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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
shouted violently
〃You lie。〃
Bleary unwashed faces were turned to his direction。 A mild…eyed
ragged tramp drinking tea at the next table moved farther away。
A murmur of wonder arose with an undertone of uneasiness。 A
laugh was heard too； and an exclamation； 〃There！ there！〃
jeeringly soothing。 The waiter looked all round and announced to
the room
〃The gentleman won't believe that Ziemianitch is drunk。〃
》From a distant corner a hoarse voice belonging to a horrible；
nondescript； shaggy being with a black face like the muzzle of a
bear grunted angrily
〃The cursed driver of thieves。 What do we want with his
gentlemen here？ We are all honest folk in this place。〃
Razumov； biting his lip till blood came to keep himself from
bursting into imprecations； followed the owner of the den； who；
whispering 〃Come along； little father；〃 led him into a tiny hole
of a place behind the wooden counter； whence proceeded a sound of
splashing。 A wet and bedraggled creature； a sort of sexless
and shivering scarecrow； washed glasses in there； bending over a
wooden tub by the light of a tallow dip。
〃Yes； little father；〃 the man in the long caftan said
plaintively。 He had a brown； cunning little face； a thin greyish
beard。 Trying to light a tin lantern he hugged it to his breast
and talked garrulously the while。
He would show Ziemianitch to the gentleman to prove there were no
lies told。 And he would show him drunk。 His woman； it seems；
ran away from him last night。 〃Such a hag she was！ Thin！
Pfui！〃 He spat。 They were always running away from that driver
of the deviland he sixty years old too； could never get used to
it。 But each heart knows sorrow after its own kind and
Ziemianitch was a born fool all his days。 And then he would fly
to the bottle。 〃'Who could bear life in our land without the
bottle？' he says。 A proper Russian manthe little pig。 。 。 。
Be pleased to follow me。〃
Razumov crossed a quadrangle of deep snow enclosed between high
walls with innumerable windows。 Here and there a dim yellow
light hung within the four…square mass of darkness。 The house
was an enormous slum； a hive of human vermin； a monumental abode
of misery towering on the verge of starvation and despair。
In a corner the ground sloped sharply down； and Razumov followed
the light of the lantern through a small doorway into a long
cavernous place like a neglected subterranean byre。 Deep within；
three shaggy little horses tied up to rings hung their heads
together； motionless and shadowy in the dim light of the lantern。
It must have been the famous team of Haldin's escape。 Razumov
peered fearfully into the gloom。 His guide pawed in the straw
with his foot。
〃Here he is。 Ah！ the little pigeon。 A true Russian man。
'No heavy hearts for me；' he says。 'Bring out the bottle and
take your ugly mug out of my sight。' Ha！ ha！ ha！ That's the
fellow he is。〃
He held the lantern over a prone form of a man； apparently fully
dressed for outdoors。 His head was lost in a pointed cloth hood。
On the other side of a heap of straw protruded a pair of feet in
monstrous thick boots。
〃Always ready to drive；〃 commented the keeper of the
eating…house。 〃A proper Russian driver that。 Saint or devil；
night or day is all one to Ziemianitch when his heart is free
from sorrow。 'I don't ask who you are； but where you want to
go；' he says。 He would drive Satan himself to his own abode and
come back chirruping to his horses。 Many a one he has driven who
is clanking his chains in the Nertchinsk mines by this time。〃
Razumov shuddered。
〃Call him； wake him up；〃 he faltered out。
The other set down his light； stepped back and launched a kick at
the prostrate sleeper。 The man shook at the impact but did not
move。 At the third kick he grunted but remained inert as before。
The eating…house keeper desisted and fetched a deep sigh。
〃You see for yourself how it is。 We have done what we can for
you。〃
He picked up the lantern。 The intense black spokes of shadow
swung about in the circle of light。 A terrible furythe blind
rage of self…preservationpossessed Razumov。
〃Ah！ The vile beast；〃 he bellowed out in an unearthly tone
which made the lantern jump and tremble！ 〃I shall wake you！
Give me 。 。 。 Give me 。 。 。〃
He looked round wildly； seized the handle of a stablefork and
rushing forward struck at the prostrate body with
inarticulate cries。 After a time his cries ceased； and the rain
of blows fell in the stillness and shadows of the cellar…like
stable。 Razumov belaboured Ziemianitch with an insatiable fury；
in great volleys of sounding thwacks。 Except for the violent
movements of Razumov nothing stirred； neither the beaten man nor
the spoke…like shadows on the walls。 And only the sound of blows
was heard。 It was a weird scene。
Suddenly there was a sharp