under western eyes-第13章

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tal　functions　of　that　existence　which　seemed　no　longer　his　own。



〃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　somethingsome　destructive　horror

walking　in　upon　me　as　I　sit　here？。　。　。



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。



〃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。



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。〃



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。



〃Just　a　moment；　Kirylo　Sidorovitch。　　A　few　words　here　in　this

quiet　corner。〃



He　felt　Razumov's　reluctance；　and　insinuated　his　hand　under　his

arm　caressingly。



〃Nopray　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　likelike　aminotaur。

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。



〃My　dad　is　a　very　useful　man。　　Jolly　good　thing　it　is　for　me；　too。

I　do　get　into　unholy　scrapes。〃



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。



Razumov；　protesting　that　he　had　no　time；　made　an　attempt　to　get

away。　　The　other's　tone　changed　to　confidential　earnestness。



〃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。〃



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。



〃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。



〃What　makes　you　think　I　want　to　go　abroad？〃　he　asked　at　last

very　quietly。



Kostia　lowered　his　voice。



〃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。〃



〃Ah！　　You　got　to　know　that　so　soon；〃　　muttered　Razumov　negligently。



〃Yes。　　We　did。　　And　it　struck　us　that　a　man　like　you。　。　。〃



〃What　sort　of　a　man　do　you　take　me　to　be？〃　Razumov　interrupted　him。



〃A　man　of　ideasand　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　whateverI　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。　。　。〃



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

〃I　thankyouverymuch。〃



He　went　away　again　rapidly。　Kostia；　recovering　from　his　surprise

at　these　manoeuvres；　ran　up　behind　him　pressingly。

〃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。



Razumov　turned　at　bay。



〃There　are　no　false　beards　needed　in　this　business；

Kostiayou　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。



〃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。〃



The　enthusiastic　youth　was　overcome　by　this　disdain。



〃You're　sending　me　back　to　my　pig's　trough；　Kirylo。　　That　settles

it。　　I　am　an　unlucky　beastand　I　shall　die　like　a　beast　too。

But　mindit's　your　contempt　that　has　done　for　me。〃



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？



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　destroyedthe　only　thing　he

could　call　his　own　on　this　earth。　　By　what　right？　　he　asked

himself　furiously。　　In　what　name？



What　infuriated　him　most　was　to　feel　that　the　〃thinkers〃　of　the

University　were　evidently　connecting　him　with　Haldinas　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？



〃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。〃



He　lost　all　hope　of　saving　his　future；　which　depended　on　the　free

use　of　his　intelligence。



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。



〃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　iteh？〃



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！　　Asuspect！



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

jeopardizedturned　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

fleshwearing　a　brown　cloth　coat　and　long　bootslounging

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　o