under western eyes-第1章

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Under　Western　Eyes



by　Joseph　Conrad









〃I　would　take　liberty　from　any　hand

as　a　hungry　man　would　snatch　a　piece　of　bread。〃



Miss　HALDIN









PART　FIRST



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

IsidorKirylo　Sidorovitch…Razumov；



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。



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。



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　traitone　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。



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。



The　fact　remains　that　he　has　written　it。



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　thenjust　changes　the　subject。



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　naturean　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。



Mr。　Razumov　was　supposed　to　be　the　son　of　an　Archpriest　and　to　be

protected　by　a　distinguished　noblemanperhaps　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

daughterwhich；　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。





I



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。



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。



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。



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。



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

mufffled　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