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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 one's head
against a wall。
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。
Razumov had a vision of General T…'s goggle eyes waiting for
himthe 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。
〃What can he want with me preciselyI wonder？〃 he asked himself。
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
vanishedand turning short on his heel he walked out
of his room with infinite disdain。
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？
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。
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。
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。
The clerk in uniform who conducted him said in the corridor
〃You are going before Gregor Matvieitch Mikulin。〃
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
inquisitivecertainly not suspiciousalmost without expression。
In its passionless persistence there was something resembling
sympathy。
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