightly bloodshot by much pen labour under a lamp. The obscure + celebrity of the tiny man was well known to Razumov. Polyglot, of unknown + parentage, of indefinite nationality, anarchist, with a pedantic and + ferocious temperament, and an amazingly inflammatory capacity for + invective, he was a power in the background, this violent pamphleteer + clamouring for revolutionary justice, this Julius Laspara, editor of the + <i>Living Word</i>, confidant of conspirators, inditer of sanguinary + menaces and manifestos, suspected of being in the secret of every plot. + Laspara lived in the old town in a sombre, narrow house presented to him + by a naive middle-class admirer of his humanitarian eloquence. With him + lived his two daughters, who overtopped him head and shoulders, and a + pasty-faced, lean boy of six, languishing in the dark rooms in blue cotton + overalls and clumsy boots, who might have belonged to either one of them + or to neither. No stranger could tell. Julius Laspara no doubt knew which + of his girls it was who, after casually vanishing for a few years, had as + casually returned to him possessed of that child; but, with admirable + pedantry, he had refrained from asking her for details—no, not so + much as the name of the father, because maternity should be an anarchist + function. Razumov had been admitted twice to that suite of several small + dark rooms on the top floor: dusty window-panes, litter of all sorts of + sweepings all over the place, half-full glasses of tea forgotten on every + table, the two Laspara daughters prowling about enigmatically silent, + sleepy-eyed, corsetless, and generally, in their want of shape and the + disorder of their rumpled attire, resembling old dolls; the great but + obscure Julius, his feet twisted round his three-legged stool, always + ready to receive the visitors, the pen instantly dropped, the body screwed + round with a striking display of the lofty brow and of the great austere + beard. When he got down from his stool it was as though he had descended + from the heights of Olympus. He was dwarfed by his daughters, by the + furniture, by any caller of ordinary stature. But he very seldom left it, + and still more rarely was seen walking in broad daylight. + </p> + <p> + It must have been some matter of serious importance which had driven him + out in that direction that afternoon. Evidently he wished to be amiable to + that young man whose arrival had made some sensation in the world of + political refugees. In Russian now, which he spoke, as he spoke and wrote + four or five other European languages, without distinction and without + force (other than that of invective), he inquired if Razumov had taken his + inscriptions at the University as yet. And the young man, shaking his head + negatively— + </p> + <p> + “There’s plenty of time for that. But, meantime, are you not going to + write something for us?” + </p> + <p> + He could not understand how any one could refrain from writing on + anything, social, economic, historical—anything. Any subject could + be treated in the right spirit, and for the ends of social revolution. + And, as it happened, a friend of his in London had got in touch with a + review of advanced ideas. “We must educate, educate everybody—develop + the great thought of absolute liberty and of revolutionary justice.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov muttered rather surlily that he did not even know English. + </p> + <p> + “Write in Russian. We’ll have it translated There can be no difficulty. + Why, without seeking further, there is Miss Haldin. My daughters go to see + her sometimes.” He nodded significantly. “She does nothing, has never done + anything in her life. She would be quite competent, with a little + assistance. Only write. You know you must. And so good-bye for the + present.” + </p> + <p> + He raised his arm and went on. Razumov backed against the low wall, looked + after him, spat violently, and went on his way with an angry mutter— + </p> + <p> + “Cursed Jew!” + </p> + <p> + He did not know anything about it. Julius Laspara might have been a + Transylvanian, a Turk, an Andalusian, or a citizen of one of the Hanse + towns for anything he could tell to the contrary. But this is not a story + of the West, and this exclamation must be recorded, accompanied by the + comment that it was merely an expression of hate and contempt, best + adapted to the nature of the feelings Razumov suffered from at the time. + He was boiling with rage, as though he had been grossly insulted. He + walked as if blind, following instinctively the shore of the diminutive + harbour along the quay, through a pretty, dull garden, where dull people + sat on chairs under the trees, till, his fury abandoning him, he + discovered himself in the middle of a long, broad bridge. He slowed down + at once. To his right, beyond the toy-like jetties, he saw the green + slopes framing the Petit Lac in all the marvellous banality of the + picturesque made of painted cardboard, with the more distant stretch of + water inanimate and shining like a piece of tin. + </p> + <p> + He turned his head away from that view for the tourists, and walked on + slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground. One or two persons had to get out of + his way, and then turned round to give a surprised stare to his profound + absorption. The insistence of the celebrated subversive journalist rankled + in his mind strangely. Write. Must write! He! Write! A sudden light + flashed upon him. To write was the very thing he had made up his mind to + do that day. He had made up his mind irrevocably to that step and then had + forgotten all about it. That incorrigible tendency to escape from the grip + of the situation was fraught with serious danger. He was ready to despise + himself for it. What was it? Levity, or deep-seated weakness? Or an + unconscious dread? + </p> + <p> + “Is it that I am shrinking? It can’t be! It’s impossible. To shrink now + would be worse than moral suicide; it would be nothing less than moral + damnation,” he thought. “Is it possible that I have a conventional + conscience?” + </p> + <p> + He rejected that hypothesis with scorn, and, checked on the edge of the + pavement, made ready to cross the road and proceed up the wide street + facing the head of the bridge; and that for no other reason except that it + was there before him. But at the moment a couple of carriages and a + slow-moving cart interposed, and suddenly he turned sharp to the left, + following the quay again, but now away from the lake. + </p> + <p> + “It may be just my health,” he thought, allowing himself a very unusual + doubt of his soundness; for, with the exception of a childish ailment or + two, he had never been ill in his life. But that was a danger, too. Only, + it seemed as though he were being looked after in a specially remarkable + way. “If I believed in an active Providence,” Razumov said to himself, + amused grimly, “I would see here the working of an ironical finger. To + have a Julius Laspara put in my way as if expressly to remind me of my + purpose is—Write, he had said. I must write—I must, indeed! I + shall write—never fear. Certainly. That’s why I am here. And for the + future I shall have something to write about.” + </p> + <p> + He was exciting himself by this mental soliloquy. But the idea of writing + evoked the thought of a place to write in, of shelter, of privacy, and + naturally of his lodgings, mingled with a distaste for the necessary + exertion of getting there, with a mistrust as of some hostile influence + awaiting him within those odious four walls. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose one of these revolutionists,” he asked himself, “were to take a + fancy to call on me while I am writing?” The mere prospect of such an + interruption made him shudder. One could lock one’s door, or ask the + tobacconist downstairs (some sort of a refugee himself) to tell inquirers + that one was not in. Not very good precautions those. The manner of his + life, he felt, must be kept clear of every cause for suspicion or even + occasion for wonder, down to such trifling occurrences as a delay in + opening a locked door. “I wish I were in the middle of some field miles + away from everywhere,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + He had unconsciously turned to the left once more and now was aware of + being on a bridge again. This one was much narrower than the other, and + instead of being straight, made a sort of elbow or angle. At the point of + that angle a short arm joined it to a hexagonal islet with a soil of + gravel and its shores faced with dressed stone, a perfection of puerile + neatness. A couple of tall poplars and a few other trees stood grouped on + the clean, dark gravel, and under them a few garden benches and a bronze + effigy of Jean Jacques Rousseau seated on its pedestal. + </p> + <p> + On setting his foot on it Razumov became aware that, except for the woman + in charge of the refreshment chalet, he would be alone on the island. + There was something of naive, odious, and inane simplicity about that + unfrequented tiny crumb of earth named after Jean Jacques Rousseau. + Something pretentious and shabby, too. He asked for a glass of milk, which + he drank standing, at one draught (nothing but tea had passed his lips + since the morning), and was going away with a weary, lagging step when a + thought stopped him short. He had found precisely what he needed. If + solitude could ever be secured in the open air in the middle of a town, he + would have it there on this absurd island, together with the faculty of + watching the only approach. + </p> + <p> + He went back heavily to a garden seat, dropped into it. This was the place + for making a beginning of that writing which had to be done. The materials + he had on him. “I shall always come here,” he said to himself, and + afterwards sat for quite a long time motionless, without thought and sight + and hearing, almost without life. He sat long enough for the declining sun + to dip behind the roofs of the town at his back, and throw the shadow of + the houses on the lake front over the islet, before he pulled out of his + pocket a fountain pen, opened a small notebook on his knee, and began to + write quickly, raising his eyes now and then at the connecting arm of the + bridge. These glances were needless; the people crossing over in the + distance seemed unwilling even to look at the islet where the exiled + effigy of the author of the <i>Social Contract</i> sat enthroned above the + bowed head of Razumov in the sombre immobility of bronze. After finishing + his scribbling, Razumov, with a sort of feverish haste, put away the pen, + then rammed the notebook into his pocket, first tearing out the written + pages with an almost convulsive brusqueness. But the folding of the flimsy + batch on his knee was executed with thoughtful nicety. That done, he + leaned back in his seat and remained motionless, the papers holding in his + left hand. The twilight had deepened. He got up and began to pace to and + fro slowly under the trees. + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt that now I am safe,” he thought. His fine ear could + detect the faintly accentuated murmurs of the current breaking against the + point of the island, and he forgot himself in listening to them with + interest. But even to his acute sense of hearing the sound was too + elusive. + </p> + <p> + “Extraordinary occupation I am giving myself up to,” he murmured. And it + occurred to him that this was about the only sound he could listen to + innocently, and for his own pleasure, as it were. Yes, the sound of water, + the voice of the wind—completely foreign to human passions. All the + other sounds of this earth brought contamination to the solitude of a + soul. + </p> + <p> + This was Mr. Razumov’s feeling, the soul, of course, being his own, and + the word being used not in the theological sense, but standing, as far as + I can understand it, for that part of Mr. Razumov which was not his body, + and more specially in danger from the fires of this earth. And it must be + admitted that in Mr. Razumov’s case the bitterness of solitude from which + he suffered was not an altogether morbid phenomenon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART FOUR + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + That I should, at the beginning of this retrospect, mention again that Mr. + Razumov’s youth had no one in the world, as literally no one as it can be + honestly affirmed of any human being, is but a statement of fact from a + man who believes in the psychological value of facts. There is also, + perhaps, a desire of punctilious fairness. Unidentified with anyone in + this narrative where the aspects of honour and shame are remote from the + ideas of the Western world, and taking my stand on the ground of common + humanity, it is for that very reason that I feel a strange reluctance to + state baldly here what every reader has most likely already discovered + himself. Such reluctance may appear absurd if it were not for the thought + that because of the imperfection of language there is always something + ungracious (and even disgraceful) in the exhibition of naked truth. But + the time has come when Councillor of State Mikulin can no longer be + ignored. His simple question “Where to?” on which we left Mr. Razumov in + St. Petersburg, throws a light on the general meaning of this individual + case. + </p> + <p> + “Where to?” was the answer in the form of a gentle question to what we may + call Mr. Razumov’s declaration of independence. The question was not + menacing in the least and, indeed, had the ring of innocent inquiry. Had + it been taken in a merely topographical sense, the only answer to it would + have appeared sufficiently appalling to Mr Razumov. Where to? Back to his + rooms, where the Revolution had sought him out to put to a sudden test his + dormant instincts, his half-conscious thoughts and almost wholly + unconscious ambitions, by the touch as of some furious and dogmatic + religion, with its call to frantic sacrifices, its tender resignations, + its dreams and hopes uplifting the soul by the side of the most sombre + moods of despair. And Mr. Razumov had let go the door-handle and had come + back to the middle of the room, asking Councillor Mikulin angrily, “What + do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + As far as I can tell, Councillor Mikulin did not answer that question. He + drew Mr. Razumov into familiar conversation. It is the peculiarity of + Russian natures that, however strongly engaged in the drama of action, + they are still turning their ear to the murmur of abstract ideas. This + conversation (and others later on) need not be recorded. Suffice it to say + that it brought Mr. Razumov as we know him to the test of another faith. + There was nothing official in its expression, and Mr. Razumov was led to + defend his attitude of detachment. But Councillor Mikulin would have none + of his arguments. “For a man like you,” were his last weighty words in the + discussion, “such a position is impossible. Don’t forget that I have seen + that interesting piece of paper. I understand your liberalism. I have an + intellect of that kind myself. Reform for me is mainly a question of + method. But the principle of revolt is a physical intoxication, a sort of + hysteria which must be kept away from the masses. You agree to this + without reserve, don’t you? Because, you see, Kirylo Sidorovitch, + abstention, reserve, in certain situations, come very near to political + crime. The ancient Greeks understood that very well.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Razumov, listening with a faint smile, asked Councillor Mikulin + point-blank if this meant that he was going to have him watched. + </p> + <p> + The high official took no offence at the cynical inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “No, Kirylo Sidorovitch,” he answered gravely. “I don’t mean to have you + watched.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, suspecting a lie, affected yet the greatest liberty of mind + during the short remainder of that interview. The older man expressed + himself throughout in familiar terms, and with a sort of shrewd + simplicity. Razumov concluded that to get to the bottom of that mind was + an impossible feat. A great disquiet made his heart beat quicker. The high + official, issuing from behind the desk, was actually offering to shake + hands with him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Mr Razumov. An understanding between intelligent men is always + a satisfactory occurrence. Is it not? And, of course, these rebel + gentlemen have not the monopoly of intelligence.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume that I shall not be wanted any more?” Razumov brought out that + question while his hand was still being grasped. Councillor Mikulin + released it slowly. + </p> + <p> + “That, Mr. Razumov,” he said with great earnestness, “is as it may be. God + alone knows the future. But you may rest assured that I never thought of + having you watched. You are a young man of great independence. Yes. You + are going away free as air, but you shall end by coming back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “I! I!” Razumov exclaimed in an appalled murmur of protest. “What for?” he + added feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! You yourself, Kirylo Sidorovitch,” the high police functionary + insisted in a low, severe tone of conviction. “You shall be coming back to + us. Some of our greatest minds had to do that in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no better friend than Prince K—-, and as to myself it is a + long time now since I’ve been honoured by his....” + </p> + <p> + He glanced down his beard. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t detain you any longer. We live in difficult times, in times of + monstrous chimeras and evil dreams and criminal follies. We shall + certainly meet once more. It may be some little time, though, before we + do. Till then may Heaven send you fruitful reflections!” Once in the + street, Razumov started off rapidly, without caring for the direction. At + first he thought of nothing; but in a little while the consciousness of + his position presented itself to him as something so ugly, dangerous, and + absurd, the difficulty of ever freeing himself from the toils of that + complication so insoluble, that the idea of going back and, as he termed + it to himself, confessing to Councillor Mikulin flashed through his mind. + </p> + <p> + Go back! What for? Confess! To what? “I have been speaking to him with the + greatest openness,” he said to himself with perfect truth. “What else + could I tell him? That I have undertaken to carry a message to that brute + Ziemianitch? Establish a false complicity and destroy what chance of + safety I have won for nothing—what folly!” + </p> + <p> + Yet he could not defend himself from fancying that Councillor Mikulin was, + perhaps, the only man in the world able to understand his conduct. To be + understood appeared extremely fascinating. + </p> + <p> + On the way home he had to stop several times; all his strength seemed to + run out of his limbs; and in the movement of the busy streets, isolated as + if in a desert, he remained suddenly motionless for a minute or so before + he could proceed on his way. He reached his rooms at last. + </p> + <p> + Then came an illness, something in the nature of a low fever, which all at + once removed him to a great distance from the perplexing actualities, from + his very room, even. He never lost consciousness; he only seemed to + himself to be existing languidly somewhere very far away from everything + that had ever happened to him. He came out of this state slowly, with an + effect, that is to say, of extreme slowness, though the actual number of + days was not very great. And when he had got back into the middle of + things they were all changed, subtly and provokingly in their nature: + inanimate objects, human faces, the landlady, the rustic servant-girl, the + staircase, the streets, the very air. He tackled these changed conditions + in a spirit of severity. He walked to and fro to the University, ascended + stairs, paced the passages, listened to lectures, took notes, crossed + courtyards in angry aloofness, his teeth set hard till his jaws ached. + </p> + <p> + He was perfectly aware of madcap Kostia gazing like a young retriever from + a distance, of the famished student with the red drooping nose, keeping + scrupulously away as desired; of twenty others, perhaps, he knew well + enough to speak to. And they all had an air of curiosity and concern as if + they expected something to happen. “This can’t last much longer,” thought + Razumov more than once. On certain days he was afraid that anyone + addressing him suddenly in a certain way would make him scream out + insanely a lot of filthy abuse. Often, after returning home, he would drop + into a chair in his cap and cloak and remain still for hours holding some + book he had got from the library in his hand; or he would pick up the + little penknife and sit there scraping his nails endlessly and feeling + furious all the time—simply furious. “This is impossible,” he would + mutter suddenly to the empty room. + </p> + <p> + Fact to be noted: this room might conceivably have become physically + repugnant to him, emotionally intolerable, morally uninhabitable. But no. + Nothing of the sort (and he had himself dreaded it at first), nothing of + the sort happened. On the contrary, he liked his lodgings better than any + other shelter he, who had never known a home, had ever hired before. He + liked his lodgings so well that often, on that very account, he found a + certain difficulty in making up his mind to go out. It resembled a + physical seduction such as, for instance, makes a man reluctant to leave + the neighbourhood of a fire on a cold day. + </p> + <p> + For as, at that time, he seldom stirred except to go to the University + (what else was there to do?) it followed that whenever he went abroad he + felt himself at once closely involved in the moral consequences of his + act. It was there that the dark prestige of the Haldin mystery fell on + him, clung to him like a poisoned robe it was impossible to fling off. He + suffered from it exceedingly, as well as from the conversational, + commonplace, unavoidable intercourse with the other kind of students. + “They must be wondering at the change in me,” he reflected anxiously. He + had an uneasy recollection of having savagely told one or two innocent, + nice enough fellows to go to the devil. Once a married professor he used + to call upon formerly addressed him in passing: “How is it we never see + you at our Wednesdays now, Kirylo Sidorovitch?” Razumov was conscious of + meeting this advance with odious, muttering boorishness. The professor was + obviously too astonished to be offended. All this was bad. And all this + was Haldin, always Haldin—nothing but Haldin—everywhere + Haldin: a moral spectre infinitely more effective than any visible + apparition of the dead. It was only the room through which that man had + blundered on his way from crime to death that his spectre did not seem to + be able to haunt. Not, to be exact, that he was ever completely absent + from it, but that there he had no sort of power. There it was Razumov who + had the upper hand, in a composed sense of his own superiority. A + vanquished phantom—nothing more. Often in the evening, his repaired + watch faintly ticking on the table by the side of the lighted lamp, + Razumov would look up from his writing and stare at the bed with an + expectant, dispassionate attention. Nothing was to be seen there. He never + really supposed that anything ever could be seen there. After a while he + would shrug his shoulders slightly and bend again over his work. For he + had gone to work and, at first, with some success. His unwillingness to + leave that place where he was safe from Haldin grew so strong that at last + he ceased to go out at all. From early morning till far into the night he + wrote, he wrote for nearly a week; never looking at the time, and only + throwing himself on the bed when he could keep his eyes open no longer. + Then, one afternoon, quite casually, he happened to glance at his watch. + He laid down his pen slowly. + </p> + <p> + “At this very hour,” was his thought, “the fellow stole unseen into this + room while I was out. And there he sat quiet as a mouse—perhaps in + this very chair.” Razumov got up and began to pace the floor steadily, + glancing at the watch now and then. “This is the time when I returned and + found him standing against the stove,” he observed to himself. When it + grew dark he lit his lamp. Later on he interrupted his tramping once more, + only to wave away angrily the girl who attempted to enter the room with + tea and something to eat on a tray. And presently he noted the watch + pointing at the hour of his own going forth into the falling snow on that + terrible errand. + </p> + <p> + “Complicity,” he muttered faintly, and resumed his pacing, keeping his eye + on the hands as they crept on slowly to the time of his return. + </p> + <p> + “And, after all,” he thought suddenly, “I might have been the chosen + instrument of Providence. This is a manner of speaking, but there may be + truth in every manner of speaking. What if that absurd saying were true in + its essence?” + </p> + <p> + He meditated for a while, then sat down, his legs stretched out, with + stony eyes, and with his arms hanging down on each side of the chair like + a man totally abandoned by Providence—desolate. + </p> + <p> + He noted the time of Haldin’s departure and continued to sit still for + another half-hour; then muttering, “And now to work,” drew up to the + table, seized the pen and instantly dropped it under the influence of a + profoundly disquieting reflection: “There’s three weeks gone by and no + word from Mikulin.” + </p> + <p> + What did it mean! Was he forgotten? Possibly. Then why not remain + forgotten—creep in somewhere? Hide. But where? How? With whom? In + what hole? And was it to be for ever, or what? + </p> + <p> + But a retreat was big with shadowy dangers. The eye of the social + revolution was on him, and Razumov for a moment felt an unnamed and + despairing dread, mingled with an odious sense of humiliation. Was it + possible that he no longer belonged to himself? This was damnable. But why + not simply keep on as before? Study. Advance. Work hard as if nothing had + happened (and first of all win the Silver Medal), acquire distinction, + become a great reforming servant of the greatest of States. Servant, too, + of the mightiest homogeneous mass of mankind with a capability for + logical, guided development in a brotherly solidarity of force and aim + such as the world had never dreamt of... the Russian nation! + </p> + <p> + Calm, resolved, steady in his great purpose, he was stretching his hand + towards the pen when he happened to glance towards the bed. He rushed at + it, enraged, with a mental scream: “it’s you, crazy fanatic, who stands in + the way!” He flung the pillow on the floor violently, tore the blankets + aside.... Nothing there. And, turning away, he caught for an instant in + the air, like a vivid detail in a dissolving view of two heads, the eyes + of General T—- and of Privy-Councillor Mikulin side by side fixed + upon him, quite different in character, but with the same unflinching and + weary and yet purposeful expression...servants of the nation! + </p> + <p> + Razumov tottered to the washstand very alarmed about himself, drank some + water and bathed his forehead. “This will pass and leave no trace,” he + thought confidently. “I am all right.” But as to supposing that he had + been forgotten it was perfect nonsense. He was a marked man on that side. + And that was nothing. It was what that miserable phantom stood for which + had to be got out of the way.... “If one only could go and spit it all out + at some of them—and take the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + He imagined himself accosting the red-nosed student and suddenly shaking + his fist in his face. “From that one, though,” he reflected, “there’s + nothing to be got, because he has no mind of his own. He’s living in a red + democratic trance. Ah! you want to smash your way into universal + happiness, my boy. I will give you universal happiness, you silly, + hypnotized ghoul, you! And what about my own happiness, eh? Haven’t I got + any right to it, just because I can think for myself?...” + </p> + <p> + And again, but with a different mental accent, Razumov said to himself, “I + am young. Everything can be lived down.” At that moment he was crossing + the room slowly, intending to sit down on the sofa and try to compose his + thoughts. But before he had got so far everything abandoned him—hope, + courage, belief in himself trust in men. His heart had, as it were, + suddenly emptied itself. It was no use struggling on. Rest, work, + solitude, and the frankness of intercourse with his kind were alike + forbidden to him. Everything was gone. His existence was a great cold + blank, something like the enormous plain of the whole of Russia levelled + with snow and fading gradually on all sides into shadows and mists. + </p> + <p> + He sat down, with swimming head, closed his eyes, and remained like that, + sitting bolt upright on the sofa and perfectly awake for the rest of the + night; till the girl bustling into the outer room with the samovar thumped + with her fist on the door, calling out, “Kirylo Sidorovitch, please! It is + time for you to get up!” + </p> + <p> + Then, pale like a corpse obeying the dread summons of judgement, Razumov + opened his eyes and got up. + </p> + <p> + Nobody will be surprised to hear, I suppose, that when the summons came he + went to see Councillor Mikulin. It came that very morning, while, looking + white and shaky, like an invalid just out of bed, he was trying to shave + himself. The envelope was addressed in the little attorney’s handwriting. + That envelope contained another, superscribed to Razumov, in Prince K—-’s + hand, with the request “Please forward under cover at once” in a corner. + The note inside was an autograph of Councillor Mikulin. The writer stated + candidly that nothing had arisen which needed clearing up, but + nevertheless appointed a meeting with Mr. Razumov at a certain address in + town which seemed to be that of an oculist. + </p> + <p> + Razumov read it, finished shaving, dressed, looked at the note again, and + muttered gloomily, “Oculist.” He pondered over it for a time, lit a match, + and burned the two envelopes and the enclosure carefully. Afterwards he + waited, sitting perfectly idle and not even looking at anything in + particular till the appointed hour drew near—and then went out. + </p> + <p> + Whether, looking at the unofficial character of the summons, he might have + refrained from attending to it is hard to say. Probably not. At any rate, + he went; but, what’s more, he went with a certain eagerness, which may + appear incredible till it is remembered that Councillor Mikulin was the + only person on earth with whom Razumov could talk, taking the Haldin + adventure for granted. And Haldin, when once taken for granted, was no + longer a haunting, falsehood-breeding spectre. Whatever troubling power he + exercised in all the other places of the earth, Razumov knew very well + that at this oculist’s address he would be merely the hanged murderer of + M. de P—- and nothing more. For the dead can live only with the + exact intensity and quality of the life imparted to them by the living. So + Mr. Razumov, certain of relief, went to meet Councillor Mikulin with the + eagerness of a pursued person welcoming any sort of shelter. + </p> + <p> + This much said, there is no need to tell anything more of that first + interview and of the several others. To the morality of a Western reader + an account of these meetings would wear perhaps the sinister character of + old legendary tales where the Enemy of Mankind is represented holding + subtly mendacious dialogues with some tempted soul. It is not my part to + protest. Let me but remark that the Evil One, with his single passion of + satanic pride for the only motive, is yet, on a larger, modern view, + allowed to be not quite so black as he used to be painted. With what + greater latitude, then, should we appraise the exact shade of mere mortal + man, with his many passions and his miserable ingenuity in error, always + dazzled by the base glitter of mixed motives, everlastingly betrayed by a + short-sighted wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin was one of those powerful officials who, in a position + not obscure, not occult, but simply inconspicuous, exercise a great + influence over the methods rather than over the conduct of affairs. A + devotion to Church and Throne is not in itself a criminal sentiment; to + prefer the will of one to the will of many does not argue the possession + of a black heart or prove congenital idiocy. Councillor Mikulin was not + only a clever but also a faithful official. Privately he was a bachelor + with a love of comfort, living alone in an apartment of five rooms + luxuriously furnished; and was known by his intimates to be an enlightened + patron of the art of female dancing. Later on the larger world first heard + of him in the very hour of his downfall, during one of those State trials + which astonish and puzzle the average plain man who reads the newspapers, + by a glimpse of unsuspected intrigues. And in the stir of vaguely seen + monstrosities, in that momentary, mysterious disturbance of muddy waters, + Councillor Mikulin went under, dignified, with only a calm, emphatic + protest of his innocence—nothing more. No disclosures damaging to a + harassed autocracy, complete fidelity to the secrets of the miserable <i>arcana + imperii</i> deposited in his patriotic breast, a display of bureaucratic + stoicism in a Russian official’s ineradicable, almost sublime contempt for + truth; stoicism of silence understood only by the very few of the + initiated, and not without a certain cynical grandeur of self-sacrifice on + the part of a sybarite. For the terribly heavy sentence turned Councillor + Mikulin civilly into a corpse, and actually into something very much like + a common convict. + </p> + <p> + It seems that the savage autocracy, no more than the divine democracy, + does not limit its diet exclusively to the bodies of its enemies. It + devours its friends and servants as well. The downfall of His Excellency + Gregory Gregorievitch Mikulin (which did not occur till some years later) + completes all that is known of the man. But at the time of M. de P—-’s + murder (or execution) Councillor Mikulin, under the modest style of Head + of Department at the General Secretariat, exercised a wide influence as + the confidant and right-hand man of his former schoolfellow and lifelong + friend, General T—-. One can imagine them talking over the case of + Mr. Razumov, with the full sense of their unbounded power over all the + lives in Russia, with cursory disdain, like two Olympians glancing at a + worm. The relationship with Prince K—- was enough to save Razumov + from some carelessly arbitrary proceeding, and it is also very probable + that after the interview at the Secretariat he would have been left alone. + Councillor Mikulin would not have forgotten him (he forgot no one who ever + fell under his observation), but would have simply dropped him for ever. + Councillor Mikulin was a good-natured man and wished no harm to anyone. + Besides (with his own reforming tendencies) he was favourably impressed by + that young student, the son of Prince K—-, and apparently no fool. + </p> + <p> + But as fate would have it, while Mr. Razumov was finding that no way of + life was possible to him, Councillor Mikulin’s discreet abilities were + rewarded by a very responsible post—nothing less than the direction + of the general police supervision over Europe. And it was then, and then + only, when taking in hand the perfecting of the service which watches the + revolutionist activities abroad, that he thought again of Mr. Razumov. He + saw great possibilities of special usefulness in that uncommon young man + on whom he had a hold already, with his peculiar temperament, his + unsettled mind and shaken conscience, a struggling in the toils of a false + position.... It was as if the revolutionists themselves had put into his + hand that tool so much finer than the common base instruments, so + perfectly fitted, if only vested with sufficient credit, to penetrate into + places inaccessible to common informers. Providential! Providential! And + Prince K—-, taken into the secret, was ready enough to adopt that + mystical view too. “It will be necessary, though, to make a career for him + afterwards,” he had stipulated anxiously. “Oh! absolutely. We shall make + that our affair,” Mikulin had agreed. Prince K—-’s mysticism was of + an artless kind; but Councillor Mikulin was astute enough for two. + </p> + <p> + Things and men have always a certain sense, a certain side by which they + must be got hold of if one wants to obtain a solid grasp and a perfect + command. The power of Councillor Mikulin consisted in the ability to seize + upon that sense, that side in the men he used. It did not matter to him + what it was—vanity, despair, love, hate, greed, intelligent pride or + stupid conceit, it was all one to him as long as the man could be made to + serve. The obscure, unrelated young student Razumov, in the moment of + great moral loneliness, was allowed to feel that he was an object of + interest to a small group of people of high position. Prince K—- was + persuaded to intervene personally, and on a certain occasion gave way to a + manly emotion which, all unexpected as it was, quite upset Mr. Razumov. + The sudden embrace of that man, agitated by his loyalty to a throne and by + suppressed paternal affection, was a revelation to Mr. Razumov of + something within his own breast. + </p> + <p> + “So that was it!” he exclaimed to himself. A sort of contemptuous + tenderness softened the young man’s grim view of his position as he + reflected upon that agitated interview with Prince K—-. This + simpleminded, worldly ex-Guardsman and senator whose soft grey official + whiskers had brushed against his cheek, his aristocratic and convinced + father, was he a whit less estimable or more absurd than that + famine-stricken, fanatical revolutionist, the red-nosed student? + </p> + <p> + And there was some pressure, too, besides the persuasiveness. Mr. Razumov + was always being made to feel that he had committed himself. There was no + getting away from that feeling, from that soft, unanswerable, “Where to?” + of Councillor Mikulin. But no susceptibilities were ever hurt. It was to + be a dangerous mission to Geneva for obtaining, at a critical moment, + absolutely reliable information from a very inaccessible quarter of the + inner revolutionary circle. There were indications that a very serious + plot was being matured.... The repose indispensable to a great country was + at stake.... A great scheme of orderly reforms would be endangered.... The + highest personages in the land were patriotically uneasy, and so on. In + short, Councillor Mikulin knew what to say. This skill is to be inferred + clearly from the mental and psychological self-confession, self-analysis + of Mr. Razumov’s written journal—the pitiful resource of a young man + who had near him no trusted intimacy, no natural affection to turn to. + </p> + <p> + How all this preliminary work was concealed from observation need not be + recorded. The expedient of the oculist gives a sufficient instance. + Councillor Mikulin was resourceful, and the task not very difficult. Any + fellow-student, even the red-nosed one, was perfectly welcome to see Mr. + Razumov entering a private house to consult an oculist. Ultimate success + depended solely on the revolutionary self-delusion which credited Razumov + with a mysterious complicity in the Haldin affair. To be compromised in it + was credit enough-and it was their own doing. It was precisely <i>that</i> + which stamped Mr. Razumov as a providential man, wide as poles apart from + the usual type of agent for “European supervision.” + </p> + <p> + And it was <i>that</i> which the Secretariat set itself the task to foster + by a course of calculated and false indiscretions. + </p> + <p> + It came at last to this, that one evening Mr. Razumov was unexpectedly + called upon by one of the “thinking” students whom formerly, before the + Haldin affair, he used to meet at various private gatherings; a big fellow + with a quiet, unassuming manner and a pleasant voice. + </p> + <p> + Recognizing his voice raised in the ante-room, “May one come in?” Razumov, + lounging idly on his couch, jumped up. “Suppose he were coming to stab + me?” he thought sardonically, and, assuming a green shade over his left + eye, said in a severe tone, “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + The other was embarrassed; hoped he was not intruding. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t been seen for several days, and I’ve wondered.” He coughed a + little. “Eye better?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly well now.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. I won’t stop a minute; but you see I, that is, we—anyway, I + have undertaken the duty to warn you, Kirylo Sidorovitch, that you are + living in false security maybe.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov sat still with his head leaning on his hand, which nearly + concealed the unshaded eye. + </p> + <p> + “I have that idea, too.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right, then. Everything seems quiet now, but those people are + preparing some move of general repression. That’s of course. But it isn’t + that I came to tell you.” He hitched his chair closer, dropped his voice. + “You will be arrested before long—we fear.” + </p> + <p> + An obscure scribe in the Secretariat had overheard a few words of a + certain conversation, and had caught a glimpse of a certain report. This + intelligence was not to be neglected. + </p> + <p> + Razumov laughed a little, and his visitor became very anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Kirylo Sidorovitch, this is no laughing matter. They have left you + alone for a while, but...! Indeed, you had better try to leave the + country, Kirylo Sidorovitch, while there’s yet time.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov jumped up and began to thank him for the advice with mocking + effusiveness, so that the other, colouring up, took himself off with the + notion that this mysterious Razumov was not a person to be warned or + advised by inferior mortals. + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin, informed the next day of the incident, expressed his + satisfaction. “H’m! Ha! Exactly what was wanted to...” and glanced down + his beard. + </p> + <p> + “I conclude,” said Razumov, “that the moment has come for me to start on + my mission.” + </p> + <p> + “The psychological Moment,” Councillor Mikulin insisted softly—very + gravely—as if awed. + </p> + <p> + All the arrangements to give verisimilitude to the appearance of a + difficult escape were made. Councillor Mikulin did not expect to see Mr. + Razumov again before his departure. These meetings were a risk, and there + was nothing more to settle. + </p> + <p> + “We have said everything to each other by now, Kirylo Sidorovitch,” said + the high official feelingly, pressing Razumov’s hand with that unreserved + heartiness a Russian can convey in his manner. “There is nothing obscure + between us. And I will tell you what! I consider myself fortunate in + having—h’m—your...” + </p> + <p> + He glanced down his beard, and, after a moment of thoughtful silence, + handed to Razumov a half-sheet of notepaper—an abbreviated note of + matters already discussed, certain points of inquiry, the line of conduct + agreed on, a few hints as to personalities, and so on. It was the only + compromising document in the case, but, as Councillor Mikulin observed, + “it could be easily destroyed. Mr. Razumov had better not see any one now—till + on the other side of the frontier, when, of course, it will be just + that.... See and hear and...” + </p> + <p> + He glanced down his beard; but when Razumov declared his intention to see + one person at least before leaving St. Petersburg, Councillor Mikulin + failed to conceal a sudden uneasiness. The young man’s studious, solitary, + and austere existence was well known to him. It was the greatest guarantee + of fitness. He became deprecatory. Had his dear Kirylo Sidorovitch + considered whether, in view of such a momentous enterprise, it wasn’t + really advisable to sacrifice every sentiment.... + </p> + <p> + Razumov interrupted the remonstrance scornfully. It was not a young woman, + it was a young fool he wished to see for a certain purpose. Councillor + Mikulin was relieved, but surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! And what for—precisely?” + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of improving the aspect of verisimilitude,” said Razumov + curtly, in a desire to affirm his independence. “I must be trusted in what + I do.” + </p> + <p> + Councillor Mikulin gave way tactfully, murmuring, “Oh, certainly, + certainly. Your judgment...” + </p> + <p> + And with another handshake they parted. + </p> + <p> + The fool of whom Mr. Razumov had thought was the rich and festive student + known as madcap Kostia. Feather-headed, loquacious, excitable, one could + make certain of his utter and complete indiscretion. But that riotous + youth, when reminded by Razumov of his offers of service some time ago, + passed from his usual elation into boundless dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Kirylo Sidorovitch, my dearest friend—my saviour—what + shall I do? I’ve blown last night every rouble I had from my dad the other + day. Can’t you give me till Thursday? I shall rush round to all the + usurers I know.... No, of course, you can’t! Don’t look at me like that. + What shall I do? No use asking the old man. I tell you he’s given me a + fistful of big notes three days ago. Miserable wretch that I am.” + </p> + <p> + He wrung his hands in despair. Impossible to confide in the old man. + “They” had given him a decoration, a cross on the neck only last year, and + he had been cursing the modern tendencies ever since. Just then he would + see all the intellectuals in Russia hanged in a row rather than part with + a single rouble. + </p> + <p> + “Kirylo Sidorovitch, wait a moment. Don’t despise me. I have it. I’ll, yes—I’ll + do it—I’ll break into his desk. There’s no help for it. I know the + drawer where he keeps his plunder, and I can buy a chisel on my way home. + He will be terribly upset, but, you know, the dear old duffer really loves + me. He’ll have to get over it—and I, too. Kirylo, my dear soul, if + you can only wait for a few hours-till this evening—I shall steal + all the blessed lot I can lay my hands on! You doubt me! Why? You’ve only + to say the word.” + </p> + <p> + “Steal, by all means,” said Razumov, fixing him stonily. + </p> + <p> + “To the devil with the ten commandments!” cried the other, with the + greatest animation. “It’s the new future now.” + </p> + <p> + But when he entered Razumov’s room late in the evening it was with an + unaccustomed soberness of manner, almost solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “It’s done,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Razumov sitting bowed, his clasped hands hanging between his knees, + shuddered at the familiar sound of these words. Kostia deposited slowly in + the circle of lamplight a small brown-paper parcel tied with a piece of + string. + </p> + <p> + “As I’ve said—all I could lay my hands on. The old boy’ll think the + end of the world has come.” Razumov nodded from the couch, and + contemplated the hare-brained fellow’s gravity with a feeling of malicious + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve made my little sacrifice,” sighed mad Kostia. “And I’ve to thank + you, Kirylo Sidorovitch, for the opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “It has cost you something?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has. You see, the dear old duffer really loves me. He’ll be + hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “And you believe all they tell you of the new future and the sacred will + of the people?” + </p> + <p> + “Implicitly. I would give my life.... Only, you see, I am like a pig at a + trough. I am no good. It’s my nature.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov, lost in thought, had forgotten his existence till the youth’s + voice, entreating him to fly without loss of time, roused him + unpleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Well—good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to leave you till I’ve seen you out of St. Petersburg,” + declared Kostia unexpectedly, with calm determination. “You can’t refuse + me that now. For God’s sake, Kirylo, my soul, the police may be here any + moment, and when they get you they’ll immure you somewhere for ages—till + your hair turns grey. I have down there the best trotter of dad’s stables + and a light sledge. We shall do thirty miles before the moon sets, and + find some roadside station....” + </p> + <p> + Razumov looked up amazed. The journey was decided—unavoidable. He + had fixed the next day for his departure on the mission. And now he + discovered suddenly that he had not believed in it. He had gone about + listening, speaking, thinking, planning his simulated flight, with the + growing conviction that all this was preposterous. As if anybody ever did + such things! It was like a game of make-believe. And now he was amazed! + Here was somebody who believed in it with desperate earnestness. “If I + don’t go now, at once,” thought Razumov, with a start of fear, “I shall + never go.” He rose without a word, and the anxious Kostia thrust his cap + on him, helped him into his cloak, or else he would have left the room + bareheaded as he stood. He was walking out silently when a sharp cry + arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “Kirylo!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” He turned reluctantly in the doorway. Upright, with a stiffly + extended arm, Kostia, his face set and white, was pointing an eloquent + forefinger at the brown little packet lying forgotten in the circle of + bright light on the table. Razumov hesitated, came back for it under the + severe eyes of his companion, at whom he tried to smile. But the boyish, + mad youth was frowning. “It’s a dream,” thought Razumov, putting the + little parcel into his pocket and descending the stairs; “nobody does such + things.” The other held him under the arm, whispering of dangers ahead, + and of what he meant to do in certain contingencies. “Preposterous,” + murmured Razumov, as he was being tucked up in the sledge. He gave himself + up to watching the development of the dream with extreme attention. It + continued on foreseen lines, inexorably logical—the long drive, the + wait at the small station sitting by a stove. They did not exchange half a + dozen words altogether. Kostia, gloomy himself, did not care to break the + silence. At parting they embraced twice—it had to be done; and then + Kostia vanished out of the dream. + </p> + <p> + When dawn broke, Razumov, very still in a hot, stuffy railway-car full of + bedding and of sleeping people in all its dimly lighted length, rose + quietly, lowered the glass a few inches, and flung out on the great plain + of snow a small brown-paper parcel. Then he sat down again muffled up and + motionless. “For the people,” he thought, staring out of the window. The + great white desert of frozen, hard earth glided past his eyes without a + sign of human habitation. + </p> + <p> + That had been a waking act; and then the dream had him again: Prussia, + Saxony, Wurtemberg, faces, sights, words—all a dream, observed with + an angry, compelled attention. Zurich, Geneva—still a dream, + minutely followed, wearing one into harsh laughter, to fury, to death—with + the fear of awakening at the end. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps life is just that,” reflected Razumov, pacing to and fro under + the trees of the little island, all alone with the bronze statue of + Rousseau. “A dream and a fear.” The dusk deepened. The pages written over + and torn out of his notebook were the first-fruit of his “mission.” No + dream that. They contained the assurance that he was on the eve of real + discoveries. “I think there is no longer anything in the way of my being + completely accepted.” + </p> + <p> + He had resumed his impressions in those pages, some of the conversations. + He even went so far as to write: “By the by, I have discovered the + personality of that terrible N.N. A horrible, paunchy brute. If I hear + anything of his future movements I shall send a warning.” + </p> + <p> + The futility of all this overcame him like a curse. Even then he could not + believe in the reality of his mission. He looked round despairingly, as if + for some way to redeem his existence from that unconquerable feeling. He + crushed angrily in his hand the pages of the notebook. “This must be + posted,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + He gained the bridge and returned to the north shore, where he remembered + having seen in one of the narrower streets a little obscure shop stocked + with cheap wood carvings, its walls lined with extremely dirty + cardboard-bound volumes of a small circulating library. They sold + stationery there, too. A morose, shabby old man dozed behind the counter. + A thin woman in black, with a sickly face, produced the envelope he had + asked for without even looking at him. Razumov thought that these people + were safe to deal with because they no longer cared for anything in the + world. He addressed the envelope on the counter with the German name of a + certain person living in Vienna. But Razumov knew that this, his first + communication for Councillor Mikulin, would find its way to the Embassy + there, be copied in cypher by somebody trustworthy, and sent on to its + destination, all safe, along with the diplomatic correspondence. That was + the arrangement contrived to cover up the track of the information from + all unfaithful eyes, from all indiscretions, from all mishaps and + treacheries. It was to make him safe—absolutely safe. + </p> + <p> + He wandered out of the wretched shop and made for the post office. It was + then that I saw him for the second time that day. He was crossing the Rue + Mont Blanc with every appearance of an aimless stroller. He did not + recognize me, but I made him out at some distance. He was very + good-looking, I thought, this remarkable friend of Miss Haldin’s brother. + I watched him go up to the letter-box and then retrace his steps. Again he + passed me very close, but I am certain he did not see me that time, + either. He carried his head well up, but he had the expression of a + somnambulist struggling with the very dream which drives him forth to + wander in dangerous places. My thoughts reverted to Natalia Haldin, to her + mother. He was all that was left to them of their son and brother. + </p> + <p> + The westerner in me was discomposed. There was something shocking in the + expression of that face. Had I been myself a conspirator, a Russian + political refugee, I could have perhaps been able to draw some practical + conclusion from this chance glimpse. As it was, it only discomposed me + strongly, even to the extent of awakening an indefinite apprehension in + regard to Natalia Haldin. All this is rather inexplicable, but such was + the origin of the purpose I formed there and then to call on these ladies + in the evening, after my solitary dinner. It was true that I had met Miss + Haldin only a few hours before, but Mrs. Haldin herself I had not seen for + some considerable time. The truth is, I had shirked calling of late. + </p> + <p> + Poor Mrs. Haldin! I confess she frightened me a little. She was one of + those natures, rare enough, luckily, in which one cannot help being + interested, because they provoke both terror and pity. One dreads their + contact for oneself, and still more for those one cares for, so clear it + is that they are born to suffer and to make others suffer, too. It is + strange to think that, I won’t say liberty, but the mere liberalism of + outlook which for us is a matter of words, of ambitions, of votes (and if + of feeling at all, then of the sort of feeling which leaves our deepest + affections untouched), may be for other beings very much like ourselves + and living under the same sky, a heavy trial of fortitude, a matter of + tears and anguish and blood. Mrs. Haldin had felt the pangs of her own + generation. There was that enthusiast brother of hers—the officer + they shot under Nicholas. A faintly ironic resignation is no armour for a + vulnerable heart. Mrs. Haldin, struck at through her children, was bound + to suffer afresh from the past, and to feel the anguish of the future. She + was of those who do not know how to heal themselves, of those who are too + much aware of their heart, who, neither cowardly nor selfish, look + passionately at its wounds—and count the cost. + </p> + <p> + Such thoughts as these seasoned my modest, lonely bachelor’s meal. If + anybody wishes to remark that this was a roundabout way of thinking of + Natalia Haldin, I can only retort that she was well worth some concern. + She had all her life before her. Let it be admitted, then, that I was + thinking of Natalia Haldin’s life in terms of her mother’s character, a + manner of thinking about a girl permissible for an old man, not too old + yet to have become a stranger to pity. There was almost all her youth + before her; a youth robbed arbitrarily of its natural lightness and joy, + overshadowed by an un-European despotism; a terribly sombre youth given + over to the hazards of a furious strife between equally ferocious + antagonisms. + </p> + <p> + I lingered over my thoughts more than I should have done. One felt so + helpless, and even worse—so unrelated, in a way. At the last moment + I hesitated as to going there at all. What was the good? + </p> + <p> + The evening was already advanced when, turning into the Boulevard des + Philosophes, I saw the light in the window at the corner. The blind was + down, but I could imagine behind it Mrs. Haldin seated in the chair, in + her usual attitude, looking out for some one, which had lately acquired + the poignant quality of mad expectation. + </p> + <p> + I thought that I was sufficiently authorized by the light to knock at the + door. The ladies had not retired as yet. I only hoped they would not have + any visitors of their own nationality. A broken-down, retired Russian + official was to be found there sometimes in the evening. He was infinitely + forlorn and wearisome by his mere dismal presence. I think these ladies + tolerated his frequent visits because of an ancient friendship with Mr. + Haldin, the father, or something of that sort. I made up my mind that if I + found him prosing away there in his feeble voice I should remain but a + very few minutes. + </p> + <p> + The door surprised me by swinging open before I could ring the bell. I was + confronted by Miss Haldin, in hat and jacket, obviously on the point of + going out. At that hour! For the doctor, perhaps? + </p> + <p> + Her exclamation of welcome reassured me. It sounded as if I had been the + very man she wanted to see. My curiosity was awakened. She drew me in, and + the faithful Anna, the elderly German maid, closed the door, but did not + go away afterwards. She remained near it as if in readiness to let me out + presently. It appeared that Miss Haldin had been on the point of going out + to find me. + </p> + <p> + She spoke in a hurried manner very unusual with her. She would have gone + straight and rung at Mrs. Ziegler’s door, late as it was, for Mrs. + Ziegler’s habits.... + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ziegler, the widow of a distinguished professor who was an intimate + friend of mine, lets me have three rooms out of her very large and fine + apartment, which she didn’t give up after her husband’s death; but I have + my own entrance opening on the same landing. It was an arrangement of at + least ten years’ standing. I said that I was very glad that I had the idea + to.... + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin made no motion to take off her outdoor things. I observed her + heightened colour, something pronouncedly resolute in her tone. Did I know + where Mr. Razumov lived? + </p> + <p> + Where Mr. Razumov lived? Mr. Razumov? At this hour—so urgently? I + threw my arms up in sign of utter ignorance. I had not the slightest idea + where he lived. If I could have foreseen her question only three hours + ago, I might have ventured to ask him on the pavement before the new post + office building, and possibly he would have told me, but very possibly, + too, he would have dismissed me rudely to mind my own business. And + possibly, I thought, remembering that extraordinary hallucined, anguished, + and absent expression, he might have fallen down in a fit from the shock + of being spoken to. I said nothing of all this to Miss Haldin, not even + mentioning that I had a glimpse of the young man so recently. The + impression had been so extremely unpleasant that I would have been glad to + forget it myself. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see where I could make inquiries,” I murmured helplessly. I would + have been glad to be of use in any way, and would have set off to fetch + any man, young or old, for I had the greatest confidence in her common + sense. “What made you think of coming to me for that information?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t exactly for that,” she said, in a low voice. She had the air of + some one confronted by an unpleasant task. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand that you must communicate with Mr. Razumov this + evening?” + </p> + <p> + Natalia Haldin moved her head affirmatively; then, after a glance at the + door of the drawing-room, said in French— + </p> + <p> + “<i>C’est maman</i>,” and remained perplexed for a moment. Always serious, + not a girl to be put out by any imaginary difficulties, my curiosity was + suspended on her lips, which remained closed for a moment. What was Mr. + Razumov’s connexion with this mention of her mother? Mrs. Haldin had not + been informed of her son’s friend’s arrival in Geneva. + </p> + <p> + “May I hope to see your mother this evening?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin extended her hand as if to bar the way. + </p> + <p> + “She is in a terrible state of agitation. Oh, you would not be able to + detect.... It’s inward, but I who know mother, I am appalled. I haven’t + the courage to face it any longer. It’s all my fault; I suppose I cannot + play a part; I’ve never before hidden anything from mother. There has + never been an occasion for anything of that sort between us. But you know + yourself the reason why I refrained from telling her at once of Mr. + Razumov’s arrival here. You understand, don’t you? Owing to her unhappy + state. And—there—I am no actress. My own feelings being + strongly engaged, I somehow.... I don’t know. She noticed something in my + manner. She thought I was concealing something from her. She noticed my + longer absences, and, in fact, as I have been meeting Mr. Razumov daily, I + used to stay away longer than usual when I went out. Goodness knows what + suspicions arose in her mind. You know that she has not been herself ever + since.... So this evening she—who has been so awfully silent: for + weeks-began to talk all at once. She said that she did not want to + reproach me; that I had my character as she had her own; that she did not + want to pry into my affairs or even into my thoughts; for her part, she + had never had anything to conceal from her children...cruel things to + listen to. And all this in her quiet voice, with that poor, wasted face as + calm as a stone. It was unbearable.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin talked in an undertone and more rapidly than I had ever heard + her speak before. That in itself was disturbing. The ante-room being + strongly lighted, I could see under the veil the heightened colour of her + face. She stood erect, her left hand was resting lightly on a small table. + The other hung by her side without stirring. Now and then she caught her + breath slightly. + </p> + <p> + “It was too startling. Just fancy! She thought that I was making + preparations to leave her without saying anything. I knelt by the side of + her chair and entreated her to think of what she was saying! She put her + hand on my head, but she persists in her delusion all the same. She had + always thought that she was worthy of her children’s confidence, but + apparently it was not so. Her son could not trust her love nor yet her + understanding—and now I was planning to abandon her in the same + cruel and unjust manner, and so on, and so on. Nothing I could say.... It + is morbid obstinacy.... She said that she felt there was something, some + change in me.... If my convictions were calling me away, why this secrecy, + as though she had been a coward or a weakling not safe to trust? ‘As if my + heart could play traitor to my children,’ she said.... It was hardly to be + borne. And she was smoothing my head all the time.... It was perfectly + useless to protest. She is ill. Her very soul is....” + </p> + <p> + I did not venture to break the silence which fell between us. I looked + into her eyes, glistening through the veil. + </p> + <p> + “I! Changed!” she exclaimed in the same low tone. “My convictions calling + me away! It was cruel to hear this, because my trouble is that I am weak + and cannot see what I ought to do. You know that. And to end it all I did + a selfish thing. To remove her suspicions of myself I told her of Mr. + Razumov. It was selfish of me. You know we were completely right in + agreeing to keep the knowledge away from her. Perfectly right. Directly I + told her of our poor Victor’s friend being here I saw how right we have + been. She ought to have been prepared; but in my distress I just blurted + it out. Mother got terribly excited at once. How long has he been here? + What did he know, and why did he not come to see us at once, this friend + of her Victor? What did that mean? Was she not to be trusted even with + such memories as there were left of her son?... Just think how I felt + seeing her, white like a sheet, perfectly motionless, with her thin hands + gripping the arms of the chair. I told her it was all my fault.” + </p> + <p> + I could imagine the motionless dumb figure of the mother in her chair, + there, behind the door, near which the daughter was talking to me. The + silence in there seemed to call aloud for vengeance against an historical + fact and the modern instances of its working. That view flashed through my + mind, but I could not doubt that Miss Haldin had had an atrocious time of + it. I quite understood when she said that she could not face the night + upon the impression of that scene. Mrs. Haldin had given way to most awful + imaginings, to most fantastic and cruel suspicions. All this had to be + lulled at all costs and without loss of time. It was no shock to me to + learn that Miss Haldin had said to her, “I will go and bring him here at + once.” There was nothing absurd in that cry, no exaggeration of sentiment. + I was not even doubtful in my “Very well, but how?” + </p> + <p> + It was perfectly right that she should think of me, but what could I do in + my ignorance of Mr. Razumov’s quarters. + </p> + <p> + “And to think he may be living near by, within a stone’s-throw, perhaps!” + she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + I doubted it; but I would have gone off cheerfully to fetch him from the + other end of Geneva. I suppose she was certain of my readiness, since her + first thought was to come to me. But the service she meant to ask of me + really was to accompany her to the Chateau Borel. + </p> + <p> + I had an unpleasant mental vision of the dark road, of the sombre grounds, + and the desolately suspicious aspect of that home of necromancy and + intrigue and feminist adoration. I objected that Madame de S— most + likely would know nothing of what we wanted to find out. Neither did I + think it likely that the young man would be found there. I remembered my + glimpse of his face, and somehow gained the conviction that a man who + looked worse than if he had seen the dead would want to shut himself up + somewhere where he could be alone. I felt a strange certitude that Mr. + Razumov was going home when I saw him. + </p> + <p> + “It is really of Peter Ivanovitch that I was thinking,” said Miss Haldin + quietly. + </p> + <p> + Ah! He, of course, would know. I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes + past nine only.... Still. + </p> + <p> + “I would try his hotel, then,” I advised. “He has rooms at the + Cosmopolitan, somewhere on the top floor.” + </p> + <p> + I did not offer to go by myself, simply from mistrust of the reception I + should meet with. But I suggested the faithful Anna, with a note asking + for the information. + </p> + <p> + Anna was still waiting by the door at the other end of the room, and we + two discussed the matter in whispers. Miss Haldin thought she must go + herself. Anna was timid and slow. Time would be lost in bringing back the + answer, and from that point of view it was getting late, for it was by no + means certain that Mr. Razumov lived near by. + </p> + <p> + “If I go myself,” Miss Haldin argued, “I can go straight to him from the + hotel. And in any case I should have to go out, because I must explain to + Mr. Razumov personally—prepare him in a way. You have no idea of + mother’s state of mind.” + </p> + <p> + Her colour came and went. She even thought that both for her mother’s sake + and for her own it was better that they should not be together for a + little time. Anna, whom her mother liked, would be at hand. + </p> + <p> + “She could take her sewing into the room,” Miss Haldin continued, leading + the way to the door. Then, addressing in German the maid who opened it + before us, “You may tell my mother that this gentleman called and is gone + with me to find Mr. Razumov. She must not be uneasy if I am away for some + length of time.” + </p> + <p> + We passed out quickly into the street, and she took deep breaths of the + cool night air. “I did not even ask you,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I should think not,” I said, with a laugh. The manner of my reception by + the great feminist could not be considered now. That he would be annoyed + to see me, and probably treat me to some solemn insolence, I had no doubt, + but I supposed that he would not absolutely dare to throw me out. And that + was all I cared for. “Won’t you take my arm?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She did so in silence, and neither of us said anything worth recording + till I let her go first into the great hall of the hotel. It was + brilliantly lighted, and with a good many people lounging about. + </p> + <p> + “I could very well go up there without you,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to be left waiting in this place,” she said in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I will come too.” + </p> + <p> + I led her straight to the lift then. At the top floor the attendant + directed us to the right: “End of the corridor.” + </p> + <p> + The walls were white, the carpet red, electric lights blazed in profusion, + and the emptiness, the silence, the closed doors all alike and numbered, + made me think of the perfect order of some severely luxurious model + penitentiary on the solitary confinement principle. Up there under the + roof of that enormous pile for housing travellers no sound of any kind + reached us, the thick crimson felt muffled our footsteps completely. We + hastened on, not looking at each other till we found ourselves before the + very last door of that long passage. Then our eyes met, and we stood thus + for a moment lending ear to a faint murmur of voices inside. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose this is it,” I whispered unnecessarily. I saw Miss Haldin’s + lips move without a sound, and after my sharp knock the murmur of voices + inside ceased. A profound stillness lasted for a few seconds, and then the + door was brusquely opened by a short, black-eyed woman in a red blouse, + with a great lot of nearly white hair, done up negligently in an untidy + and unpicturesque manner. Her thin, jetty eyebrows were drawn together. I + learned afterwards with interest that she was the famous—or the + notorious—Sophia Antonovna, but I was struck then by the quaint + Mephistophelian character of her inquiring glance, because it was so + curiously evil-less, so—I may say—un-devilish. It got softened + still more as she looked up at Miss Haldin, who stated, in her rich, even + voice, her wish to see Peter Ivanovitch for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I am Miss Haldin,” she added. + </p> + <p> + At this, with her brow completely smoothed out now, but without a word in + answer, the woman in the red blouse walked away to a sofa and sat down, + leaving the door wide open. + </p> + <p> + And from the sofa, her hands lying on her lap, she watched us enter, with + her black, glittering eyes. + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin advanced into the middle of the room; I, faithful to my part + of mere attendant, remained by the door after closing it behind me. The + room, quite a large one, but with a low ceiling, was scantily furnished, + and an electric bulb with a porcelain shade pulled low down over a big + table (with a very large map spread on it) left its distant parts in a + dim, artificial twilight. Peter Ivanovitch was not to be seen, neither was + Mr. Razumov present. But, on the sofa, near Sophia Antonovna, a bony-faced + man with a goatee beard leaned forward with his hands on his knees, + staring hard with a kindly expression. In a remote corner a broad, pale + face and a bulky shape could be made out, uncouth, and as if insecure on + the low seat on which it rested. The only person known to me was little + Julius Laspara, who seemed to have been poring over the map, his feet + twined tightly round the chair-legs. He got down briskly and bowed to Miss + Haldin, looking absurdly like a hooknosed boy with a beautiful false + pepper-and-salt beard. He advanced, offering his seat, which Miss Haldin + declined. She had only come in for a moment to say a few words to Peter + Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + His high-pitched voice became painfully audible in the room. + </p> + <p> + “Strangely enough, I was thinking of you this very afternoon, Natalia + Victorovna. I met Mr. Razumov. I asked him to write me an article on + anything he liked. You could translate it into English—with such a + teacher.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded complimentarily in my direction. At the name of Razumov an + indescribable sound, a sort of feeble squeak, as of some angry small + animal, was heard in the corner occupied by the man who seemed much too + large for the chair on which he sat. I did not hear what Miss Haldin said. + Laspara spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “It’s time to do something, Natalia Victorovna. But I suppose you have + your own ideas. Why not write something yourself? Suppose you came to see + us soon? We could talk it over. Any advice...” + </p> + <p> + Again I did not catch Miss Haldin’s words. It was Laspara’s voice once + more. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Ivanovitch? He’s retired for a moment into the other room. We are + all waiting for him.” The great man, entering at that moment, looked + bigger, taller, quite imposing in a long dressing-gown of some dark stuff. + It descended in straight lines down to his feet. He suggested a monk or a + prophet, a robust figure of same desert-dweller—something Asiatic; + and the dark glasses in conjunction with this costume made him more + mysterious than ever in the subdued light. + </p> + <p> + Little Laspara went back to his chair to look at the map, the only + brilliantly lit object in the room. Even from my distant position by the + door I could make out, by the shape of the blue part representing the + water, that it was a map of the Baltic provinces. Peter Ivanovitch + exclaimed slightly, advancing towards Miss Haldin, checked himself on + perceiving me, very vaguely no doubt; and peered with his dark, + bespectacled stare. He must have recognized me by my grey hair, because, + with a marked shrug of his broad shoulders, he turned to Miss Haldin in + benevolent indulgence. He seized her hand in his thick cushioned palm, and + put his other big paw over it like a lid. + </p> + <p> + While those two standing in the middle of the floor were exchanging a few + inaudible phrases no one else moved in the room: Laspara, with his back to + us, kneeling on the chair, his elbows propped on the big-scale map, the + shadowy enormity in the corner, the frankly staring man with the goatee on + the sofa, the woman in the red blouse by his side—not one of them + stirred. I suppose that really they had no time, for Miss Haldin withdrew + her hand immediately from Peter Ivanovitch and before I was ready for her + was moving to the door. A disregarded Westerner, I threw it open hurriedly + and followed her out, my last glance leaving them all motionless in their + varied poses: Peter Ivanovitch alone standing up, with his dark glasses + like an enormous blind teacher, and behind him the vivid patch of light on + the coloured map, pored over by the diminutive Laspara. + </p> + <p> + Later on, much later on, at the time of the newspaper rumours (they were + vague and soon died out) of an abortive military conspiracy in Russia, I + remembered the glimpse I had of that motionless group with its central + figure. No details ever came out, but it was known that the revolutionary + parties abroad had given their assistance, had sent emissaries in advance, + that even money was found to dispatch a steamer with a cargo of arms and + conspirators to invade the Baltic provinces. And while my eyes scanned the + imperfect disclosures (in which the world was not much interested) I + thought that the old, settled Europe had been given in my person attending + that Russian girl something like a glimpse behind the scenes. A short, + strange glimpse on the top floor of a great hotel of all places in the + world: the great man himself; the motionless great bulk in the corner of + the slayer of spies and gendarmes; Yakovlitch, the veteran of ancient + terrorist campaigns; the woman, with her hair as white as mine and the + lively black eyes, all in a mysterious half-light, with the strongly + lighted map of Russia on the table. The woman I had the opportunity to see + again. As we were waiting for the lift she came hurrying along the + corridor, with her eyes fastened on Miss Haldin’s face, and drew her aside + as if for a confidential communication. It was not long. A few words only. + </p> + <p> + Going down in the lift, Natalia Haldin did not break the silence. It was + only when out of the hotel and as we moved along the quay in the fresh + darkness spangled by the quay lights, reflected in the black water of the + little port on our left hand, and with lofty piles of hotels on our right, + that she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “That was Sophia Antonovna—you know the woman?...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know—the famous...” + </p> + <p> + “The same. It appears that after we went out Peter Ivanovitch told them + why I had come. That was the reason she ran out after us. She named + herself to me, and then she said, ‘You are the sister of a brave man who + shall be remembered. You may see better times.’ I told her I hoped to see + the time when all this would be forgotten, even if the name of my brother + were to be forgotten too. Something moved me to say that, but you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “You think of the era of concord and justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There is too much hate and revenge in that work. It must be done. It + is a sacrifice—and so let it be all the greater. Destruction is the + work of anger. Let the tyrants and the slayers be forgotten together, and + only the reconstructors be remembered.‘’ + </p> + <p> + “And did Sophia Antonovna agree with you?” I asked sceptically. + </p> + <p> + “She did not say anything except, ‘It is good for you to believe in love.’ + I should think she understood me. Then she asked me if I hoped to see Mr. + Razumov presently. I said I trusted I could manage to bring him to see my + mother this evening, as my mother had learned of his being here and was + morbidly impatient to learn if he could tell us something of Victor. He + was the only friend of my brother we knew of, and a great intimate. She + said, ‘Oh! Your brother—yes. Please tell Mr. Razumov that I have + made public the story which came to me from St. Petersburg. It concerns + your brother’s arrest,’ she added. ‘He was betrayed by a man of the people + who has since hanged himself. Mr. Razumov will explain it all to you. I + gave him the full information this afternoon. And please tell Mr. Razumov + that Sophia Antonovna sends him her greetings. I am going away early in + the morning—far away.’” + </p> + <p> + And Miss Haldin added, after a moment of silence—“I was so moved by + what I heard so unexpectedly that I simply could not speak to you + before.... A man of the people! Oh, our poor people!” + </p> + <p> + She walked slowly, as if tired out suddenly. Her head drooped; from the + windows of a building with terraces and balconies came the banal sound of + hotel music; before the low mean portals of the Casino two red posters + blazed under the electric lamps, with a cheap provincial effect.—and + the emptiness of the quays, the desert aspect of the streets, had an air + of hypocritical respectability and of inexpressible dreariness. + </p> + <p> + I had taken for granted she had obtained the address, and let myself be + guided by her. On the Mont Blanc bridge, where a few dark figures seemed + lost in the wide and long perspective defined by the lights, she said— + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t very far from our house. I somehow thought it couldn’t be. The + address is Rue de Carouge. I think it must be one of those big new houses + for artisans.” + </p> + <p> + She took my arm confidingly, familiarly, and accelerated her pace. There + was something primitive in our proceedings. We did not think of the + resources of civilization. A late tramcar overtook us; a row of <i>fiacres</i> + stood by the railing of the gardens. It never entered our heads to make + use of these conveyances. She was too hurried, perhaps, and as to myself—well, + she had taken my arm confidingly. As we were ascending the easy incline of + the Corraterie, all the shops shuttered and no light in any of the windows + (as if all the mercenary population had fled at the end of the day), she + said tentatively— + </p> + <p> + “I could run in for a moment to have a look at mother. It would not be + much out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + I dissuaded her. If Mrs. Haldin really expected to see Razumov that night + it would have been unwise to show herself without him. The sooner we got + hold of the young man and brought him along to calm her mother’s agitation + the better. She assented to my reasoning, and we crossed diagonally the + Place de Theatre, bluish grey with its floor of slabs of stone, under the + electric light, and the lonely equestrian statue all black in the middle. + In the Rue de Carouge we were in the poorer quarters and approaching the + outskirts of the town. Vacant building plots alternated with high, new + houses. At the corner of a side street the crude light of a whitewashed + shop fell into the night, fan-like, through a wide doorway. One could see + from a distance the inner wall with its scantily furnished shelves, and + the deal counter painted brown. That was the house. Approaching it along + the dark stretch of a fence of tarred planks, we saw the narrow pallid + face of the cut angle, five single windows high, without a gleam in them, + and crowned by the heavy shadow of a jutting roof slope. + </p> + <p> + “We must inquire in the shop,” Miss Haldin directed me. + </p> + <p> + A sallow, thinly whiskered man, wearing a dingy white collar and a frayed + tie, laid down a newspaper, and, leaning familiarly on both elbows far + over the bare counter, answered that the person I was inquiring for was + indeed his <i>locataire</i> on the third floor, but that for the moment he + was out. + </p> + <p> + “For the moment,” I repeated, after a glance at Miss Haldin. “Does this + mean that you expect him back at once?” + </p> + <p> + He was very gentle, with ingratiating eyes and soft lips. He smiled + faintly as though he knew all about everything. Mr. Razumov, after being + absent all day, had returned early in the evening. He was very surprised + about half an hour or a little more since to see him come down again. Mr. + Razumov left his key, and in the course of some words which passed between + them had remarked that he was going out because he needed air. + </p> + <p> + From behind the bare counter he went on smiling at us, his head held + between his hands. Air. Air. But whether that meant a long or a short + absence it was difficult to say. The night was very close, certainly. + </p> + <p> + After a pause, his ingratiating eyes turned to the door, he added— + </p> + <p> + “The storm shall drive him in.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s going to be a storm?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes!” + </p> + <p> + As if to confirm his words we heard a very distant, deep rumbling noise. + </p> + <p> + Consulting Miss Haldin by a glance, I saw her so reluctant to give up her + quest that I asked the shopkeeper, in case Mr. Razumov came home within + half an hour, to beg him to remain downstairs in the shop. We would look + in again presently. + </p> + <p> + For all answer he moved his head imperceptibly. The approval of Miss + Haldin was expressed by her silence. We walked slowly down the street, + away from the town; the low garden walls of the modest villas doomed to + demolition were overhung by the boughs of trees and masses of foliage, + lighted from below by gas lamps. The violent and monotonous noise of the + icy waters of the Arve falling over a low dam swept towards us with a + chilly draught of air across a great open space, where a double line of + lamp-lights outlined a street as yet without houses. But on the other + shore, overhung by the awful blackness of the thunder-cloud, a solitary + dim light seemed to watch us with a weary stare. When we had strolled as + far as the bridge, I said— + </p> + <p> + “We had better get back....” + </p> + <p> + In the shop the sickly man was studying his smudgy newspaper, now spread + out largely on the counter. He just raised his head when I looked in and + shook it negatively, pursing up his lips. I rejoined Miss Haldin outside + at once, and we moved off at a brisk pace. She remarked that she would + send Anna with a note the first thing in the morning. I respected her + taciturnity, silence being perhaps the best way to show my concern. + </p> + <p> + The semi-rural street we followed on our return changed gradually to the + usual town thoroughfare, broad and deserted. We did not meet four people + altogether, and the way seemed interminable, because my companion’s + natural anxiety had communicated itself sympathetically to me. At last we + turned into the Boulevard des Philosophes, more wide, more empty, more + dead—the very desolation of slumbering respectability. At the sight + of the two lighted windows, very conspicuous from afar, I had the mental + vision of Mrs. Haldin in her armchair keeping a dreadful, tormenting vigil + under the evil spell of an arbitrary rule: a victim of tyranny and + revolution, a sight at once cruel and absurd. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + “You will come in for a moment?” said Natalia Haldin. + </p> + <p> + I demurred on account of the late hour. “You know mother likes you so + much,” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + “I will just come in to hear how your mother is.” + </p> + <p> + She said, as if to herself, “I don’t even know whether she will believe + that I could not find Mr. Razumov, since she has taken it into her head + that I am concealing something from her. You may be able to persuade + her....” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother may mistrust me too,” I observed. + </p> + <p> + “You! Why? What could you have to conceal from her? You are not a Russian + nor a conspirator.” + </p> + <p> + I felt profoundly my European remoteness, and said nothing, but I made up + my mind to play my part of helpless spectator to the end. The distant + rolling of thunder in the valley of the Rhone was coming nearer to the + sleeping town of prosaic virtues and universal hospitality. We crossed the + street opposite the great dark gateway, and Miss Haldin rang at the door + of the apartment. It was opened almost instantly, as if the elderly maid + had been waiting in the ante-room for our return. Her flat physiognomy had + an air of satisfaction. The gentleman was there, she declared, while + closing the door. + </p> + <p> + Neither of us understood. Miss Haldin turned round brusquely to her. + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Herr Razumov,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + She had heard enough of our conversation before we left to know why her + young mistress was going out. Therefore, when the gentleman gave his name + at the door, she admitted him at once. + </p> + <p> + “No one could have foreseen that,” Miss Haldin murmured, with her serious + grey eyes fixed upon mine. And, remembering the expression of the young + man’s face seen not much more than four hours ago, the look of a haunted + somnambulist, I wondered with a sort of awe. + </p> + <p> + “You asked my mother first?” Miss Haldin inquired of the maid. + </p> + <p> + “No. I announced the gentleman,” she answered, surprised at our troubled + faces. + </p> + <p> + “Still,” I said in an undertone, “your mother was prepared.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But he has no idea....” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me she doubted his tact. To her question how long the + gentleman had been with her mother, the maid told us that Der Herr had + been in the drawing-room no more than a short quarter of an hour. + </p> + <p> + She waited a moment, then withdrew, looking a little scared. Miss Haldin + gazed at me in silence. + </p> + <p> + “As things have turned out,” I said, “you happen to know exactly what your + brother’s friend has to tell your mother. And surely after that...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Natalia Haldin slowly. “I only wonder, as I was not here when + he came, if it wouldn’t be better not to interrupt now.” + </p> + <p> + We remained silent, and I suppose we both strained our ears, but no sound + reached us through the closed door. The features of Miss Haldin expressed + a painful irresolution; she made a movement as if to go in, but checked + herself. She had heard footsteps on the other side of the door. It came + open, and Razumov, without pausing, stepped out into the ante-room. The + fatigue of that day and the struggle with himself had changed him so much + that I would have hesitated to recognize that face which, only a few hours + before, when he brushed against me in front of the post office, had been + startling enough but quite different. It had been not so livid then, and + its eyes not so sombre. They certainly looked more sane now, but there was + upon them the shadow of something consciously evil. + </p> + <p> + I speak of that, because, at first, their glance fell on me, though + without any sort of recognition or even comprehension. I was simply in the + line of his stare. I don’t know if he had heard the bell or expected to + see anybody. He was going out, I believe, and I do not think that he saw + Miss Haldin till she advanced towards him a step or two. He disregarded + the hand she put out. + </p> + <p> + “It’s you, Natalia Victorovna.... Perhaps you are surprised...at this late + hour. But, you see, I remembered our conversations in that garden. I + thought really it was your wish that I should—without loss of + time...so I came. No other reason. Simply to tell...” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with difficulty. I noticed that, and remembered his declaration + to the man in the shop that he was going out because he “needed air.” If + that was his object, then it was clear that he had miserably failed. With + downcast eyes and lowered head he made an effort to pick up the strangled + phrase. + </p> + <p> + “To tell what I have heard myself only to-day—to-day....” + </p> + <p> + Through the door he had not closed I had a view of the drawing-room. It + was lighted only by a shaded lamp—Mrs. Haldin’s eyes could not + support either gas or electricity. It was a comparatively big room, and in + contrast with the strongly lighted ante-room its length was lost in + semi-transparent gloom backed by heavy shadows; and on that ground I saw + the motionless figure of Mrs. Haldin, inclined slightly forward, with a + pale hand resting on the arm of the chair. + </p> + <p> + She did not move. With the window before her she had no longer that + attitude suggesting expectation. The blind was down; and outside there was + only the night sky harbouring a thunder-cloud, and the town indifferent + and hospitable in its cold, almost scornful, toleration—a + respectable town of refuge to which all these sorrows and hopes were + nothing. Her white head was bowed. + </p> + <p> + The thought that the real drama of autocracy is not played on the great + stage of politics came to me as, fated to be a spectator, I had this other + glimpse behind the scenes, something more profound than the words and + gestures of the public play. I had the certitude that this mother, refused + in her heart to give her son up after all. It was more than Rachel’s + inconsolable mourning, it was something deeper, more inaccessible in its + frightful tranquillity. Lost in the ill-defined mass of the high-backed + chair, her white, inclined profile suggested the contemplation of + something in her lap, as though a beloved head were resting there. + </p> + <p> + I had this glimpse behind the scenes, and then Miss Haldin, passing by the + young man, shut the door. It was not done without hesitation. For a moment + I thought that she would go to her mother, but she sent in only an anxious + glance. Perhaps if Mrs. Haldin had moved...but no. There was in the + immobility of that bloodless face the dreadful aloofness of suffering + without remedy. + </p> + <p> + Meantime the young man kept his eyes fixed on the floor. The thought that + he would have to repeat the story he had told already was intolerable to + him. He had expected to find the two women together. And then, he had said + to himself, it would be over for all time—for all time. “It’s lucky + I don’t believe in another world,” he had thought cynically. + </p> + <p> + Alone in his room after having posted his secret letter, he had regained a + certain measure of composure by writing in his secret diary. He was aware + of the danger of that strange self-indulgence. He alludes to it himself, + but he could not refrain. It calmed him—it reconciled him to his + existence. He sat there scribbling by the light of a solitary candle, till + it occurred to him that having heard the explanation of Haldin’s arrest, + as put forward by Sophia Antonovna, it behoved him to tell these ladies + himself. They were certain to hear the tale through some other channel, + and then his abstention would look strange, not only to the mother and + sister of Haldin, but to other people also. Having come to this + conclusion, he did not discover in himself any marked reluctance to face + the necessity, and very soon an anxiety to be done with it began to + torment him. He looked at his watch. No; it was not absolutely too late. + </p> + <p> + The fifteen minutes with Mrs. Haldin were like the revenge of the unknown: + that white face, that weak, distinct voice; that head, at first turned to + him eagerly, then, after a while, bowed again and motionless—in the + dim, still light of the room in which his words which he tried to subdue + resounded so loudly—had troubled him like some strange discovery. + And there seemed to be a secret obstinacy in that sorrow, something he + could not understand; at any rate, something he had not expected. Was it + hostile? But it did not matter. Nothing could touch him now; in the eyes + of the revolutionists there was now no shadow on his past. The phantom of + Haldin had been indeed walked over, was left behind lying powerless and + passive on the pavement covered with snow. And this was the phantom’s + mother consumed with grief and white as a ghost. He had felt a pitying + surprise. But that, of course, was of no importance. Mothers did not + matter. He could not shake off the poignant impression of that silent, + quiet, white-haired woman, but a sort of sternness crept into his + thoughts. These were the consequences. Well, what of it? “Am I then on a + bed of roses?” he had exclaimed to himself, sitting at some distance with + his eyes fixed upon that figure of sorrow. He had said all he had to say + to her, and when he had finished she had not uttered a word. She had + turned away her head while he was speaking. The silence which had fallen + on his last words had lasted for five minutes or more. What did it mean? + Before its incomprehensible character he became conscious of anger in his + stern mood, the old anger against Haldin reawakened by the contemplation + of Haldin’s mother. And was it not something like enviousness which + gripped his heart, as if of a privilege denied to him alone of all the men + that had ever passed through this world? It was the other who had attained + to repose and yet continued to exist in the affection of that mourning old + woman, in the thoughts of all these people posing for lovers of humanity. + It was impossible to get rid of him. “It’s myself whom I have given up to + destruction,” thought Razumov. “He has induced me to do it. I can’t shake + him off.” + </p> + <p> + Alarmed by that discovery, he got up and strode out of the silent, dim + room with its silent old woman in the chair, that mother! He never looked + back. It was frankly a flight. But on opening the door he saw his retreat + cut off: There was the sister. He had never forgotten the sister, only he + had not expected to see her then—or ever any more, perhaps. Her + presence in the ante-room was as unforeseen as the apparition of her + brother had been. Razumov gave a start as though he had discovered himself + cleverly trapped. He tried to smile, but could not manage it, and lowered + his eyes. “Must I repeat that silly story now?” he asked himself, and felt + a sinking sensation. Nothing solid had passed his lips since the day + before, but he was not in a state to analyse the origins of his weakness. + He meant to take up his hat and depart with as few words as possible, but + Miss Haldin’s swift movement to shut the door took him by surprise. He + half turned after her, but without raising his eyes, passively, just as a + feather might stir in the disturbed air. The next moment she was back in + the place she had started from, with another half-turn on his part, so + that they came again into the same relative positions. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she said hurriedly. “I am very grateful to you, Kirylo + Sidorovitch, for coming at once—like this.... Only, I wish I had.... + Did mother tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she could have told me that I did not know before,” he + said, obviously to himself, but perfectly audible. “Because I always did + know it,” he added louder, as if in despair. + </p> + <p> + He hung his head. He had such a strong sense of Natalia Haldin’s presence + that to look at her he felt would be a relief. It was she who had been + haunting him now. He had suffered that persecution ever since she had + suddenly appeared before him in the garden of the Villa Borel with an + extended hand and the name of her brother on her lips.... The ante-room + had a row of hooks on the wall nearest to the outer door, while against + the wall opposite there stood a small dark table and one chair. The paper, + bearing a very faint design, was all but white. The light of an electric + bulb high up under the ceiling searched that clear square box into its + four bare corners, crudely, without shadows—a strange stage for an + obscure drama. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Miss Haldin. “What is it that you knew always?” + </p> + <p> + He raised his face, pale, full of unexpressed suffering. But that look in + his eyes of dull, absent obstinacy, which struck and surprised everybody + he was talking to, began to pass away. It was as though he were coming to + himself in the awakened consciousness of that marvellous harmony of + feature, of lines, of glances, of voice, which made of the girl before him + a being so rare, outside, and, as it were, above the common notion of + beauty. He looked at her so long that she coloured slightly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it that you knew?” she repeated vaguely. + </p> + <p> + That time he managed to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, if it had not been for a word of greeting or two, I would doubt + whether your mother was aware at all of my existence. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + Natalia Haldin nodded; her hands moved slightly by her side. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Is it not heart-breaking? She has not shed a tear yet—not a + single tear.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a tear! And you, Natalia Victorovna? You have been able to cry?” + </p> + <p> + “I have. And then I am young enough, Kirylo Sidorovitch, to believe in the + future. But when I see my mother so terribly distracted, I almost forget + everything. I ask myself whether one should feel proud—or only + resigned. We had such a lot of people coming to see us. There were utter + strangers who wrote asking for permission to call to present their + respects. It was impossible to keep our door shut for ever. You know that + Peter Ivanovitch himself.... Oh yes, there was much sympathy, but there + were persons who exulted openly at that death. Then, when I was left alone + with poor mother, all this seemed so wrong in spirit, something not worth + the price she is paying for it. But directly I heard you were here in + Geneva, Kirylo Sidorovitch, I felt that you were the only person who could + assist me....” + </p> + <p> + “In comforting a bereaved mother? Yes!” he broke in in a manner which made + her open her clear unsuspecting eyes. “But there is a question of fitness. + Has this occurred to you?” + </p> + <p> + There was a breathlessness in his utterance which contrasted with the + monstrous hint of mockery in his intention. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” whispered Natalia Haldin with feeling. “Who more fit than you?” + </p> + <p> + He had a convulsive movement of exasperation, but controlled himself. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Directly you heard that I was in Geneva, before even seeing me? + It is another proof of that confidence which....” + </p> + <p> + All at once his tone changed, became more incisive and more detached. + </p> + <p> + “Men are poor creatures, Natalia Victorovna. They have no intuition of + sentiment. In order to speak fittingly to a mother of her lost son one + must have had some experience of the filial relation. It is not the case + with me—if you must know the whole truth. Your hopes have to deal + here with ‘a breast unwarmed by any affection,’ as the poet says.... That + does not mean it is insensible,” he added in a lower tone. + </p> + <p> + “I am certain your heart is not unfeeling,” said Miss Haldin softly. + </p> + <p> + “No. It is not as hard as a stone,” he went on in the same introspective + voice, and looking as if his heart were lying as heavy as a stone in that + unwarmed breast of which he spoke. “No, not so hard. But how to prove what + you give me credit for—ah! that’s another question. No one has ever + expected such a thing from me before. No one whom my tenderness would have + been of any use to. And now you come. You! Now! No, Natalia Victorovna. + It’s too late. You come too late. You must expect nothing from me.” + </p> + <p> + She recoiled from him a little, though he had made no movement, as if she + had seen some change in his face, charging his words with the significance + of some hidden sentiment they shared together. To me, the silent + spectator, they looked like two people becoming conscious of a spell which + had been lying on them ever since they first set eyes on each other. Had + either of them cast a glance then in my direction, I would have opened the + door quietly and gone out. But neither did; and I remained, every fear of + indiscretion lost in the sense of my enormous remoteness from their + captivity within the sombre horizon of Russian problems, the boundary of + their eyes, of their feelings—the prison of their souls. + </p> + <p> + Frank, courageous, Miss Haldin controlled her voice in the midst of her + trouble. + </p> + <p> + “What can this mean?” she asked, as if speaking to herself. + </p> + <p> + “It may mean that you have given yourself up to vain imaginings while I + have managed to remain amongst the truth of things and the realities of + life—our Russian life—such as they are.” + </p> + <p> + “They are cruel,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “And ugly. Don’t forget that—and ugly. Look where you like. Look + near you, here abroad where you are, and then look back at home, whence + you came.” + </p> + <p> + “One must look beyond the present.” Her tone had an ardent conviction. + </p> + <p> + “The blind can do that best. I have had the misfortune to be born + clear-eyed. And if you only knew what strange things I have seen! What + amazing and unexpected apparitions!... But why talk of all this?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I want to talk of all this with you,” she protested with + earnest serenity. The sombre humours of her brother’s friend left her + unaffected, as though that bitterness, that suppressed anger, were the + signs of an indignant rectitude. She saw that he was not an ordinary + person, and perhaps she did not want him to be other than he appeared to + her trustful eyes. “Yes, with you especially,” she insisted. “With you of + all the Russian people in the world....” A faint smile dwelt for a moment + on her lips. “I am like poor mother in a way. I too seem unable to give up + our beloved dead, who, don’t forget, was all in all to us. I don’t want to + abuse your sympathy, but you must understand that it is in you that we can + find all that is left of his generous soul.” + </p> + <p> + I was looking at him; not a muscle of his face moved in the least. And + yet, even at the time, I did not suspect him of insensibility. It was a + sort of rapt thoughtfulness. Then he stirred slightly. + </p> + <p> + “You are going, Kirylo Sidorovitch?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I! Going? Where? Oh yes, but I must tell you first....” His voice was + muffled and he forced himself to produce it with visible repugnance, as if + speech were something disgusting or deadly. “That story, you know—the + story I heard this afternoon....” + </p> + <p> + “I know the story already,” she said sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You know it! Have you correspondents in St. Petersburg too?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It’s Sophia Antonovna. I have seen her just now. She sends you her + greetings. She is going away to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He had lowered at last his fascinated glance; she too was looking down, + and standing thus before each other in the glaring light, between the four + bare walls, they seemed brought out from the confused immensity of the + Eastern borders to be exposed cruelly to the observation of my Western + eyes. And I observed them. There was nothing else to do. My existence + seemed so utterly forgotten by these two that I dared not now make a + movement. And I thought to myself that, of course, they had to come + together, the sister and the friend of that dead man. The ideas, the + hopes, the aspirations, the cause of Freedom, expressed in their common + affection for Victor Haldin, the moral victim of autocracy,—all this + must draw them to each other fatally. Her very ignorance and his + loneliness to which he had alluded so strangely must work to that end. + And, indeed, I saw that the work was done already. Of course. It was + manifest that they must have been thinking of each other for a long time + before they met. She had the letter from that beloved brother kindling her + imagination by the severe praise attached to that one name; and for him to + see that exceptional girl was enough. The only cause for surprise was his + gloomy aloofness before her clearly expressed welcome. But he was young, + and however austere and devoted to his revolutionary ideals, he was not + blind. The period of reserve was over; he was coming forward in his own + way. I could not mistake the significance of this late visit, for in what + he had to say there was nothing urgent. The true cause dawned upon me: he + had discovered that he needed her and she was moved by the same feeling. + It was the second time that I saw them together, and I knew that next time + they met I would not be there, either remembered or forgotten. I would + have virtually ceased to exist for both these young people. + </p> + <p> + I made this discovery in a very few moments. Meantime, Natalia Haldin was + telling Razumov briefly of our peregrinations from one end of Geneva to + the other. While speaking she raised her hands above her head to untie her + veil, and that movement displayed for an instant the seductive grace of + her youthful figure, clad in the simplest of mourning. In the transparent + shadow the hat rim threw on her face her grey eyes had an enticing lustre. + Her voice, with its unfeminine yet exquisite timbre, was steady, and she + spoke quickly, frank, unembarrassed. As she justified her action by the + mental state of her mother, a spasm of pain marred the generously + confiding harmony of her features. I perceived that with his downcast eyes + he had the air of a man who is listening to a strain of music rather than + to articulated speech. And in the same way, after she had ceased, he + seemed to listen yet, motionless, as if under the spell of suggestive + sound. He came to himself, muttering— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. She has not shed a tear. She did not seem to hear what I was + saying. I might have told her anything. She looked as if no longer + belonging to this world.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin gave signs of profound distress. Her voice faltered. “You + don’t know how bad it has come to be. She expects now to see <i>him</i>!” + The veil dropped from her fingers and she clasped her hands in anguish. + “It shall end by her seeing him,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Razumov raised his head sharply and attached on her a prolonged thoughtful + glance. + </p> + <p> + “H’m. That’s very possible,” he muttered in a peculiar tone, as if giving + his opinion on a matter of fact. “I wonder what....” He checked himself. + </p> + <p> + “That would be the end. Her mind shall be gone then, and her spirit will + follow.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin unclasped her hands and let them fall by her side. + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” he queried profoundly. Miss Haldin’s lips were slightly + parted. Something unexpected and unfathomable in that young man’s + character had fascinated her from the first. “No! There’s neither truth + nor consolation to be got from the phantoms of the dead,” he added after a + weighty pause. “I might have told her something true; for instance, that + your brother meant to save his life—to escape. There can be no doubt + of that. But I did not.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not! But why?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Other thoughts came into my head,” he answered. He seemed + to me to be watching himself inwardly, as though he were trying to count + his own heart-beats, while his eyes never for a moment left the face of + the girl. “You were not there,” he continued. “I had made up my mind never + to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to take her breath away for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You.... How is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “You may well ask.... However, I think that I refrained from telling your + mother from prudence. I might have assured her that in the last + conversation he held as a free man he mentioned you both....” + </p> + <p> + “That last conversation was with you,” she struck in her deep, moving + voice. “Some day you must....” + </p> + <p> + “It was with me. Of you he said that you had trustful eyes. And why I have + not been able to forget that phrase I don’t know. It meant that there is + in you no guile, no deception, no falsehood, no suspicion—nothing in + your heart that could give you a conception of a living, acting, speaking + lie, if ever it came in your way. That you are a predestined victim.... + Ha! what a devilish suggestion!” + </p> + <p> + The convulsive, uncontrolled tone of the last words disclosed the + precarious hold he had over himself. He was like a man defying his own + dizziness in high places and tottering suddenly on the very edge of the + precipice. Miss Haldin pressed her hand to her breast. The dropped black + veil lay on the floor between them. Her movement steadied him. He looked + intently on that hand till it descended slowly, and then raised again his + eyes to her face. But he did not give her time to speak. + </p> + <p> + “No? You don’t understand? Very well.” He had recovered his calm by a + miracle of will. “So you talked with Sophia Antonovna?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Sophia Antonovna told me....” Miss Haldin stopped, wonder growing in + her wide eyes. + </p> + <p> + “H’m. That’s the respectable enemy,” he muttered, as though he were alone. + </p> + <p> + “The tone of her references to you was extremely friendly,” remarked Miss + Haldin, after waiting for a while. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your impression? And she the most intelligent of the lot, too. + Things then are going as well as possible. Everything conspires to...Ah! + these conspirators,” he said slowly, with an accent of scorn; “they would + get hold of you in no time! You know, Natalia Victorovna, I have the + greatest difficulty in saving myself from the superstition of an active + Providence. It’s irresistible.... The alternative, of course, would be the + personal Devil of our simple ancestors. But, if so, he has overdone it + altogether—the old Father of Lies—our national patron—our + domestic god, whom we take with us when we go abroad. He has overdone it. + It seems that I am not simple enough.... That’s it! I ought to have + known.... And I did know it,” he added in a tone of poignant distress + which overcame my astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “This man is deranged,” I said to myself, very much frightened. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he gave me a very special impression beyond the range of + commonplace definitions. It was as though he had stabbed himself outside + and had come in there to show it; and more than that—as though he + were turning the knife in the wound and watching the effect. That was the + impression, rendered in physical terms. One could not defend oneself from + a certain amount of pity. But it was for Miss Haldin, already so tried in + her deepest affections, that I felt a serious concern. Her attitude, her + face, expressed compassion struggling with doubt on the verge of terror. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Kirylo Sidorovitch?” There was a hint of tenderness in that + cry. He only stared at her in that complete surrender of all his faculties + which in a happy lover would have had the name of ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you looking at me like this, Kirylo Sidorovitch? I have + approached you frankly. I need at this time to see clearly in myself....” + She ceased for a moment as if to give him an opportunity to utter at last + some word worthy of her exalted trust in her brother’s friend. His silence + became impressive, like a sign of a momentous resolution. + </p> + <p> + In the end Miss Haldin went on, appealingly— + </p> + <p> + “I have waited for you anxiously. But now that you have been moved to come + to us in your kindness, you alarm me. You speak obscurely. It seems as if + you were keeping back something from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Natalia Victorovna,” he was heard at last in a strange unringing + voice, “whom did you see in that place?” + </p> + <p> + She was startled, and as if deceived in her expectations. + </p> + <p> + “Where? In Peter Ivanovitch’s rooms? There was Mr. Laspara and three other + people.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! The vanguard—the forlorn hope of the great plot,” he commented + to himself. “Bearers of the spark to start an explosion which is meant to + change fundamentally the lives of so many millions in order that Peter + Ivanovitch should be the head of a State.” + </p> + <p> + “You are teasing me,” she said. “Our dear one told me once to remember + that men serve always something greater than themselves—the idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Our dear one,” he repeated slowly. The effort he made to appear unmoved + absorbed all the force of his soul. He stood before her like a being with + hardly a breath of life. His eyes, even as under great physical suffering, + had lost all their fire. “Ah! your brother.... But on your lips, in your + voice, it sounds...and indeed in you everything is divine.... I wish I + could know the innermost depths of your thoughts, of your feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “But why, Kirylo Sidorovitch?” she cried, alarmed by these words coming + out of strangely lifeless lips. + </p> + <p> + “Have no fear. It is not to betray you. So you went there?... And Sophia + Antonovna, what did she tell you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “She said very little, really. She knew that I should hear everything from + you. She had no time for more than a few words.” Miss Haldin’s voice + dropped and she became silent for a moment. “The man, it appears, has + taken his life,” she said sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Natalia Victorovna,” he asked after a pause, “do you believe in + remorse?” + </p> + <p> + “What a question!” + </p> + <p> + “What can <i>you</i> know of it?” he muttered thickly. “It is not for such + as you.... What I meant to ask was whether you believed in the efficacy of + remorse?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated as though she had not understood, then her face lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said firmly. + </p> + <p> + “So he is absolved. Moreover, that Ziemianitch was a brute, a drunken + brute.” + </p> + <p> + A shudder passed through Natalia Haldin. + </p> + <p> + “But a man of the people,” Razumov went on, “to whom they, the + revolutionists, tell a tale of sublime hopes. Well, the people must be + forgiven.... And you must not believe all you’ve heard from that source, + either,” he added, with a sort of sinister reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “You are concealing something from me,” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you, Natalia Victorovna, believe in the duty of revenge?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Kirylo Sidorovitch. I believe that the future shall be merciful + to us all. Revolutionist and reactionary, victim and executioner, betrayer + and betrayed, they shall all be pitied together when the light breaks on + our black sky at last. Pitied and forgotten; for without that there can be + no union and no love.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear. No revenge for you, then? Never? Not the least bit?” He smiled + bitterly with his colourless lips. “You yourself are like the very spirit + of that merciful future. Strange that it does not make it easier.... No! + But suppose that the real betrayer of your brother—Ziemianitch had a + part in it too, but insignificant and quite involuntary—suppose that + he was a young man, educated, an intellectual worker, thoughtful, a man + your brother might have trusted lightly, perhaps, but still—suppose.... + But there’s a whole story there.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know the story! But why, then—” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard it. There is a staircase in it, and even phantoms, but that + does not matter if a man always serves something greater than himself—the + idea. I wonder who is the greatest victim in that tale?” + </p> + <p> + “In that tale!” Miss Haldin repeated. She seemed turned into stone. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know why I came to you? It is simply because there is no one + anywhere in the whole great world I could go to. Do you understand what I + say? Not one to go to. Do you conceive the desolation of the thought—no + one—to—go—to?” + </p> + <p> + Utterly misled by her own enthusiastic interpretation of two lines in the + letter of a visionary, under the spell of her own dread of lonely days, in + their overshadowed world of angry strife, she was unable to see the truth + struggling on his lips. What she was conscious of was the obscure form of + his suffering. She was on the point of extending her hand to him + impulsively when he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “An hour after I saw you first I knew how it would be. The terrors of + remorse, revenge, confession, anger, hate, fear, are like nothing to the + atrocious temptation which you put in my way the day you appeared before + me with your voice, with your face, in the garden of that accursed villa.” + </p> + <p> + She looked utterly bewildered for a moment; then, with a sort of + despairing insight went straight to the point. + </p> + <p> + “The story, Kirylo Sidorovitch, the story!” + </p> + <p> + “There is no more to tell!” He made a movement forward, and she actually + put her hand on his shoulder to push him away; but her strength failed + her, and he kept his ground, though trembling in every limb. “It ends here—on + this very spot.” He pressed a denunciatory finger to his breast with + force, and became perfectly still. + </p> + <p> + I ran forward, snatching up the chair, and was in time to catch hold of + Miss Haldin and lower her down. As she sank into it she swung half round + on my arm, and remained averted from us both, drooping over the back. He + looked at her with an appalling expressionless tranquillity. Incredulity, + struggling with astonishment, anger, and disgust, deprived me for a time + of the power of speech. Then I turned on him, whispering from very rage— + </p> + <p> + “This is monstrous. What are you staying for? Don’t let her catch sight of + you again. Go away!...” He did not budge. “Don’t you understand that your + presence is intolerable—even to me? If there’s any sense of shame in + you....” + </p> + <p> + Slowly his sullen eyes moved in my direction. “How did this old man come + here?” he muttered, astounded. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Miss Haldin sprang up from the chair, made a few steps, and + tottered. Forgetting my indignation, and even the man himself, I hurried + to her assistance. I took her by the arm, and she let me lead her into the + drawing-room. Away from the lamp, in the deeper dusk of the distant end, + the profile of Mrs. Haldin, her hands, her whole figure had the stillness + of a sombre painting. Miss Haldin stopped, and pointed mournfully at the + tragic immobility of her mother, who seemed to watch a beloved head lying + in her lap. + </p> + <p> + That gesture had an unequalled force of expression, so far-reaching in its + human distress that one could not believe that it pointed out merely the + ruthless working of political institutions. After assisting Miss Haldin to + the sofa, I turned round to go back and shut the door Framed in the + opening, in the searching glare of the white anteroom, my eyes fell on + Razumov, still there, standing before the empty chair, as if rooted for + ever to the spot of his atrocious confession. A wonder came over me that + the mysterious force which had torn it out of him had failed to destroy + his life, to shatter his body. It was there unscathed. I stared at the + broad line of his shoulders, his dark head, the amazing immobility of his + limbs. At his feet the veil dropped by Miss Haldin looked intensely black + in the white crudity of the light. He was gazing at it spell-bound. Next + moment, stooping with an incredible, savage swiftness, he snatched it up + and pressed it to his face with both hands. Something, extreme + astonishment perhaps, dimmed my eyes, so that he seemed to vanish before + he moved. + </p> + <p> + The slamming of the outer door restored my sight, and I went on + contemplating the empty chair in the empty ante-room. The meaning of what + I had seen reached my mind with a staggering shock. I seized Natalia + Haldin by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “That miserable wretch has carried off your veil!” I cried, in the scared, + deadened voice of an awful discovery. “He....” + </p> + <p> + The rest remained unspoken. I stepped back and looked down at her, in + silent horror. Her hands were lying lifelessly, palms upwards, on her lap. + She raised her grey eyes slowly. Shadows seemed to come and go in them as + if the steady flame of her soul had been made to vacillate at last in the + cross-currents of poisoned air from the corrupted dark immensity claiming + her for its own, where virtues themselves fester into crimes in the + cynicism of oppression and revolt. + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible to be more unhappy....” The languid whisper of her voice + struck me with dismay. “It is impossible.... I feel my heart becoming like + ice.” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Razumov walked straight home on the wet glistening pavement. A heavy + shower passed over him; distant lightning played faintly against the + fronts of the dumb houses with the shuttered shops all along the Rue de + Carouge; and now and then, after the faint flash, there was a faint, + sleepy rumble; but the main forces of the thunderstorm remained massed + down the Rhone valley as if loath to attack the respectable and + passionless abode of democratic liberty, the serious-minded town of dreary + hotels, tendering the same indifferent, hospitality to tourists of all + nations and to international conspirators of every shade. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the shop was making ready to close when Razumov entered and + without a word extended his hand for the key of his room. On reaching it + for him, from a shelf, the man was about to pass a small joke as to taking + the air in a thunderstorm, but, after looking at the face of his lodger, + he only observed, just to say something— + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got very wet.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am washed clean,” muttered Razumov, who was dripping from head to + foot, and passed through the inner door towards the staircase leading to + his room. + </p> + <p> + He did not change his clothes, but, after lighting the candle, took off + his watch and chain, laid them on the table, and sat down at once to + write. The book of his compromising record was kept in a locked drawer, + which he pulled out violently, and did not even trouble to push back + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + In this queer pedantism of a man who had read, thought, lived, pen in + hand, there is the sincerity of the attempt to grapple by the same means + with another profounder knowledge. After some passages which have been + already made use of in the building up of this narrative, or add nothing + new to the psychological side of this disclosure (there is even one more + allusion to the silver medal in this last entry), comes a page and a half + of incoherent writing where his expression is baffled by the novelty and + the mysteriousness of that side of our emotional life to which his + solitary existence had been a stranger. Then only he begins to address + directly the reader he had in his mind, trying to express in broken + sentences, full of wonder and awe, the sovereign (he uses that very word) + power of her person over his imagination, in which lay the dormant seed of + her brother’s words. + </p> + <p> + “... The most trustful eyes in the world—your brother said of you + when he was as well as a dead man already. And when you stood before me + with your hand extended, I remembered the very sound of his voice, and I + looked into your eyes—and that was enough. I knew that something had + happened, but I did not know then what.... But don’t be deceived, Natalia + Victorovna. I believed that I had in my breast nothing but an + inexhaustible fund of anger and hate for you both. I remembered that he + had looked to you for the perpetuation of his visionary soul. He, this man + who had robbed me of my hard-working, purposeful existence. I, too, had my + guiding idea; and remember that, amongst us, it is more difficult to lead + a life of toil and self-denial than to go out in the street and kill from + conviction. But enough of that. Hate or no hate, I felt at once that, + while shunning the sight of you, I could never succeed in driving away + your image. I would say, addressing that dead man, ‘Is this the way you + are going to haunt me?’ It is only later on that I understood—only + to-day, only a few hours ago. What could I have known of what was tearing + me to pieces and dragging the secret for ever to my lips? You were + appointed to undo the evil by making me betray myself back into truth and + peace. You! And you have done it in the same way, too, in which he ruined + me: by forcing upon me your confidence. Only what I detested him for, in + you ended by appearing noble and exalted. But, I repeat, be not deceived. + I was given up to evil. I exulted in having induced that silly innocent + fool to steal his father’s money. He was a fool, but not a thief. I made + him one. It was necessary. I had to confirm myself in my contempt and hate + for what I betrayed. I have suffered from as many vipers in my heart as + any social democrat of them all—vanity, ambitions, jealousies, + shameful desires, evil passions of envy and revenge. I had my security + stolen from me, years of good work, my best hopes. Listen—now comes + the true confession. The other was nothing. To save me, your trustful eyes + had to entice my thought to the very edge of the blackest treachery. I + could see them constantly looking at me with the confidence of your pure + heart which had not been touched by evil things. Victor Haldin had stolen + the truth of my life from me, who had nothing else in the world, and he + boasted of living on through you on this earth where I had no place to lay + my head on. She will marry some day, he had said—and your eyes were + trustful. And do you know what I said to myself? I shall steal his + sister’s soul from her. When we met that first morning in the gardens, and + you spoke to me confidingly in the generosity of your spirit, I was + thinking, ‘Yes, he himself by talking of her trustful eyes has delivered + her into my hands!’ If you could have looked then into my heart, you would + have cried out aloud with terror and disgust. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps no one will believe the baseness of such an intention to be + possible. It’s certain that, when we parted that morning, I gloated over + it. I brooded upon the best way. The old man you introduced me to insisted + on walking with me. I don’t know who he is. He talked of you, of your + lonely, helpless state, and every word of that friend of yours was egging + me on to the unpardonable sin of stealing a soul. Could he have been the + devil himself in the shape of an old Englishman? Natalia Victorovna, I was + possessed! I returned to look at you every day, and drink in your presence + the poison of my infamous intention. But I foresaw difficulties. Then + Sophia Antonovna, of whom I was not thinking—I had forgotten her + existence—appears suddenly with that tale from St. Petersburg.... + The only thing needed to make me safe—a trusted revolutionist for + ever. + </p> + <p> + “It was as if Ziemianitch had hanged himself to help me on to further + crime. The strength of falsehood seemed irresistible. These people stood + doomed by the folly and the illusion that was in them—they being + themselves the slaves of lies. Natalia Victorovna, I embraced the might of + falsehood, I exulted in it—I gave myself up to it for a time. Who + could have resisted! You yourself were the prize of it. I sat alone in my + room, planning a life, the very thought of which makes me shudder now, + like a believer who had been tempted to an atrocious sacrilege. But I + brooded ardently over its images. The only thing was that there seemed to + be no air in it. And also I was afraid of your mother. I never knew mine. + I’ve never known any kind of love. There is something in the mere word.... + Of you, I was not afraid—forgive me for telling you this. No, not of + you. You were truth itself. You could not suspect me. As to your mother, + you yourself feared already that her mind had given way from grief. Who + could believe anything against me? Had not Ziemianitch hanged himself from + remorse? I said to myself, ‘Let’s put it to the test, and be done with it + once for all.’ I trembled when I went in; but your mother hardly listened + to what I was saying to her, and, in a little while, seemed to have + forgotten my very existence. I sat looking at her. There was no longer + anything between you and me. You were defenceless—and soon, very + soon, you would be alone.... I thought of you. Defenceless. For days you + have talked with me—opening your heart. I remembered the shadow of + your eyelashes over your grey trustful eyes. And your pure forehead! It is + low like the forehead of statues—calm, unstained. It was as if your + pure brow bore a light which fell on me, searched my heart and saved me + from ignominy, from ultimate undoing. And it saved you too. Pardon my + presumption. But there was that in your glances which seemed to tell me + that you.... Your light! your truth! I felt that I must tell you that I + had ended by loving you. And to tell you that I must first confess. + Confess, go out—and perish. + </p> + <p> + “Suddenly you stood before me! You alone in all the world to whom I must + confess. You fascinated me—you have freed me from the blindness of + anger and hate—the truth shining in you drew the truth out of me. + Now I have done it; and as I write here, I am in the depths of + anguish, but there is air to breathe at last—air! And, by the by, + that old man sprang up from somewhere as I was speaking to you, and raged + at me like a disappointed devil. I suffer horribly, but I am not in + despair. There is only one more thing to do for me. After that—if + they let me—I shall go away and bury myself in obscure misery. In + giving Victor Haldin up, it was myself, after all, whom I have betrayed + most basely. You must believe what I say now, you can’t refuse to believe + this. Most basely. It is through you that I came to feel this so deeply. + After all, it is they and not I who have the right on their side!—theirs + is the strength of invisible powers. So be it. Only don’t be deceived, + Natalia Victorovna, I am not converted. Have I then the soul of a slave? + No! I am independent—and therefore perdition is my lot.” + </p> + <p> + On these words, he stopped writing, shut the book, and wrapped it in the + black veil he had carried off. He then ransacked the drawers for paper and + string, made up a parcel which he addressed to Miss Haldin, Boulevard des + Philosophes, and then flung the pen away from him into a distant corner. + </p> + <p> + This done, he sat down with the watch before him. He could have gone out + at once, but the hour had not struck yet. The hour would be midnight. + There was no reason for that choice except that the facts and the words of + a certain evening in his past were timing his conduct in the present. The + sudden power Natalia Haldin had gained over him he ascribed to the same + cause. “You don’t walk with impunity over a phantom’s breast,” he heard + himself mutter. “Thus he saves me,” he thought suddenly. “He himself, the + betrayed man.” The vivid image of Miss Haldin seemed to stand by him, + watching him relentlessly. She was not disturbing. He had done with life, + and his thought even in her presence tried to take an impartial survey. + Now his scorn extended to himself. “I had neither the simplicity nor the + courage nor the self-possession to be a scoundrel, or an exceptionally + able man. For who, with us in Russia, is to tell a scoundrel from an + exceptionally able man?...” + </p> + <p> + He was the puppet of his past, because at the very stroke of midnight he + jumped up and ran swiftly downstairs as if confident that, by the power of + destiny, the house door would fly open before the absolute necessity of + his errand. And as a matter of fact, just as he got to the bottom of the + stairs, it was opened for him by some people of the house coming home late—two + men and a woman. He slipped out through them into the street, swept then + by a fitful gust of wind. They were, of course, very much startled. A + flash of lightning enabled them to observe him walking away quickly. One + of the men shouted, and was starting in pursuit, but the woman had + recognized him. “It’s all right. It’s only that young Russian from the + third floor.” The darkness returned with a single clap of thunder, like a + gun fired for a warning of his escape from the prison of lies. + </p> + <p> + He must have heard at some time or other and now remembered unconsciously + that there was to be a gathering of revolutionists at the house of Julius + Laspara that evening. At any rate, he made straight for the Laspara house, + and found himself without surprise ringing at its street door, which, of + course, was closed. By that time the thunderstorm had attacked in earnest. + The steep incline of the street ran with water, the thick fall of rain + enveloped him like a luminous veil in the play of lightning. He was + perfectly calm, and, between the crashes, listened attentively to the + delicate tinkling of the doorbell somewhere within the house. + </p> + <p> + There was some difficulty before he was admitted. His person was not known + to that one of the guests who had volunteered to go downstairs and see + what was the matter. Razumov argued with him patiently. There could be no + harm in admitting a caller. He had something to communicate to the company + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Something of importance?” + </p> + <p> + “That’ll be for the hearers to judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Urgent?” + </p> + <p> + “Without a moment’s delay.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime, one of the Laspara daughters descended the stairs, small lamp in + hand, in a grimy and crumpled gown, which seemed to hang on her by a + miracle, and looking more than ever like an old doll with a dusty brown + wig, dragged from under a sofa. She recognized Razumov at once. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do? Of course you may come in.” + </p> + <p> + Following her light, Razumov climbed two flights of stairs from the lower + darkness. Leaving the lamp on a bracket on the landing, she opened a door, + and went in, accompanied by the sceptical guest. Razumov entered last. He + closed the door behind him, and stepping on one side, put his back against + the wall. + </p> + <p> + The three little rooms <i>en suite</i>, with low, smoky ceilings and lit + by paraffin lamps, were crammed with people. Loud talking was going on in + all three, and tea-glasses, full, half-full, and empty, stood everywhere, + even on the floor. The other Laspara girl sat, dishevelled and languid, + behind an enormous samovar. In the inner doorway Razumov had a glimpse of + the protuberance of a large stomach, which he recognized. Only a few feet + from him Julius Laspara was getting down hurriedly from his high stool. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the midnight visitor caused no small sensation. Laspara + is very summary in his version of that night’s happenings. After some + words of greeting, disregarded by Razumov, Laspara (ignoring purposely his + guest’s soaked condition and his extraordinary manner of presenting + himself) mentioned something about writing an article. He was growing + uneasy, and Razumov appeared absent-minded. “I have written already all I + shall ever write,” he said at last, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + The whole company’s attention was riveted on the new-comer, dripping with + water, deadly pale, and keeping his position against the wall. Razumov put + Laspara gently aside, as though he wished to be seen from head to foot by + everybody. By then the buzz of conversations had died down completely, + even in the most distant of the three rooms. The doorway facing Razumov + became blocked by men and women, who craned their necks and certainly + seemed to expect something startling to happen. + </p> + <p> + A squeaky, insolent declaration was heard from that group. + </p> + <p> + “I know this ridiculously conceited individual.” + </p> + <p> + “What individual?” asked Razumov, raising his bowed head, and searching + with his eyes all the eyes fixed upon him. An intense surprised silence + lasted for a time. “If it’s me....” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, thinking over the form of his confession, and found it + suddenly, unavoidably suggested by the fateful evening of his life. + </p> + <p> + “I am come here,” he began, in a clear voice, “to talk of an individual + called Ziemianitch. Sophia Antonovna has informed me that she would make + public a certain letter from St. Petersburg....” + </p> + <p> + “Sophia Antonovna has left us early in the evening,” said Laspara. “It’s + quite correct. Everybody here has heard....” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” Razumov interrupted, with a shade of impatience, for his + heart was beating strongly. Then, mastering his voice so far that there + was even a touch of irony in his clear, forcible enunciation— + </p> + <p> + “In justice to that individual, the much ill-used peasant, Ziemianitch, I + now declare solemnly that the conclusions of that letter calumniate a man + of the people—a bright Russian soul. Ziemianitch had nothing to do + with the actual arrest of Victor Haldin.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov dwelt on the name heavily, and then waited till the faint, + mournful murmur which greeted it had died out. + </p> + <p> + “Victor Victorovitch Haldin,” he began again, “acting with, no doubt, + noble-minded imprudence, took refuge with a certain student of whose + opinions he knew nothing but what his own illusions suggested to his + generous heart. It was an unwise display of confidence. But I am not here + to appreciate the actions of Victor Haldin. Am I to tell you of the + feelings of that student, sought out in his obscure solitude, and menaced + by the complicity forced upon him? Am I to tell you what he did? It’s a + rather complicated story. In the end the student went to General T—- + himself, and said, ‘I have the man who killed de P—- locked up in my + room, Victor Haldin—a student like myself.’” + </p> + <p> + A great buzz arose, in which Razumov raised his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Observe—that man had certain honest ideals in view. But I didn’t + come here to explain him.” + </p> + <p> + “No. But you must explain how you know all this,” came in grave tones from + somebody. + </p> + <p> + “A vile coward!” This simple cry vibrated with indignation. “Name him!” + shouted other voices. + </p> + <p> + “What are you clamouring for?” said Razumov disdainfully, in the profound + silence which fell on the raising of his hand. “Haven’t you all understood + that I am that man?” + </p> + <p> + Laspara went away brusquely from his side and climbed upon his stool. In + the first forward surge of people towards him, Razumov expected to be torn + to pieces, but they fell back without touching him, and nothing came of it + but noise. It was bewildering. His head ached terribly. In the confused + uproar he made out several times the name of Peter Ivanovitch, the word + “judgement,” and the phrase, “But this is a confession,” uttered by + somebody in a desperate shriek. In the midst of the tumult, a young man, + younger than himself, approached him with blazing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I must beg you,” he said, with venomous politeness, “to be good enough + not to move from this spot till you are told what you are to do.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov shrugged his shoulders. “I came in voluntarily.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe. But you won’t go out till you are permitted,” retorted the other. + </p> + <p> + He beckoned with his hand, calling out, “Louisa! Louisa! come here, + please”; and, presently, one of the Laspara girls (they had been staring + at Razumov from behind the samovar) came along, trailing a bedraggled tail + of dirty flounces, and dragging with her a chair, which she set against + the door, and, sitting down on it, crossed her legs. The young man thanked + her effusively, and rejoined a group carrying on an animated discussion in + low tones. Razumov lost himself for a moment. + </p> + <p> + A squeaky voice screamed, “Confession or no confession, you are a police + spy!” + </p> + <p> + The revolutionist Nikita had pushed his way in front of Razumov, and faced + him with his big, livid cheeks, his heavy paunch, bull neck, and enormous + hands. Razumov looked at the famous slayer of gendarmes in silent disgust. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you?” he said, very low, then shut his eyes, and rested the + back of his head against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “It would be better for you to depart now.” Razumov heard a mild, sad + voice, and opened his eyes. The gentle speaker was an elderly man, with a + great brush of fine hair making a silvery halo all round his keen, + intelligent face. “Peter Ivanovitch shall be informed of your confession—and + you shall be directed....” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to Nikita, nicknamed Necator, standing by, he appealed to + him in a murmur— + </p> + <p> + “What else can we do? After this piece of sincerity he cannot be dangerous + any longer.” + </p> + <p> + The other muttered, “Better make sure of that before we let him go. Leave + that to me. I know how to deal with such gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + He exchanged meaning glances with two or three men, who nodded slightly, + then turning roughly to Razumov, “You have heard? You are not wanted here. + Why don’t you get out?” + </p> + <p> + The Laspara girl on guard rose, and pulled the chair out of the way + unemotionally. She gave a sleepy stare to Razumov, who started, looked + round the room and passed slowly by her as if struck by some sudden + thought. + </p> + <p> + “I beg you to observe,” he said, already on the landing, “that I had only + to hold my tongue. To-day, of all days since I came amongst you, I was + made safe, and to-day I made myself free from falsehood, from remorse—independent + of every single human being on this earth.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his back on the room, and walked towards the stairs, but, at the + violent crash of the door behind him, he looked over his shoulder and saw + that Nikita, with three others, had followed him out. “They are going to + kill me, after all,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + Before he had time to turn round and confront them fairly, they set on him + with a rush. He was driven headlong against the wall. “I wonder how,” he + completed his thought. Nikita cried, with a shrill laugh right in his + face, “We shall make you harmless. You wait a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Razumov did not struggle. The three men held him pinned against the wall, + while Nikita, taking up a position a little on one side, deliberately + swung off his enormous arm. Razumov, looking for a knife in his hand, saw + it come at him open, unarmed, and received a tremendous blow on the side + of his head over his ear. At the same time he heard a faint, dull + detonating sound, as if some one had fired a pistol on the other side of + the wall. A raging fury awoke in him at this outrage. The people in + Laspara’s rooms, holding their breath, listened to the desperate scuffling + of four men all over the landing; thuds against the walls, a terrible + crash against the very door, then all of them went down together with a + violence which seemed to shake the whole house. Razumov, overpowered, + breathless, crushed under the weight of his assailants, saw the monstrous + Nikita squatting on his heels near his head, while the others held him + down, kneeling on his chest, gripping his throat, lying across his legs. + </p> + <p> + “Turn his face the other way,” the paunchy terrorist directed, in an + excited, gleeful squeak. + </p> + <p> + Razumov could struggle no longer. He was exhausted; he had to watch + passively the heavy open hand of the brute descend again in a degrading + blow over his other ear. It seemed to split his head in two, and all at + once the men holding him became perfectly silent—soundless as + shadows. In silence they pulled him brutally to his feet, rushed with him + noiselessly down the staircase, and, opening the door, flung him out into + the street. + </p> + <p> + He fell forward, and at once rolled over and over helplessly, going down + the short slope together with the rush of running rain water. He came to + rest in the roadway of the street at the bottom, lying on his back, with a + great flash of lightning over his face—a vivid, silent flash of + lightning which blinded him utterly. He picked himself up, and put his arm + over his eyes to recover his sight. Not a sound reached him from anywhere, + and he began to walk, staggering, down a long, empty street. The lightning + waved and darted round him its silent flames, the water of the deluge + fell, ran, leaped, drove—noiseless like the drift of mist. In this + unearthly stillness his footsteps fell silent on the pavement, while a + dumb wind drove him on and on, like a lost mortal in a phantom world + ravaged by a soundless thunderstorm. God only knows where his noiseless + feet took him to that night, here and there, and back again without pause + or rest. Of one place, at least, where they did lead him, we heard + afterwards; and, in the morning, the driver of the first south-shore + tramcar, clanging his bell desperately, saw a bedraggled, soaked man + without a hat, and walking in the roadway unsteadily with his head down, + step right in front of his car, and go under. + </p> + <p> + When they picked him up, with two broken limbs and a crushed side, Razumov + had not lost consciousness. It was as though he had tumbled, smashing + himself, into a world of mutes. Silent men, moving unheard, lifted him up, + laid him on the sidewalk, gesticulating and grimacing round him their + alarm, horror, and compassion. A red face with moustaches stooped close + over him, lips moving, eyes rolling. Razumov tried hard to understand the + reason of this dumb show. To those who stood around him, the features of + that stranger, so grievously hurt, seemed composed in meditation. + Afterwards his eyes sent out at them a look of fear and closed slowly. + They stared at him. Razumov made an effort to remember some French words. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Je suis sourd</i>,” he had time to utter feebly, before he fainted. + </p> + <p> + “He is deaf,” they exclaimed to each other. “That’s why he did not hear + the car.” + </p> + <p> + They carried him off in that same car. Before it started on its journey, a + woman in a shabby black dress, who had run out of the iron gate of some + private grounds up the road, clambered on to the rear platform and would + not be put off. + </p> + <p> + “I am a relation,” she insisted, in bad French. “This young man is a + Russian, and I am his relation.” On this plea they let her have her way. + She sat down calmly, and took his head on her lap; her scared faded eyes + avoided looking at his deathlike face. At the corner of a street, on the + other side of the town, a stretcher met the car. She followed it to the + door of the hospital, where they let her come in and see him laid on a + bed. Razumov’s new-found relation never shed a tear, but the officials had + some difficulty in inducing her to go away. The porter observed her + lingering on the opposite pavement for a long time. Suddenly, as though + she had remembered something, she ran off. + </p> + <p> + The ardent hater of all Finance ministers, the slave of Madame de S—, + had made up her mind to offer her resignation as lady companion to the + Egeria of Peter Ivanovitch. She had found work to do after her own heart. + </p> + <p> + But hours before, while the thunderstorm still raged in the night, there + had been in the rooms of Julius Laspara a great sensation. The terrible + Nikita, coming in from the landing, uplifted his squeaky voice in horrible + glee before all the company— + </p> + <p> + “Razumov! Mr. Razumov! The wonderful Razumov! He shall never be any use as + a spy on any one. He won’t talk, because he will never hear anything in + his life—not a thing! I have burst the drums of his ears for him. + Oh, you may trust me. I know the trick. Ha! Ha! Ha! I know the trick.” + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + It was nearly a fortnight after her mother’s funeral that I saw Natalia + Haldin for the last time. + </p> + <p> + In those silent, sombre days the doors of the <i>appartement</i> on the + Boulevard des Philosophes were closed to every one but myself. I believe I + was of some use, if only in this, that I alone was aware of the incredible + part of the situation. Miss Haldin nursed her mother alone to the last + moment. If Razumov’s visit had anything to do with Mrs. Haldin’s end (and + I cannot help thinking that it hastened it considerably), it is because + the man, trusted impulsively by the ill-fated Victor Haldin, had failed to + gain the confidence of Victor Haldin’s mother. What tale, precisely, he + told her cannot be known—at any rate, I do not know it—but to + me she seemed to die from the shock of an ultimate disappointment borne in + silence. She had not believed him. Perhaps she could no longer believe + any one, and consequently had nothing to say to any one—not even to + her daughter. I suspect that Miss Haldin lived the heaviest hours of her + life by that silent death-bed. I confess I was angry with the + broken-hearted old woman passing away in the obstinacy of her mute + distrust of her daughter. + </p> + <p> + When it was all over I stood aside. Miss Haldin had her compatriots round + her then. A great number of them attended the funeral. I was there too, + but afterwards managed to keep away from Miss Haldin, till I received a + short note rewarding my self-denial. “It is as you would have it. I am + going back to Russia at once. My mind is made up. Come and see me.” + </p> + <p> + Verily, it was a reward of discretion. I went without delay to receive it. + The <i>appartement</i> of the Boulevard des Philosophes presented the + dreary signs of impending abandonment. It looked desolate and as if + already empty to my eyes. + </p> + <p> + Standing, we exchanged a few words about her health, mine, remarks as to + some people of the Russian colony, and then Natalia Haldin, establishing + me on the sofa, began to talk openly of her future work, of her plans. It + was all to be as I had wished it. And it was to be for life. We should + never see each other again. Never! + </p> + <p> + I gathered this success to my breast. Natalia Haldin looked matured by her + open and secret experiences. With her arms folded she walked up and down + the whole length of the room, talking slowly, smooth-browed, with a + resolute profile. She gave me a new view of herself, and I marvelled at + that something grave and measured in her voice, in her movements, in her + manner. It was the perfection of collected independence. The strength of + her nature had come to surface because the obscure depths had been + stirred. + </p> + <p> + “We two can talk of it now,” she observed, after a silence and stopping + short before me. “Have you been to inquire at the hospital lately?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have.” And as she looked at me fixedly, “He will live, the doctors + say. But I thought that Tekla....” + </p> + <p> + “Tekla has not been near me for several days,” explained Miss Haldin + quickly. “As I never offered to go to the hospital with her, she thinks + that I have no heart. She is disillusioned about me.” + </p> + <p> + And Miss Haldin smiled faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She sits with him as long and as often as they will let her,” I + said. “She says she must never abandon him—never as long as she + lives. He’ll need somebody—a hopeless cripple, and stone deaf with + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Stone deaf? I didn’t know,” murmured Natalia Haldin. + </p> + <p> + “He is. It seems strange. I am told there were no apparent injuries to the + head. They say, too, that it is not very likely that he will live so very + long for Tekla to take care of him.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Haldin shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “While there are travellers ready to fall by the way our Tekla shall never + be idle. She is a good Samaritan by an irresistible vocation. The + revolutionists didn’t understand her. Fancy a devoted creature like that + being employed to carry about documents sewn in her dress, or made to + write from dictation.” + </p> + <p> + “There is not much perspicacity in the world.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner uttered, I regretted that observation. Natalia Haldin, looking + me straight in the face, assented by a slight movement of her head. She + was not offended, but turning away began to pace the room again. To my + western eyes she seemed to be getting farther and farther from me, quite + beyond my reach now, but undiminished in the increasing distance. I + remained silent as though it were hopeless to raise my voice. The sound of + hers, so close to me, made me start a little. + </p> + <p> + “Tekla saw him picked up after the accident. The good soul never explained + to me really how it came about. She affirms that there was some + understanding between them—some sort of compact—that in any + sore need, in misfortune, or difficulty, or pain, he was to come to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there?” I said. “It is lucky for him that there was, then. He’ll need + all the devotion of the good Samaritan.” + </p> + <p> + It was a fact that Tekla, looking out of her window at five in the + morning, for some reason or other, had beheld Razumov in the grounds of + the Chateau Borel, standing stockstill, bare-headed in the rain, at the + foot of the terrace. She had screamed out to him, by name, to know what + was the matter. He never even raised his head. By the time she had dressed + herself sufficiently to run downstairs he was gone. She started in + pursuit, and rushing out into the road, came almost directly upon the + arrested tramcar and the small knot of people picking up Razumov. That + much Tekla had told me herself one afternoon we happened to meet at the + door of the hospital, and without any kind of comment. But I did not want + to meditate very long on the inwardness of this peculiar episode. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Natalia Victorovna, he shall need somebody when they dismiss him, on + crutches and stone deaf from the hospital. But I do not think that when he + rushed like an escaped madman into the grounds of the Chateau Borel it was + to seek the help of that good Tekla.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Natalia, stopping short before me, “perhaps not.” She sat down + and leaned her head on her hand thoughtfully. The silence lasted for + several minutes. During that time I remembered the evening of his + atrocious confession—the plaint she seemed to have hardly enough + life left in her to utter, “It is impossible to be more unhappy....” The + recollection would have given me a shudder if I had not been lost in + wonder at her force and her tranquillity. There was no longer any Natalia + Haldin, because she had completely ceased to think of herself. It was a + great victory, a characteristically Russian exploit in self-suppression. + </p> + <p> + She recalled me to myself by getting up suddenly like a person who has + come to a decision. She walked to the writing-table, now stripped of all + the small objects associated with her by daily use—a mere piece of + dead furniture; but it contained something living, still, since she took + from a recess a flat parcel which she brought to me. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a book,” she said rather abruptly. “It was sent to me wrapped up in + my veil. I told you nothing at the time, but now I’ve decided to leave it + with you. I have the right to do that. It was sent to me. It is mine. You + may preserve it, or destroy it after you have read it. And while you read + it, please remember that I was defenceless. And that he..” + </p> + <p> + “Defenceless!” I repeated, surprised, looking hard at her. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll find the very word written there,” she whispered. “Well, it’s + true! I <i>was</i> defenceless—but perhaps you were able to see that + for yourself.” Her face coloured, then went deadly pale. “In justice to + the man, I want you to remember that I was. Oh, I was, I was!” + </p> + <p> + I rose, a little shakily. + </p> + <p> + “I am not likely to forget anything you say at this our last parting.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand fell into mine. + </p> + <p> + “It’s difficult to believe that it must be good-bye with us.” + </p> + <p> + She returned my pressure and our hands separated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am leaving here to-morrow. My eyes are open at last and my hands + are free now. As for the rest—which of us can fail to hear the + stifled cry of our great distress? It may be nothing to the world.” + </p> + <p> + “The world is more conscious of your discordant voices,” I said. “It is + the way of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She bowed her head in assent, and hesitated for a moment. “I must + own to you that I shall never give up looking forward to the day when all + discord shall be silenced. Try to imagine its dawn! The tempest of blows + and of execrations is over; all is still; the new sun is rising, and the + weary men united at last, taking count in their conscience of the ended + contest, feel saddened by their victory, because so many ideas have + perished for the triumph of one, so many beliefs have abandoned them + without support. They feel alone on the earth and gather close together. + Yes, there must be many bitter hours! But at last the anguish of hearts + shall be extinguished in love.” + </p> + <p> + And on this last word of her wisdom, a word so sweet, so bitter, so cruel + sometimes, I said good-bye to Natalia Haldin. It is hard to think I shall + never look any more into the trustful eyes of that girl—wedded to an + invincible belief in the advent of loving concord springing like a + heavenly flower from the soil of men’s earth, soaked in blood, torn by + struggles, watered with tears. + </p> + <p> + It must be understood that at that time I didn’t know anything of Mr. + Razumov’s confession to the assembled revolutionists. Natalia Haldin might + have guessed what was the “one thing more” which remained for him to do; + but this my western eyes had failed to see. + </p> + <p> + Tekla, the ex-lady companion of Madame de S—, haunted his bedside at + the hospital. We met once or twice at the door of that establishment, but + on these occasions she was not communicative. She gave me news of Mr. + Razumov as concisely as possible. He was making a slow recovery, but would + remain a hopeless cripple all his life. Personally, I never went near him: + I never saw him again, after the awful evening when I stood by, a watchful + but ignored spectator of his scene with Miss Haldin. He was in due course + discharged from the hospital, and his “relative”—so I was told—had + carried him off somewhere. + </p> + <p> + My information was completed nearly two years later. The opportunity, + certainly, was not of my seeking; it was quite accidentally that I met a + much-trusted woman revolutionist at the house of a distinguished Russian + gentleman of liberal convictions, who came to live in Geneva for a time. + </p> + <p> + He was a quite different sort of celebrity from Peter Ivanovitch—a + dark-haired man with kind eyes, high-shouldered, courteous, and with + something hushed and circumspect in his manner. He approached me, choosing + the moment when there was no one near, followed by a grey-haired, alert + lady in a crimson blouse. + </p> + <p> + “Our Sophia Antonovna wishes to be made known to you,” he addressed me, in + his guarded voice. “And so I leave you two to have a talk together.” + </p> + <p> + “I would never have intruded myself upon your notice,” the grey-haired + lady began at once, “if I had not been charged with a message for you.” + </p> + <p> + It was a message of a few friendly words from Natalia Haldin. Sophia + Antonovna had just returned from a secret excursion into Russia, and had + seen Miss Haldin. She lived in a town “in the centre,” sharing her + compassionate labours between the horrors of overcrowded jails, and the + heartrending misery of bereaved homes. She did not spare herself in good + service, Sophia Antonovna assured me. + </p> + <p> + “She has a faithful soul, an undaunted spirit and an indefatigable body,” + the woman revolutionist summed it all up, with a touch of enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + A conversation thus engaged was not likely to drop from want of interest + on my side. We went to sit apart in a corner where no one interrupted us. + In the course of our talk about Miss Haldin, Sophia Antonovna remarked + suddenly— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you remember seeing me before? That evening when Natalia came + to ask Peter Ivanovitch for the address of a certain Razumov, that young + man who...” + </p> + <p> + “I remember perfectly,” I said. When Sophia Antonovna learned that I had + in my possession that young man’s journal given me by Miss Haldin she + became intensely interested. She did not conceal her curiosity to see the + document. + </p> + <p> + I offered to show it to her, and she at once volunteered to call on me + next day for that purpose. + </p> + <p> + She turned over the pages greedily for an hour or more, and then handed me + the book with a faint sigh. While moving about Russia, she had seen + Razumov too. He lived, not “in the centre,” but “in the south.” She + described to me a little two-roomed wooden house, in the suburb of some + very small town, hiding within the high plank-fence of a yard overgrown + with nettles. He was crippled, ill, getting weaker every day, and Tekla + the Samaritan tended him unweariedly with the pure joy of unselfish + devotion. There was nothing in that task to become disillusioned about. + </p> + <p> + I did not hide from Sophia Antonovna my surprise that she should have + visited Mr. Razumov. I did not even understand the motive. But she + informed me that she was not the only one. + </p> + <p> + “Some of <i>us</i> always go to see him when passing through. He is + intelligent. He has ideas.... He talks well, too.” + </p> + <p> + Presently I heard for the first time of Razumov’s public confession in + Laspara’s house. Sophia Antonovna gave me a detailed relation of what had + occurred there. Razumov himself had told her all about it, most minutely. + </p> + <p> + Then, looking hard at me with her brilliant black eyes— + </p> + <p> + “There are evil moments in every life. A false suggestion enters one’s + brain, and then fear is born—fear of oneself, fear for oneself. Or + else a false courage—who knows? Well, call it what you like; but + tell me, how many of them would deliver themselves up deliberately to + perdition (as he himself says in that book) rather than go on living, + secretly debased in their own eyes? How many?... And please mark this—he + was safe when he did it. It was just when he believed himself safe and + more—infinitely more—when the possibility of being loved by + that admirable girl first dawned upon him, that he discovered that his + bitterest railings, the worst wickedness, the devil work of his hate and + pride, could never cover up the ignominy of the existence before him. + There’s character in such a discovery.” + </p> + <p> + I accepted her conclusion in silence. Who would care to question the + grounds of forgiveness or compassion? However, it appeared later on, that + there was some compunction, too, in the charity extended by the + revolutionary world to Razumov the betrayer. Sophia Antonovna continued + uneasily— + </p> + <p> + “And then, you know, he was the victim of an outrage. It was not + authorized. Nothing was decided as to what was to be done with him. He had + confessed voluntarily. And that Nikita who burst the drums of his ears + purposely, out on the landing, you know, as if carried away by indignation—well, + he has turned out to be a scoundrel of the worst kind—a traitor + himself, a betrayer—a spy! Razumov told me he had charged him with + it by a sort of inspiration....” + </p> + <p> + “I had a glimpse of that brute,” I said. “How any of you could have been + deceived for half a day passes my comprehension!” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “There! There! Don’t talk of it. The first time I saw him, I, too, was + appalled. They cried me down. We were always telling each other, ‘Oh! you + mustn’t mind his appearance.’ And then he was always ready to kill. There + was no doubt of it. He killed—yes! in both camps. The fiend....” + </p> + <p> + Then Sophia Antonovna, after mastering the angry trembling of her lips, + told me a very queer tale. It went that Councillor Mikulin, travelling in + Germany (shortly after Razumov’s disappearance from Geneva), happened to + meet Peter Ivanovitch in a railway carriage. Being alone in the + compartment, these two talked together half the night, and it was then + that Mikulin the Police Chief gave a hint to the Arch-Revolutionist as to + the true character of the arch-slayer of gendarmes. It looks as though + Mikulin had wanted to get rid of that particular agent of his own! He + might have grown tired of him, or frightened of him. It must also be said + that Mikulin had inherited the sinister Nikita from his predecessor in + office. + </p> + <p> + And this story, too, I received without comment in my character of a mute + witness of things Russian, unrolling their Eastern logic under my Western + eyes. But I permitted myself a question— + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, please, Sophia Antonovna, did Madame de S— leave all her + fortune to Peter Ivanovitch?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it.” The woman revolutionist shrugged her shoulders in + disgust. “She died without making a will. A lot of nephews and nieces came + down from St. Petersburg, like a flock of vultures, and fought for her + money amongst themselves. All beastly Kammerherrs and Maids of Honour—abominable + court flunkeys. Tfui!” + </p> + <p> + “One does not hear much of Peter Ivanovitch now,” I remarked, after a + pause. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Ivanovitch,” said Sophia Antonovna gravely, “has united himself to + a peasant girl.” + </p> + <p> + I was truly astonished. + </p> + <p> + “What! On the Riviera?” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense! Of course not.” + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna’s tone was slightly tart. + </p> + <p> + “Is he, then, living actually in Russia? It’s a tremendous risk—isn’t + it?” I cried. “And all for the sake of a peasant girl. Don’t you think + it’s very wrong of him?” + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna preserved a mysterious silence for a while, then made a + statement. “He just simply adores her.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he? Well, then, I hope that she won’t hesitate to beat him.” + </p> + <p> + Sophia Antonovna got up and wished me good-bye, as though she had not + heard a word of my impious hope; but, in the very doorway, where I + attended her, she turned round for an instant, and declared in a firm + voice— + </p> + <p> + “Peter Ivanovitch is an inspired man.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under Western Eyes, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER WESTERN EYES *** + +***** This file should be named 2480-h.htm or 2480-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/8/2480/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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