The record of the thoughts which assailed1 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 presence — the appalling3 presence of a great crime and the stunning4 force of a great fanaticism5. 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 tumult7 of thoughts — the faithful reflection of the state of his feelings. The thoughts in themselves were not numerous — they were like the thoughts of most human beings, few and simple — but they cannot be reproduced here in all their exclamatory repetitions which went on in an endless and weary turmoil8 — for the walk was long.
If to the Western reader they appear shocking, inappropriate, or even improper9, 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 surmise10 to make is that he would not think as Mr. Razumov thought at this crisis of his fate. He would not have an hereditary11 and personal knowledge or the means by which historical autocracy12 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 delirious13 (and perhaps not even then) that he could be beaten with whips as a practical measure either of investigation14 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, specially15, to Mr. Razumov. No doubt it entered unconsciously into the general dread16 and the general appallingness of this crisis. Razumov, as has been seen, was aware of more subtle ways in which an individual may be undone17 by the proceedings18 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 utterly19 a young man depending entirely20 upon the development of his natural abilities for his place in the world. He was a Russian: and for him to be implicated21 meant simply sinking into the lowest social depths amongst the hopeless and the destitute22 — the night birds of the city.
The peculiar23 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 sledges24 glided26 phantom27-like and jingling28 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 exhorted29 himself mentally. All his strength was suddenly gone as if taken out by a hand. Then by a mighty31 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 lodgings33 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, looming34 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 ragged35 shawls. Under the street lamp she seemed a beggar off duty. She walked leisurely36 in the blizzard37 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 averting38 his glance envied her the peace of her mind and the serenity39 of her fate.
To one reading Mr. Razumov’s narrative40 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 exertions42. 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 horses — he supposed.
The owner of the vile43 den30, a bony short man in a dirty cloth caftan coming down to his heels, stood by, his hands tucked into his belt, and nodded confirmation44.
The reek45 of spirits, the greasy46 rancid steam of food got Razumov by the throat. He struck a table with his clenched47 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 murmur48 of wonder arose with an undertone of uneasiness. A laugh was heard too, and an exclamation49, “There! there!” jeeringly50 soothing51. The waiter looked all round and announced to the room —
“The gentleman won’t believe that Ziemianitch is drunk.”
>From a distant corner a hoarse52 voice belonging to a horrible, nondescript, shaggy being with a black face like the muzzle54 of a bear grunted55 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 plaintively56. 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 garrulously57 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 spat58. They were always running away from that driver of the devil — and 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 man — the 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 abode59 of misery60 towering on the verge61 of starvation and despair.
In a corner the ground sloped sharply down, and Razumov followed the light of the lantern through a small doorway62 into a long cavernous place like a neglected subterranean63 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 prone65 form of a man, apparently66 fully64 dressed for outdoors. His head was lost in a pointed67 cloth hood68. On the other side of a heap of straw protruded69 a pair of feet in monstrous70 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 shuddered71.
“Call him, wake him up,” he faltered73 out.
The other set down his light, stepped back and launched a kick at the prostrate74 sleeper75. The man shook at the impact but did not move. At the third kick he grunted but remained inert76 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 spokes77 of shadow swung about in the circle of light. A terrible fury — the blind rage of self- preservation79 — possessed80 Razumov.
“Ah! The vile beast,” he bellowed81 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 spoke78-like shadows on the walls. And only the sound of blows was heard. It was a weird82 scene.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack. The stick broke and half of it flew far away into the gloom beyond the light. At the same time Ziemianitch sat up. At this Razumov became as motionless as the man with the lantern — only his breast heaved for air as if ready to burst.
Some dull sensation of pain must have penetrated83 at last the consoling night of drunkenness enwrapping the “bright Russian soul” of Haldin’s enthusiastic praise. But Ziemianitch evidently saw nothing. His eyeballs blinked all white in the light once, twice — then the gleam went out. For a moment he sat in the straw with closed eyes with a strange air of weary meditation85, then fell over slowly on his side without making the slightest sound. Only the straw rustled86 a little. Razumov stared wildly, fighting for his breath. After a second or two he heard a light snore.
He flung from him the piece of stick remaining in his grasp, and went off with great hasty strides without looking back once.
After going heedlessly for some fifty yards along the street he walked into a snowdrift and was up to his knees before he stopped.
This recalled him to himself; and glancing about he discovered he had been going in the wrong direction. He retraced87 his steps, but now at a more moderate pace. When passing before the house he had just left he flourished his fist at the sombre refuge of misery and crime rearing its sinister88 bulk on the white ground. It had an air of brooding. He let his arm fall by his side — discouraged.
Ziemianitch’s passionate89 surrender to sorrow and consolation90 had baffled him. That was the people. A true Russian man! Razumov was glad he had beaten that brute91 — the “bright soul” of the other. Here they were: the people and the enthusiast84.
Between the two he was done for. Between the drunkenness of the peasant incapable92 of action and the dream-intoxication of the idealist incapable of perceiving the reason of things, and the true character of men. It was a sort of terrible childishness. But children had their masters. “Ah! the stick, the stick, the stern hand,” thought Razumov, longing53 for power to hurt and destroy.
He was glad he had thrashed that brute. The physical exertion41 had left his body in a comfortable glow. His mental agitation93 too was clarified as if all the feverishness94 had gone out of him in a fit of outward violence. Together with the persisting sense of terrible danger he was conscious now of a tranquil95, unquenchable hate.
He walked slower and slower. And indeed, considering the guest he had in his rooms, it was no wonder he lingered on the way. It was like harbouring a pestilential disease that would not perhaps take your life, but would take from you all that made life worth living — a subtle pest that would convert earth into a hell.
What was he doing now? Lying on the bed as if dead, with the back of his hands over his eyes? Razumov had a morbidly96 vivid vision of Haldin on his bed — the white pillow hollowed by the head, the legs in long boots, the upturned feet. And in his abhorrence97 he said to himself, “I’ll kill him when I get home.” But he knew very well that that was of no use. The corpse98 hanging round his neck would be nearly as fatal as the living man. Nothing short of complete annihilation would do. And that was impossible. What then? Must one kill oneself to escape this visitation?
Razumov’s despair was too profoundly tinged99 with hate to accept that issue.
And yet it was despair — nothing less — at the thought of having to live with Haldin for an indefinite number of days in mortal alarm at every sound. But perhaps when he heard that this “bright soul” of Ziemianitch suffered from a drunken eclipse the fellow would take his infernal resignation somewhere else. And that was not likely on the face of it.
Razumov thought: “I am being crushed — and I can’t even run away.” Other men had somewhere a corner of the earth — some little house in the provinces where they had a right to take their troubles. A material refuge. He had nothing. He had not even a moral refuge — the refuge of confidence. To whom could he go with this tale — in all this great, great land?
Razumov stamped his foot — and under the soft carpet of snow felt the hard ground of Russia, inanimate, cold, inert, like a sullen100 and tragic101 mother hiding her face under a winding-sheet — his native soil! — his very own — without a fireside, without a heart!
He cast his eyes upwards102 and stood amazed. The snow had ceased to fall, and now, as if by a miracle, he saw above his head the clear black sky of the northern winter, decorated with the sumptuous103 fires of the stars. It was a canopy104 fit for the resplendent purity of the snows.
Razumov received an almost physical impression of endless space and of countless105 millions.
He responded to it with the readiness of a Russian who is born to an inheritance of space and numbers. Under the sumptuous immensity of the sky, the snow covered the endless forests, the frozen rivers, the plains of an immense country, obliterating106 the landmarks107, the accidents of the ground, levelling everything under its uniform whiteness, like a monstrous blank page awaiting the record of an inconceivable history. It covered the passive land with its lives of countless people like Ziemianitch and its handful of agitators108 like this Haldin — murdering foolishly.
It was a sort of sacred inertia109. Razumov felt a respect for it. A voice seemed to cry within him, “Don’t touch it.” It was a guarantee of duration, of safety, while the travail110 of maturing destiny went on — a work not of revolutions with their passionate levity111 of action and their shifting impulses — but of peace. What it needed was not the conflicting aspirations112 of a people, but a will strong and one: it wanted not the babble114 of many voices, but a man — strong and one!
Razumov stood on the point of conversion115. He was fascinated by its approach, by its overpowering logic116. For a train of thought is never false. The falsehood lies deep in the necessities of existence, in secret fears and half-formed ambitions, in the secret confidence combined with a secret mistrust of ourselves, in the love of hope and the dread of uncertain days.
In Russia, the land of spectral117 ideas and disembodied aspirations, many brave minds have turned away at last from the vain and endless conflict to the one great historical fact of the land. They turned to autocracy for the peace of their patriotic118 conscience as a weary unbeliever, touched by grace, turns to the faith of his fathers for the blessing119 of spiritual rest. Like other Russians before him, Razumov, in conflict with himself, felt the touch of grace upon his forehead.
“Haldin means disruption,” he thought to himself, beginning to walk again. “ What is he with his indignation, with his talk of bondage120 — with his talk of God’s justice? All that means disruption. Better that thousands should suffer than that a people should become a disintegrated121 mass, helpless like dust in the wind. Obscurantism is better than the light of incendiary torches. The seed germinates122 in the night. Out of the dark soil springs the perfect plant. But a volcanic123 eruption124 is sterile125, the ruin of the fertile ground. And am I, who love my country — who have nothing but that to love and put my faith in — am I to have my future, perhaps my usefulness, ruined by this sanguinary fanatic6?”
The grace entered into Razumov. He believed now in the man who would come at the appointed time.
What is a throne? A few pieces of wood upholstered in velvet126. But a throne is a seat of power too. The form of government is the shape of a tool — an instrument. But twenty thousand bladders inflated127 by the noblest sentiments and jostling against each other in the air are a miserable128 incumbrance of space, holding no power, possessing no will, having nothing to give.
He went on thus, heedless of the way, holding a discourse129 with himself with extraordinary abundance and facility. Generally his phrases came to him slowly, after a conscious and painstaking130 wooing. Some superior power had inspired him with a flow of masterly argument as certain converted sinners become overwhelmingly loquacious131.
He felt an austere132 exultation133.
“What are the luridly134 smoky lucubrations of that fellow to the clear grasp of my intellect?” he thought. “Is not this my country? Have I not got forty million brothers?” he asked himself, unanswerably victorious135 in the silence of his breast. And the fearful thrashing he had given the inanimate Ziemianitch seemed to him a sign of intimate union, a pathetically severe necessity of brotherly love. “No! If I must suffer let me at least suffer for my convictions, not for a crime my reason — my cool superior reason — rejects.”
He ceased to think for a moment. The silence in his breast was complete. But he felt a suspicious uneasiness, such as we may experience when we enter an unlighted strange place — the irrational136 feeling that something may jump upon us in the dark — the absurd dread of the unseen.
Of course he was far from being a moss-grown reactionary137. Everything was not for the best. Despotic bureaucracy . . . abuses . . . corruption138 . . . and so on. Capable men were wanted. Enlightened intelligences. Devoted139 hearts. But absolute power should be preserved — the tool ready for the man — for the great autocrat140 of the future. Razumov believed in him. The logic of history made him unavoidable. The state of the people demanded him, “What else?” he asked himself ardently141, “could move all that mass in one direction? Nothing could. Nothing but a single will.”
He was persuaded that he was sacrificing his personal longings142 of liberalism — rejecting the attractive error for the stern Russian truth. “That’s patriotism143,” he observed mentally, and added, “There’s no stopping midway on that road,” and then remarked to himself, “I am not a coward.”
And again there was a dead silence in Razumov’s breast. He walked with lowered head, making room for no one. He walked slowly and his thoughts returning spoke within him with solemn slowness.
“What is this Haldin? And what am I? Only two grains of sand. But a great mountain is made up of just such insignificant144 grains. And the death of a man or of many men is an insignificant thing. Yet we combat a contagious145 pestilence146. Do I want his death? No! I would save him if I could — but no one can do that — he is the withered147 member which must be cut off. If I must perish through him, let me at least not perish with him, and associated against my will with his sombre folly148 that understands nothing either of men or things. Why should I leave a false memory?”
It passed through his mind that there was no one in the world who cared what sort of memory he left behind him. He exclaimed to himself instantly, “Perish vainly for a falsehood! . . . What a miserable fate!”
He was now in a more animated149 part of the town. He did not remark the crash of two colliding sledges close to the curb150. The driver of one bellowed tearfully at his fellow-
“Oh, thou vile wretch151!”
This hoarse yell, let out nearly in his ear, disturbed Razumov. He shook his head impatiently and went on looking straight before him. Suddenly on the snow, stretched on his back right across his path, he saw Haldin, solid, distinct, real, with his inverted152 hands over his eyes, clad in a brown close-fitting coat and long boots. He was lying out of the way a little, as though he had selected that place on purpose. The snow round him was untrodden.
This hallucination had such a solidity of aspect that the first movement of Razumov was to reach for his pocket to assure himself that the key of his rooms was there. But he checked the impulse with a disdainful curve of his lips. He understood. His thought, concentrated intensely on the figure left lying on his bed, had culminated153 in this extraordinary illusion of the sight. Razumov tackled the phenomenon calmly. With a stern face, without a check and gazing far beyond the vision, he walked on, experiencing nothing but a slight tightening154 of the chest. After passing he turned his head for a glance, and saw only the unbroken track of his footsteps over the place where the breast of the phantom had been lying.
Razumov walked on and after a little time whispered his wonder to himself.
“Exactly as if alive! Seemed to breathe! And right in my way too! I have had an extraordinary experience.”
He made a few steps and muttered through his set teeth —
“I shall give him up.”
Then for some twenty yards or more all was blank. He wrapped his cloak closer round him. He pulled his cap well forward over his eyes.
“Betray. A great word. What is betrayal? They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his sweetheart. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience. And how is my conscience engaged here; by what bond of common faith, of common conviction, am I obliged to let that fanatical idiot drag me down with him? On the contrary — every obligation of true courage is the other way.”
Razumov looked round from under his cap.
“What can the prejudice of the world reproach me with? Have I provoked his confidence? No! Have I by a single word, look, or gesture given him reason to suppose that I accepted his trust in me? No! It is true that I consented to go and see his Ziemianitch. Well, I have been to see him. And I broke a stick on his back too — the brute.”
Something seemed to turn over in his head bringing uppermost a singularly hard, clear facet155 of his brain.
“It would be better, however,” he reflected with a quite different mental accent, “to keep that circumstance altogether to myself.”
He had passed beyond the turn leading to his lodgings, and had reached a wide and fashionable street. Some shops were still open, and all the restaurants. Lights fell on the pavement where men in expensive fur coats, with here and there the elegant figure of a woman, walked with an air of leisure. Razumov looked at them with the contempt of an austere believer for the frivolous156 crowd. It was the world — those officers, dignitaries, men of fashion, officials, members of the Yacht Club. The event of the morning affected157 them all. What would they say if they knew what this student in a cloak was going to do?
“Not one of them is capable of feeling and thinking as deeply as I can. How many of them could accomplish an act of conscience?”
Razumov lingered in the well-lighted street. He was firmly decided158. Indeed, it could hardly be called a decision. He had simply discovered what he had meant to do all along. And yet he felt the need of some other mind’s sanction.
With something resembling anguish159 he said to himself —
“I want to be understood.” The universal aspiration113 with all its profound and melancholy160 meaning assailed heavily Razumov, who, amongst eighty millions of his kith and kin2, had no heart to which he could open himself.
The attorney was not to be thought of. He despised the little agent of chicane too much. One could not go and lay one’s conscience before the policeman at the corner. Neither was Razumov anxious to go to the chief of his district’s police — a common-looking person whom he used to see sometimes in the street in a shabby uniform and with a smouldering cigarette stuck to his lower lip. “He would begin by locking me up most probably. At any rate, he is certain to get excited and create an awful commotion,” thought Razumov practically
An act of conscience must be done with outward dignity.
Razumov longed desperately161 for a word of advice, for moral support. Who knows what true loneliness is — not the conventional word, but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion. Now and then a fatal conjunction of events may lift the veil for an instant. For an instant only. No human being could bear a steady view of moral solitude162 without going mad.
Razumov had reached that point of vision. To escape from it he embraced for a whole minute the delirious purpose of rushing to his lodgings and flinging himself on his knees by the side of the bed with the dark figure stretched on it; to pour out a full confession163 in passionate words that would stir the whole being of that man to its innermost depths; that would end in embraces and tears; in an incredible fellowship of souls — such as the world had never seen. It was sublime164!
Inwardly he wept and trembled already. But to the casual eyes that were cast upon him he was aware that he appeared as a tranquil student in a cloak, out for a leisurely stroll. He noted165, too, the sidelong, brilliant glance of a pretty woman — with a delicate head, and covered in the hairy skins of wild beasts down to her feet, like a frail166 and beautiful savage167 — which rested for a moment with a sort of mocking tenderness on the deep abstraction of that good-looking young man.
Suddenly Razumov stood still. The glimpse of a passing grey whisker, caught and lost in the same instant, had evoked168 the complete image of Prince K— — the man who once had pressed his hand as no other man had pressed it — a faint but lingering pressure like a secret sign, like a half-unwilling caress169.
And Razumov marvelled170 at himself. Why did he not think of him before!
“A senator, a dignitary, a great personage, the very man — He!”
A strange softening171 emotion came over Razumov — made his knees shake a little. He repressed it with a new-born austerity. All that sentiment was pernicious nonsense. He couldn’t be quick enough; and when he got into a sledge25 he shouted to the driver —
“to the K—— Palace. Get on — you! Fly!” The startled moujik, bearded up to the very whites of his eyes, answered obsequiously172 —
“I hear, your high Nobility.”
It was lucky for Razumov that Prince K—— was not a man of timid character. On the day of Mr. de P——‘s murder an extreme alarm and despondency prevailed in the high official spheres.
Prince K— — sitting sadly alone in his study, was told by his alarmed servants that a mysterious young man had forced his way into the hall, refused to tell his name and the nature of his business, and would not move from there till he had seen his Excellency in private. Instead of locking himself up and telephoning for the police, as nine out of ten high personages would have done that evening, the Prince gave way to curiosity and came quietly to the door of his study.
In the hall, the front door standing173 wide open, he recognised at once Razumov, pale as death, his eyes blazing, and surrounded by perplexed174 lackeys175.
The Prince was vexed176 beyond measure, and even indignant. But his humane177 instincts and a subtle sense of self-respect could not allow him to let this young man be thrown out into the street by base menials. He retreated unseen into his room, and after a little rang his bell. Razumov heard in the hall an ominously178 raised harsh voice saying somewhere far away —
“Show the gentleman in here.”
Razumov walked in without a tremor179. He felt himself invulnerable — raised far above the shallowness of common judgment180. Though he saw the Prince looking at him with black displeasure, the lucidity181 of his mind, of which he was very conscious, gave him an extraordinary assurance. He was not asked to sit down.
Half an hour later they appeared in the hall together. The lackeys stood up, and the Prince, moving with difficulty on his gouty feet, was helped into his furs. The carriage had been ordered before. When the great double door was flung open with a crash, Razumov, who had been standing silent with a lost gaze but with every faculty183 intensely on the alert, heard the Prince’s voice —
“Your arm, young man.”
The mobile, superficial mind of the ex-Guards officer, man of showy missions, experienced in nothing but the arts of gallant184 intrigue185 and worldly success, had been equally impressed by the more obvious difficulties of such a situation and by Razumov’s quiet dignity in stating them.
He had said, “No. Upon the whole I can’t condemn186 the step you ventured to take by coming to me with your story. It is not an affair for police understrappers. The greatest importance is attached to. . . . Set your mind at rest. I shall see you through this most extraordinary and difficult situation.”
Then the Prince rose to ring the bell, and Razumov, making a short bow, had said with deference187 —
“I have trusted my instinct. A young man having no claim upon anybody in the world has in an hour of trial involving his deepest political convictions turned to an illustrious Russian — that’s all.”
The Prince had exclaimed hastily —
“You have done well.”
In the carriage — it was a small brougham on sleigh runners — Razumov broke the silence in a voice that trembled slightly.
“My gratitude188 surpasses the greatness of my presumption189.”
He gasped190, feeling unexpectedly in the dark a momentary191 pressure on his arm.
“You have done well,” repeated the Prince.
When the carriage stopped the Prince murmured to Razumov, who had never ventured a single question —
“The house of General T——.”
In the middle of the snow-covered roadway blazed a great bonfire. Some Cossacks, the bridles192 of their horses over the arm, were warming themselves around. Two sentries193 stood at the door, several gendarmes194 lounged under the great carriage gateway196, and on the first-floor landing two orderlies rose and stood at attention. Razumov walked at the Prince’s elbow.
A surprising quantity of hot-house plants in pots cumbered the floor of the ante-room. Servants came forward. A young man in civilian197 clothes arrived hurriedly, was whispered to, bowed low, and exclaiming zealously198, “Certainly — this minute,” fled within somewhere. The Prince signed to Razumov.
They passed through a suite199 of reception-rooms all barely lit and one of them prepared for dancing. The wife of the General had put off her party. An atmosphere of consternation200 pervaded201 the place. But the General’s own room, with heavy sombre hangings, two massive desks, and deep armchairs, had all the lights turned on. The footman shut the door behind them and they waited.
There was a coal fire in an English grate; Razumov had never before seen such a fire; and the silence of the room was like the silence of the grave; perfect, measureless, for even the clock on the mantelpiece made no sound. Filling a corner, on a black pedestal, stood a quarter- life-size smooth-limbed bronze of an adolescent figure, running. The Prince observed in an undertone-
“Spontini’s. ‘Flight of Youth.’ Exquisite202.”
“Admirable,” assented203 Razumov faintly.
They said nothing more after this, the Prince silent with his grand air, Razumov staring at the statue. He was worried by a sensation resembling the gnawing204 of hunger.
He did not turn when he heard an inner door fly open, and a quick footstep, muffled205 on the carpet.
The Prince’s voice immediately exclaimed, thick with excitement —
“We have got him — ce miserable. A worthy206 young man came to me — No! It’s incredible . . . .”
Razumov held his breath before the bronze as if expecting a crash. Behind his back a voice he had never heard before insisted politely —
“Asseyez-vous donc.”
The Prince almost shrieked207, “Mais comprenez- vous, mon cher! L’assassin! the murderer — we have got him . . . .”
Razumov spun208 round. The General’s smooth big cheeks rested on the stiff collar of his uniform. He must have been already looking at Razumov, because that last saw the pale blue eyes fastened on him coldly.
The Prince from a chair waved an impressive hand.
“This is a most honourable209 young man whom Providence210 itself . . . Mr. Razumov.”
The General acknowledged the introduction by frowning at Razumov, who did not make the slightest movement.
Sitting down before his desk the General listened with compressed lips. It was impossible to detect any sign of emotion on his face.
Razumov watched the immobility of the fleshy profile. But it lasted only a moment, till the Prince had finished; and when the General turned to the providential young man, his florid complexion211, the blue, unbelieving eyes and the bright white flash of an automatic smile had an air of jovial212, careless cruelty. He expressed no wonder at the extraordinary story — no pleasure or excitement — no incredulity either. He betrayed no sentiment whatever. Only with a politeness almost deferential213 suggested that “the bird might have flown while Mr. — Mr. Razumov was running about the streets.”
Razumov advanced to the middle of the room and said, “The door is locked and I have the key in my pocket.”
His loathing214 for the man was intense. It had come upon him so unawares that he felt he had not kept it out of his voice. The General looked up at him thoughtfully, and Razumov grinned.
All this went over the head of Prince K—— seated in a deep armchair, very tired and impatient.
“A student called Haldin,” said the General thoughtfully.
Razumov ceased to grin.
“That is his name,” he said unnecessarily loud. “Victor Victorovitch Haldin — a student.”
The General shifted his position a little.
“How is he dressed? Would you have the goodness to tell me?”
Razumov angrily described Haldin’s clothing in a few jerky words. The General stared all the time, then addressing the Prince —
“We were not without some indications,” he said in French. “A good woman who was in the street described to us somebody wearing a dress of the sort as the thrower of the second bomb. We have detained her at the Secretariat, and every one in a Tcherkess coat we could lay our hands on has been brought to her to look at. She kept on crossing herself and shaking her head at them. It was exasperating215. . . . “He turned to Razumov, and in Russian, with friendly reproach —
“Take a chair, Mr. Razumov — do. Why are you standing? ”
Razumov sat down carelessly and looked at the General.
“This goggle216-eyed imbecile understands nothing,” he thought.
The Prince began to speak loftily.
“Mr. Razumov is a young man of conspicuous217 abilities. I have it at heart that his future should not . . . .”
“Certainly,” interrupted the General, with a movement of the hand. “Has he any weapons on him, do you think, Mr. Razumov? ”
The General employed a gentle musical voice. Razumov answered with suppressed irritation218 —
“No. But my razors are lying about — you understand.”
The General lowered his head approvingly.
“Precisely.”
Then to the Prince, explaining courteously219 —
“We want that bird alive. It will be the devil if we can’t make him sing a little before we are done with him.”
The grave-like silence of the room with its mute clock fell upon the polite modulations of this terrible phrase. The Prince, hidden in the chair, made no sound.
The General unexpectedly developed a thought.
“Fidelity220 to menaced institutions on which depend the safety of a throne and of a people is no child’s play. We know that, mon Prince,and — tenez —“he went on with a sort of flattering harshness, “Mr. Razumov here begins to understand that too.”
His eyes which he turned upon Razumov seemed to be starting out of his head. This grotesqueness222 of aspect no longer shocked Razumov. He said with gloomy conviction —
“Haldin will never speak.”
“That remains223 to be seen,” muttered the General.
“I am certain,” insisted Razumov. “A man like this never speaks. . . . Do you imagine that I am here from fear?” he added violently. He felt ready to stand by his opinion of Haldin to the last extremity224.
“Certainly not,” protested the General, with great simplicity225 of tone. “And I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Razumov, that if he had not come with his tale to such a staunch and loyal Russian as you, he would have disappeared like a stone in the water . . . which would have had a detestable effect,” he added, with a bright, cruel smile under his stony227 stare. “So you see, there can be no suspicion of any fear here.”
The Prince intervened, looking at Razumov round the back of the armchair.
“Nobody doubts the moral soundness of your action. Be at ease in that respect, pray.”
He turned to the General uneasily.
“That’s why I am here. You may be surprised why I should . . . .”
The General hastened to interrupt.
“Not at all. Extremely natural. You saw the importance . . . .”
“Yes,” broke in the Prince. “And I venture to ask insistently228 that mine and Mr. Razumov’s intervention229 should not become public. He is a young man of promise — of remarkable230 aptitudes231.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” murmured the General. “He inspires confidence.”
“All sorts of pernicious views are so widespread nowadays — they taint232 such unexpected quarters — that, monstrous as it seems, he might suffer . . . his studies . . . his. . .”
The General, with his elbows on the desk, took his head between his hands.
“Yes. Yes. I am thinking it out. . . . How long is it since you left him at your rooms, Mr. Razumov?”
Razumov mentioned the hour which nearly corresponded with the time of his distracted flight from the big slum house. He had made up his mind to keep Ziemianitch out of the affair completely. To mention him at all would mean imprisonment233 for the “bright soul,” perhaps cruel floggings, and in the end a journey to Siberia in chains. Razumov, who had beaten Ziemianitch, felt for him now a vague, remorseful234 tenderness.
The General, giving way for the first time to his secret sentiments, exclaimed contemptuously —
“And you say he came in to make you this confidence like this — for nothing — a propos des bottes.”
Razumov felt danger in the air. The merciless suspicion of despotism had spoken openly at last. Sudden fear sealed Razumov’s lips. The silence of the room resembled now the silence of a deep dungeon235, where time does not count, and a suspect person is sometimes forgotten for ever. But the Prince came to the rescue.
“Providence itself has led the wretch in a moment of mental aberration236 to seek Mr. Razumov on the strength of some old, utterly misinterpreted exchange of ideas — some sort of idle speculative237 conversation — months ago — I am told — and completely forgotten till now by Mr. Razumov.”
“Mr. Razumov,” queried238 the General meditatively239, after a short silence, “do you often indulge in speculative conversation?”
“No, Excellency,” answered Razumov, coolly, in a sudden access of self-confidence. “I am a man of deep convictions. Crude opinions are in the air. They are not always worth combating. But even the silent contempt of a serious mind may be misinterpreted by headlong utopists.”
The General stared from between his hands. Prince K—— murmured —
“A serious young man. Un esprit superieur.”
“I see that, mon cher Prince,” said the General. “Mr. Razumov is quite safe with me. I am interested in him. He has, it seems, the great and useful quality of inspiring confidence. What I was wondering at is why the other should mention anything at all — I mean even the bare fact alone — if his object was only to obtain temporary shelter for a few hours. For, after all, nothing was easier than to say nothing about it unless, indeed, he were trying, under a crazy misapprehension of your true sentiments, to enlist240 your assistance — eh, Mr. Razumov?”
It seemed to Razumov that the floor was moving slightly. This grotesque221 man in a tight uniform was terrible. It was right that he should be terrible.
“I can see what your Excellency has in your mind. But I can only answer that I don’t know why.”
“I have nothing in my mind,” murmured the General, with gentle surprise.
“I am his prey241 — his helpless prey,” thought Razumov. The fatigues242 and the disgusts of that afternoon, the need to forget, the fear which he could not keep off, reawakened his hate for Haldin.
“Then I can’t help your Excellency. I don’t know what he meant. I only know there was a moment when I wished to kill him. There was also a moment when I wished myself dead. I said nothing. I was overcome. I provoked no confidence — I asked for no explanations —”
Razumov seemed beside himself; but his mind was lucid182. It was really a calculated outburst.
“It is rather a pity,” the General said, “that you did not. Don’t you know at all what he means to do?” Razumov calmed down and saw an opening there.
“He told me he was in hopes that a sledge would meet him about half an hour after midnight at the seventh lamp-post on the left from the upper end of Karabelnaya. At any rate, he meant to be there at that time. He did not even ask me for a change of clothes.”
“Ah voila!” said the General, turning to Prince K with an air of satisfaction. “There is a way to keep your protege, Mr. Razumov, quite clear of any connexion with the actual arrest. We shall be ready for that gentleman in Karabelnaya.”
The Prince expressed his gratitude. There was real emotion in his voice. Razumov, motionless, silent, sat staring at the carpet. The General turned to him.
“Half an hour after midnight. Till then we have to depend on you, Mr. Razumov. You don’t think he is likely to change his purpose?”
“How can I tell?” said Razumov. “Those men are not of the sort that ever changes its purpose.”
“What men do you mean?”
“Fanatical lovers of liberty in general. Liberty with a capital L, Excellency. Liberty that means nothing precise. Liberty in whose name crimes are committed.”
The General murmured —
“I detest226 rebels of every kind. I can’t help it. It’s my nature!”
He clenched a fist and shook it, drawing back his arm. “They shall be destroyed, then.”
“They have made a sacrifice of their lives beforehand,” said Razumov with malicious244 pleasure and looking the General straight in the face. “If Haldin does change his purpose to- night, you may depend on it that it will not be to save his life by flight in some other way. He would have thought then of something else to attempt. But that is not likely.”
The General repeated as if to himself, “They shall be destroyed.”
Razumov assumed an impenetrable expression.
The Prince exclaimed —
“What a terrible necessity!”
The General’s arm was lowered slowly.
“One comfort there is. That brood leaves no posterity245. I’ve always said it, one effort, pitiless, persistent246, steady — and we are done with them for ever.”
Razumov thought to himself that this man entrusted247 with so much arbitrary power must have believed what he said or else he could not have gone on bearing the responsibility.
“I detest rebels. These subversive248 minds! These intellectual debauches! My existence has been built on fidelity. It’s a feeling. To defend it I am ready to lay down my life — and even my honour — if that were needed. But pray tell me what honour can there be as against rebels — against people that deny God Himself — perfect unbelievers! Brutes249. It is horrible to think of.”
During this tirade250 Razumov, facing the General, had nodded slightly twice. Prince K— — standing on one side with his grand air, murmured, casting up his eyes —
“Helas!”
Then lowering his glance and with great decision declared —
“This young man, General, is perfectly251 fit to apprehend252 the bearing of your memorable253 words.”
The General’s whole expression changed from dull resentment254 to perfect urbanity.
“I would ask now, Mr. Razumov,” he said, “to return to his home. Note that I don’t ask Mr. Razumov whether he has justified255 his absence to his guest. No doubt he did this sufficiently256. But I don’t ask. Mr. Razumov inspires confidence. It is a great gift. I only suggest that a more prolonged absence might awaken243 the criminal’s suspicions and induce him perhaps to change his plans.”
He rose and with a scrupulous257 courtesy escorted his visitors to the ante-room encumbered258 with flower-pots.
Razumov parted with the Prince at the corner of a street. In the carriage he had listened to speeches where natural sentiment struggled with caution. Evidently the Prince was afraid of encouraging any hopes of future intercourse259. But there was a touch of tenderness in the voice uttering in the dark the guarded general phrases of goodwill260. And the Prince too said —
“I have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Razumov.”
“They all, it seems, have confidence in me,” thought Razumov dully. He had an indulgent contempt for the man sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the confined space. Probably he was afraid of scenes with his wife. She was said to be proud and violent.
It seemed to him bizarre that secrecy261 should play such a large part in the comfort and safety of lives. But he wanted to put the Prince’s mind at ease; and with a proper amount of emphasis he said that, being conscious of some small abilities and confident in his power of work, he trusted his future to his own exertions. He expressed his gratitude for the helping262 hand. Such dangerous situations did not occur twice in the course of one life — he added.
“And you have met this one with a firmness of mind and correctness of feeling which give me a high idea of your worth,” the Prince said solemnly. “You have now only to persevere263 — to persevere.”
On getting out on the pavement Razumov saw an ungloved hand extended to him through the lowered window of the brougham. It detained his own in its grasp for a moment, while the light of a street lamp fell upon the Prince’s long face and old-fashioned grey whiskers.
“I hope you are perfectly reassured264 now as to the consequences . . . ”
“After what your Excellency has condescended265 to do for me, I can only rely on my conscience.”
“Adieu,” said the whiskered head with feeling.
Razumov bowed. The brougham glided away with a slight swish in the snow — he was alone on the edge of the pavement.
He said to himself that there was nothing to think about, and began walking towards his home.
He walked quietly. It was a common experience to walk thus home to bed after an evening spent somewhere with his fellows or in the cheaper seats of a theatre. After he had gone a little way the familiarity of things got hold of him. Nothing was changed. There was the familiar corner; and when he turned it he saw the familiar dim light of the provision shop kept by a German woman. There were loaves of stale bread, bunches of onions and strings266 of sausages behind the small window-panes267. They were closing it. The sickly lame268 fellow whom he knew so well by sight staggered out into the snow embracing a large shutter269.
Nothing would change. There was the familiar gateway yawning black with feeble glimmers271 marking the arches of the different staircases.
The sense of life’s continuity depended on trifling272 bodily impressions. The trivialities of daily existence were an armour273 for the soul. And this thought reinforced the inward quietness of Razumov as he began to climb the stairs familiar to his feet in the dark, with his hand on the familiar clammy banister. The exceptional could not prevail against the material contacts which make one day resemble another. To-morrow would be like yesterday.
It was only on the stage that the unusual was outwardly acknowledged.
“I suppose,” thought Razumov, “that if I had made up my mind to blow out my brains on the landing I would be going up these stairs as quietly as I am doing it now. What’s a man to do? What must be must be. Extraordinary things do happen. But when they have happened they are done with. Thus, too, when the mind is made up. That question is done with. And the daily concerns, the familiarities of our thought swallow it up — and the life goes on as before with its mysterious and secret sides quite out of sight, as they should be. Life is a public thing.”
Razumov unlocked his door and took the key out; entered very quietly and bolted the door behind him carefully.
He thought, “He hears me,” and after bolting the door he stood still holding his breath. There was not a sound. He crossed the bare outer room, stepping deliberately274 in the darkness. Entering the other, he felt all over his table for the matchbox. The silence, but for the groping of his hand, was profound. Could the fellow be sleeping so soundly?
He struck a light and looked at the bed. Haldin was lying on his back as before, only both his hands were under his head. His eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling.
Razumov held the match up. He saw the clear-cut features, the firm chin, the white forehead and the topknot of fair hair against the white pillow. There he was, lying flat on his back. Razumov thought suddenly, “I have walked over his chest.”
He continued to stare till the match burnt itself out; then struck another and lit the lamp in silence without looking towards the bed any more. He had turned his back on it and was hanging his coat on a peg275 when he heard Haldin sigh profoundly, then ask in a tired voice —
“Well! And what have you arranged?”
The emotion was so great that Razumov was glad to put his hands against the wall. A diabolical276 impulse to say, “I have given you up to the police,” frightened him exceedingly. But he did not say that. He said, without turning round, in a muffled voice —
“It’s done.”
Again he heard Haldin sigh. He walked to the table, sat down with the lamp before him, and only then looked towards the bed.
In the distant corner of the large room far away from the lamp, which was small and provided with a very thick china shade, Haldin appeared like a dark and elongated277 shape — rigid278 with the immobility of death. This body seemed to have less substance than its own phantom walked over by Razumov in the street white with snow. It was more alarming in its shadowy, persistent reality than the distinct but vanishing illusion.
Haldin was heard again.
“You must have had a walk — such a walk. . .” he murmured deprecatingly.’’ This weather . . . .”
Razumov answered with energy —
“Horrible walk. . . . A nightmare of a walk.”
He shuddered audibly. Haldin sighed once more, then —
“And so you have seen Ziemianitch — brother?”
“I’ve seen him.”
Razumov, remembering the time he had spent with the Prince, thought it prudent279 to add, “I had to wait some time.”
“A character — eh? It’s extraordinary what a sense of the necessity of freedom there is in that man. And he has sayings too — simple, to the point, such as only the people can invent in their rough sagacity. A character that . . . .”
“I, you understand, haven’t had much opportunity . . . .” Razumov muttered through his teeth.
Haldin continued to stare at the ceiling.
“You see, brother, I have been a good deal in that house of late. I used to take there books — leaflets. Not a few of the poor people who live there can read. And, you see, the guests for the feast of freedom must be sought for in byways and hedges. The truth is, I have almost lived in that house of late. I slept sometimes in the stable. There is a stable . . . .”
“That’s where I had my interview with Ziemianitch,” interrupted Razumov gently. A mocking spirit entered into him and he added, “It was satisfactory in a sense. I came away from it much relieved.”
“Ah! he’s a fellow,” went on Haldin, talking slowly at the ceiling. “I came to know him in that way, you see. For some weeks now, ever since I resigned myself to do what had to be done, I tried to isolate281 myself. I gave up my rooms. What was the good of exposing a decent widow woman to the risk of being worried out of her mind by the police? I gave up seeing any of our comrades . . . .”
Razumov drew to himself a half-sheet of paper and began to trace lines on it with a pencil.
“Upon my word,” he thought angrily, “he seems to have thought of everybody’s safety but mine.”
Haldin was talking on.
“This morning — ah! this morning — that was different. How can I explain to you? Before the deed was done I wandered at night and lay hid in the day, thinking it out, and I felt restful. Sleepless282 but restful. What was there for me to torment283 myself about? But this morning — after! Then it was that I became restless. I could not have stopped in that big house full of misery. The miserable of this world can’t give you peace. Then when that silly caretaker began to shout, I said to myself, ‘There is a young man in this town head and shoulders above common prejudices.’”
“Is he laughing at me?” .Razumov asked himself, going on with his aimless drawing of triangles and squares. And suddenly he thought: “My behaviour must appear to him strange. Should he take fright at my manner and rush off somewhere I shall be undone completely. That infernal General . . . .”
He dropped the pencil and turned abruptly284 towards the bed with the shadowy figure extended full length on it — so much more indistinct than the one over whose breast he had walked without faltering285. Was this, too, a phantom?
The silence had lasted a long time. “He is no longer here,” was the thought against which Razumov struggled desperately, quite frightened at its absurdity286. “He is already gone and this. . .only . . . .”
He could resist no longer. He sprang to his feet, saying aloud, “I am intolerably anxious,” and in a few headlong strides stood by the side of the bed. His hand fell lightly on Haldin’s shoulder, and directly he felt its reality he was beset287 by an insane temptation to grip that exposed throat and squeeze the breath out of that body, lest it should escape his custody288, leaving only a phantom behind.
Haldin did not stir a limb, but his overshadowed eyes moving a little gazed upwards at Razumov with wistful gratitude for this manifestation289 of feeling.
Razumov turned away and strode up and down the room. “It would have been possibly a kindness,” he muttered to himself, and was appalled290 by the nature of that apology for a murderous intention his mind had found somewhere within him. And all the same he could not give it up. He became lucid about it. “What can he expect?” he thought. “The halter — in the end. And I . . . .”
This argument was interrupted by Haldin’s voice.
“Why be anxious for me? They can kill my body, but they cannot exile my soul from this world. I tell you what — I believe in this world so much that I cannot conceive eternity291 otherwise than as a very long life. That is perhaps the reason I am so ready to die.”
“H’m,” muttered Razumov, and biting his lower lip he continued to walk up and down and to carry on his strange argument.
Yes, to a man in such a situation — of course it would be an act of kindness. The question, however, was not how to be kind, but how to be firm. He was a slippery customer
“I too, Victor Victorovitch, believe in this world of ours,” he said with force. “I too, while I live. . . . But you seem determined292 to haunt it. You can’t seriously . . . mean”
The voice of the motionless Haldin began —
“Haunt it! Truly, the oppressors of thought which quickens the world, the destroyers of souls which aspire293 to perfection of human dignity, they shall be haunted. As to the destroyers of my mere294 body, I have forgiven them beforehand.”
Razumov had stopped apparently to listen, but at the same time he was observing his own sensations. He was vexed with himself for attaching so much importance to what Haldin said.
“The fellow’s mad,” he thought firmly, but this opinion did not mollify him towards Haldin. It was a particularly impudent295 form of lunacy — and when it got loose in the sphere of public life of a country, it was obviously the duty of every good citizen . . . .
This train of thought broke off short there and was succeeded by a paroxysm of silent hatred296 towards Haldin, so intense that Razumov hastened to speak at random297.
“Yes. Eternity, of course. I, too, can’t very well represent it to myself. . . . I imagine it, however, as something quiet and dull. There would be nothing unexpected — don’t you see? The element of time would be wanting.”
He pulled out his watch and gazed at it. Haldin turned over on his side and looked on intently.
Razumov got frightened at this movement. A slippery customer this fellow with a phantom. It was not midnight yet. He hastened on —
“And unfathomable mysteries! Can you conceive secret places in Eternity? Impossible. Whereas life is full of them. There are secrets of birth, for instance. One carries them on to the grave. There is something comical . . . but never mind. And there are secret motives298 of conduct. A man’s most open actions have a secret side to them. That is interesting and so unfathomable! For instance, a man goes out of a room for a walk. Nothing more trivial in appearance. And yet it may be momentous299. He comes back — he has seen perhaps a drunken brute, taken particular notice of the snow on the ground — and behold300 he is no longer the same man. The most unlikely things have a secret power over one’s thoughts — the grey whiskers of a particular person — the goggle eyes of another.”
Razumov’s forehead was moist. He took a turn or two in the room, his head low and smiling to himself viciously.
“Have you ever reflected on the power of goggle eyes and grey whiskers? Excuse me. You seem to think I must be crazy to talk in this vein301 at such a time. But I am not talking lightly. I have seen instances. It has happened to me once to be talking to a man whose fate was affected by physical facts of that kind. And the man did not know it. Of course, it was a case of conscience, but the material facts such as these brought about the solution. . . . And you tell me, Victor Victorovitch, not to be anxious! Why! I am responsible for you,” Razumov almost shrieked.
He avoided with difficulty a burst of Mephistophelian laughter. Haldin, very pale, raised himself on his elbow.
“And the surprises of life,” went on Razumov, after glancing at the other uneasily. “Just consider their astonishing nature. A mysterious impulse induces you to come here. I don’t say you have done wrong. Indeed, from a certain point of view you could not have done better. You might have gone to a man with affections and family ties. You have such ties yourself. As to me, you know I have been brought up in an educational institute where they did not give us enough to eat. To talk of affection in such a connexion — you perceive yourself. . . . As to ties, the only ties I have in the world are social. I must get acknowledged in some way before I can act at all. I sit here working. . . . And don’t you think I am working for progress too? I’ve got to find my own ideas of the true way. . . . Pardon me,” continued Razumov, after drawing breath and with a short, throaty laugh, “but I haven’t inherited a revolutionary inspiration together with a resemblance from an uncle.”
He looked again at his watch and noticed with sickening disgust that there were yet a good many minutes to midnight. He tore watch and chain off his waistcoat and laid them on the table well in the circle of bright lamplight. Haldin, reclining on his elbow, did not stir. Razumov was made uneasy by this attitude. “What move is he meditating302 over so quietly?” he thought. “He must be prevented. I must keep on talking to him.”
He raised his voice.
“You are a son, a brother, a nephew, a cousin — I don’t know what — to no end of people. I am just a man. Here I stand before you. A man with a mind. Did it ever occur to you how a man who had never heard a word of warm affection or praise in his life would think on matters on which you would think first with or against your class, your domestic tradition — your fireside prejudices? . . . Did you ever consider how a man like that would feel? I have no domestic tradition. I have nothing to think against. My tradition is historical. What have I to look back to but that national past from which you gentlemen want to wrench303 away your future? Am I to let my intelligence, my aspirations towards a better lot, be robbed of the only thing it has to go upon at the will of violent enthusiasts304? You come from your province, but all this land is mine — or I have nothing. No doubt you shall be looked upon as a martyr305 some day — a sort of hero — a political saint. But I beg to be excused. I am content in fitting myself to be a worker. And what can you people do by scattering306 a few drops of blood on the snow? On this Immensity. On this unhappy Immensity! I tell you,” he cried, in a vibrating, subdued307 voice, and advancing one step nearer the bed, “that what it needs is not a lot of haunting phantoms308 that I could walk through — but a man!”
Haldin threw his arms forward as if to keep him off in horror.
“I understand it all now,” he exclaimed, with awestruck dismay. “I understand — at last.”
Razumov staggered back against the table. His forehead broke out in perspiration309 while a cold shudder72 ran down his spine310.
“What have I been saying?” he asked himself. “Have I let him slip through my fingers after all?”
“He felt his lips go stiff like buckram, and instead of a reassuring311 smile only achieved an uncertain grimace312.
“What will you have?” he began in a conciliating voice which got steady after the first trembling word or two. “What will you have? Consider — a man of studious, retired313 habits — and suddenly like this. . . . I am not practised in talking delicately. But . . . .”
He felt anger, a wicked anger, get hold of him again.
“What were we to do together till midnight? Sit here opposite each other and think of your — your- shambles314? ”
Haldin had a subdued, heartbroken attitude. He bowed his head; his hands hung between his knees. His voice was low and pained but calm.
“I see now how it is, Razumov — brother. You are a magnanimous soul, but my action is abhorrent315 to you — alas316 . . . .”
Razumov stared. From fright he had set his teeth so hard that his whole face ached. It was impossible for him to make a sound.
“And even my person, too, is loathsome317 to you perhaps,” Haldin added mournfully, after a short pause, looking up for a moment, then fixing his gaze on the floor. “For indeed, unless one . . . .”
He broke off evidently waiting for a word. Razumov remained silent. Haldin nodded his head dejectedly twice.
“Of course. Of course,” he murmured. . . . “Ah! weary work!”
He remained perfectly still for a moment, then made Razumov’s leaden heart strike a ponderous318 blow by springing up briskly.
“So be it,” he cried sadly in a low, distinct tone. “Farewell then.”
Razumov started forward, but the sight of Haldin’s raised hand checked him before he could get away from the table. He leaned on it heavily, listening to the faint sounds of some town clock tolling319 the hour. Haldin, already at the door, tall and straight as an arrow, with his pale face and a hand raised attentively320, might have posed for the statue of a daring youth listening to an inner voice. Razumov mechanically glanced down at his watch. When he looked towards the door again Haldin had vanished. There was a faint rustling321 in the outer room, the feeble click of a bolt drawn322 back lightly. He was gone — almost as noiseless as a vision.
Razumov ran forward unsteadily, with parted, voiceless lips. The outer door stood open. Staggering out on the landing, he leaned far over the banister. Gazing down into the deep black shaft323 with a tiny glimmering324 flame at the bottom, he traced by ear the rapid spiral descent of somebody running down the stairs on tiptoe. It was a light, swift, pattering sound, which sank away from him into the depths: a fleeting325 shadow passed over the glimmer270 — a wink326 of the tiny flame. Then stillness.
Razumov hung over, breathing the cold raw air tainted327 by the evil smells of the unclean staircase. All quiet.
He went back into his room slowly, shutting the doors after him. The peaceful steady light of his reading-lamp shone on the watch. Razumov stood looking down at the little white dial. It wanted yet three minutes to midnight. He took the watch into his hand fumblingly328.
“Slow,” he muttered, and a strange fit of nervelessness came over him. His knees shook, the watch and chain slipped through his fingers in an instant and fell on the floor. He was so startled that he nearly fell himself. When at last he regained329 enough confidence in his limbs to stoop for it he held it to his ear at once. After a while he growled331 —
“Stopped,” and paused for quite a long time before he muttered sourly —
“It’s done. . . . And now to work.”
He sat down, reached haphazard332 for a book, opened it in middle and began to read; but after going conscientiously333 over two lines he lost his hold on the print completely and did not try to regain330 it. He thought —
“There was to a certainty a police agent of some sort watching the house across the street.”
He imagined him lurking334 in a dark gateway, goggle-eyed, muffled up in a cloak to the nose and with a General’s plumed335, cocked hat on his head. This absurdity made him start in the chair convulsively. He literally336 had to shake his head violently to get rid of it. The man would be disguised perhaps as a peasant . . . a beggar. . . . Perhaps he would be just buttoned up in a dark overcoat and carrying a loaded stick — a shifty-eyed rascal337, smelling of raw onions and spirits.
This evocation338 brought on positive nausea339. “Why do I want to bother about this?” thought Razumov with disgust. “Am I a gendarme195? Moreover, it is done.”
He got up in great agitation. It was not done. Not yet. Not till half-past twelve. And the watch had stopped. This reduced him to despair. Impossible to know the time! The landlady340 and all the people across the landing were asleep. How could he go and. . . . God knows what they would imagine, or how much they would guess. He dared not go into the streets to find out. “I am a suspect now. There’s no use shirking that fact,” he said to himself bitterly. If Haldin from some cause or another gave them the slip and failed to turn up in the Karabelnaya the police would be invading his lodging32. And if he were not in he could never clear himself. Never. Razumov looked wildly about as if for some means of seizing upon time which seemed to have escaped him altogether. He had never, as far as he could remember, heard the striking of that town clock in his rooms before this night. And he was not even sure now whether he had heard it really on this night.
He went to the window and stood there with slightly bent341 head on the watch for the faint sound. ‘I will stay here till I hear something,” he said to himself. He stood still, his ear turned to the panes. An atrocious aching numbness342 with shooting pains in his back and legs tortured him. He did not budge343. His mind hovered344 on the borders of delirium345. He heard himself suddenly saying, “I confess,” as a person might do on the rack. “I am on the rack,” he thought. He felt ready to swoon. The faint deep boom of the distant clock seemed to explode in his head — he heard it so clearly. . . . One!
If Haldin had not turned up the police would have been already here ransacking346 the house. No sound reached him. This time it was done.
He dragged himself painfully to the table and dropped into the chair. He flung the book away and took a square sheet of paper. It was like the pile of sheets covered with his neat minute handwriting, only blank. He took a pen brusquely and dipped it with a vague notion of going on with the writing of his essay — but his pen remained poised347 over the sheet. It hung there for some time before it came down and formed long scrawly348 letters.
Still-faced and his lips set hard, Razumov began to write. When he wrote a large hand his neat writing lost its character altogether — became unsteady, almost childish. He wrote five lines one under the other. History not Theory. Patriotism not Internationalism. Evolution not Revolution. Direction not Destruction. Unity280 not Disruption.
He gazed at them dully. Then his eyes strayed to the bed and remained fixed349 there for a good many minutes, while his right hand groped all over the table for the penknife.
He rose at last, and walking up with measured steps stabbed the paper with the penknife to the lath and plaster wall at the head of the bed. This done he stepped back a pace and flourished his hand with a glance round the room.
After that he never looked again at the bed. He took his big cloak down from its peg and, wrapping himself up closely, went to lie down on the hard horse-hair sofa at the other side of his room. A leaden sleep closed his eyelids350 at once. Several times that night he woke up shivering from a dream of walking through drifts of snow in a Russia where he was as completely alone as any betrayed autocrat could be; an immense, wintry Russia which, somehow, his view could embrace in all its enormous expanse as if it were a map. But after each shuddering351 start his heavy eyelids fell over his glazed352 eyes and he slept again.
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1
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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2
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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3
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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8
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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9
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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autocracy
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| n.独裁政治，独裁政府 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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16
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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17
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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18
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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19
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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20
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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21
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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22
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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23
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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24
sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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25
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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26
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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27
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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28
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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29
exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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31
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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32
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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33
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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34
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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35
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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36
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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37
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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38
averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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39
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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40
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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41
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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42
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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43
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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44
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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45
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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46
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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47
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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49
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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50
jeeringly
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| adv.嘲弄地 | |
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51
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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52
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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53
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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54
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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55
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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56
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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57
garrulously
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58
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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59
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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60
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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61
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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62
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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63
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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64
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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65
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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66
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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67
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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68
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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69
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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71
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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72
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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73
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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74
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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75
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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76
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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77
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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78
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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79
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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80
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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81
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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82
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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83
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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84
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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85
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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86
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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88
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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89
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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90
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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91
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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92
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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93
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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94
feverishness
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95
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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96
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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97
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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98
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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99
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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101
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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102
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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103
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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104
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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105
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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106
obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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107
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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108
agitators
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| n.（尤指政治变革的）鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 )；煽动者；搅拌器；搅拌机 | |
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109
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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110
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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111
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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112
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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113
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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114
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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115
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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116
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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117
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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118
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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119
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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120
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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121
disintegrated
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
germinates
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| n.（使）发芽( germinate的名词复数 )v.（使）发芽( germinate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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123
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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124
eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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125
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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126
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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127
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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128
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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129
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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130
painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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131
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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132
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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133
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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134
luridly
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| adv. 青灰色的(苍白的, 深浓色的, 火焰等火红的) | |
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135
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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136
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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137
reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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138
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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139
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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140
autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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141
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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142
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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143
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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144
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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145
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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146
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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147
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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148
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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149
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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150
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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151
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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152
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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155
facet
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| n.(问题等的)一个方面；(多面体的)面 | |
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156
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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157
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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158
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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159
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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160
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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161
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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162
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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163
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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164
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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165
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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166
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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167
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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168
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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169
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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170
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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171
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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172
obsequiously
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173
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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174
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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175
lackeys
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| n.听差( lackey的名词复数 )；男仆（通常穿制服）；卑躬屈膝的人；被待为奴仆的人 | |
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176
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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177
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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178
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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179
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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180
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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181
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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182
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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183
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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184
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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185
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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186
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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187
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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188
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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189
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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190
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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191
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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192
bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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193
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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194
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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195
gendarme
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| n.宪兵 | |
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196
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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197
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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198
zealously
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| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
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199
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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200
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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201
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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203
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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204
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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205
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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206
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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207
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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208
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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209
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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210
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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211
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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212
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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213
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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214
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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215
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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216
goggle
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| n.瞪眼，转动眼珠，护目镜；v.瞪眼看，转眼珠 | |
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217
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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218
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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219
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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220
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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221
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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222
grotesqueness
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223
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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224
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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225
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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226
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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227
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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228
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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229
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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230
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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231
aptitudes
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| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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232
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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233
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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234
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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235
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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236
aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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237
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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238
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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239
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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240
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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241
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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242
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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243
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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244
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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245
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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246
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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247
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
subversive
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| adj.颠覆性的，破坏性的；n.破坏份子，危险份子 | |
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249
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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250
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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251
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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252
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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253
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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254
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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255
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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256
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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257
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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258
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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259
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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260
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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261
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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262
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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263
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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264
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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265
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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266
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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267
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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268
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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269
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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270
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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271
glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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272
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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273
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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274
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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275
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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276
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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277
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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278
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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279
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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280
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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281
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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282
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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283
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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284
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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285
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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286
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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287
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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288
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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289
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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290
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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291
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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292
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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293
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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294
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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295
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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296
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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297
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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298
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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299
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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300
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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301
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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302
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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303
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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304
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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305
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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306
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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307
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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308
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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309
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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310
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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311
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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312
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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313
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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314
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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315
abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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316
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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317
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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318
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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319
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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320
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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321
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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322
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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323
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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324
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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325
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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326
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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327
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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328
fumblingly
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| 令人羞辱地 | |
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329
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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330
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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331
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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332
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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333
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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334
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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335
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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336
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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337
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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338
evocation
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| n. 引起，唤起 n. <古> 召唤，招魂 | |
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339
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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340
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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341
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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342
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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343
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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344
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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345
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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346
ransacking
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的现在分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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347
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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348
scrawly
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| 潦草地写 | |
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349
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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350
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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351
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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352
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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