按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
fell over his glazed eyes and he slept again。
III
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。
The task is not in truth the writing in the narrative form a
_precis_ of a strange human document； but the renderingI
perceive it now clearlyof 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。
I turn over for the hundredth time the leaves of Mr。 Razumov's record；
I lay it aside； I take up the penand 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。〃
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。
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 booksa mere litter of blackened paperdead
matterwithout significance or interest。
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。
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。
〃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
_samovar_ for his morning tea； he walked up to it and took it
down with an air of profound indifference。
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。
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 himand 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。
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。
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 happinessthat's allnothing more。
To look forward to the gratification of some desire； to the
gratification of some passion； love； ambition； hatehate 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。 。 。 。
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。
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。
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 taskweary work toowas not done； and
over