under western eyes-第4章

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thing。　　He　saw　himself　creeping；　broken　down　and　shabby；　about

the　streetsdying　unattended　in　some　filthy　hole　of　a　room；　or

on　the　sordid　bed　of　a　Government　hospital。



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

harmonyin　contrast　with　the　horrible　discord　of　this　man's

presence。　　He　hated　the　man。　　He　said　quietly



〃Yes；　of　course；　I　will　go。　　'You　must　give　me　precise

directions；　and　for　the　restdepend　on　me。〃



〃Ah！　You　are　a　fellow！　　Collectedcool　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　itselfor　else　where　would　be　the　sense　of

self…sacrifice；　of　martyrdom；　of　conviction；　of　faiththe

labours　of　the　soul？　　What　will　become　of　my　soul　when　I　die　in

the　way　I　must　diesoonvery　soon　perhaps？　It　shall　not　perish。

Don't　make　a　mistake；　Razumov。　　This　is　not　murderit　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　thisreckless…like　a　butcher　in　the　middle　of　all　these

innocent　peoplescattering　deathI！　　I！。　。　。I　wouldn't　hurt　a　fly！〃



〃Not　so　loud；〃　warned　Razumov　harshly。



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。



The　other　raised　his　head；　got　up　and　with　an　effort　mastered　his　voice。



〃Yes。　　Men　like　me　leave　no　posterity；〃　　he　repeated　in　a

subdued　tone。〃　　I　have　a　sister　though。　　She's　with　my　old

motherI　persuaded　them　to　go　abroad　this　yearthank　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　childrensons　perhaps。　　Look　at　me。

My　father　was　a　Government　official　in　the　provinces；　　He　had　a

little　land　too。　　A　simple　servant　of　Goda　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。〃



Razumov；　in　his　chair；　leaning　his　head　on　his　hand；　spoke　as　if

from　the　bottom　of　an　abyss。



〃You　believe　in　God；　Haldin？〃



〃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　himI　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　souland　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　donewhat　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。'〃



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



〃Haldin。〃



〃Yes；〃　answered　the　other　readily；　quite　invisible　now　on　the　bed

and　without　the　slightest　stir。



〃Isn't　it　time　for　me　to　start？〃



〃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。〃



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



〃Go　with　God；　thou　silent　soul。〃



On　the　landing；　moving　softly；　Razumov　locked　the　door　and　put

the　key　in　his　pocket。





II



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。



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　presencethe　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。



The　more　adequate　description　would　be　a　tumult　of　thoughtsthe

faithful　reflection　of　the　state　of　his　feelings。　　The　thoughts

in　themselves　were　not　numerousthey　were　like　the　thoughts　of

most　human　beings；　few　and　simplebut　they　cannot　be　reproduced

here　in　all　their　exclamatory　repetitions　which　went　on　in　an

endless　and　weary　turmoilfor　the　walk　was　long。



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。



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。



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　destitutethe　night　birds　of　the　city。



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。



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。　。　。　。〃



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。



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。



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。



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。



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

horseshe　supposed。



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。



The　reek　of　spirits；　the　greasy　rancid　steam　of　food　got　Razumov

by　the　throat。　　He　struck　a　table　with　his　clenched　hand　and