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199 pages

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To begin with I wish to disclaim the possession of those high gifts of imagination and expression which would have enabled my pen to create for the reader the personality of the man who called himself, after the Russian custom, Cyril son of Isidor-Kirylo Sidorovitch-Razumov

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819921776
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Dedication

"I would take liberty from any hand as a hungry man would snatcha piece of bread." Miss HALDIN
PART FIRST
I
To begin with I wish to disclaim the possession of those highgifts of imagination and expression which would have enabled my pento create for the reader the personality of the man who calledhimself, after the Russian custom, Cyril son of Isidor—KiryloSidorovitch—Razumov.
If I have ever had these gifts in any sort of living form theyhave been smothered out of existence a long time ago under awilderness of words. Words, as is well known, are the great foes ofreality. I have been for many years a teacher of languages. It isan occupation which at length becomes fatal to whatever share ofimagination, observation, and insight an ordinary person may beheir to. To a teacher of languages there comes a time when theworld is but a place of many words and man appears a mere talkinganimal not much more wonderful than a parrot.
This being so, I could not have observed Mr. Razumov orguessed at his reality by the force of insight, much less haveimagined him as he was. Even to invent the mere bald facts of hislife would have been utterly beyond my powers. But I think thatwithout this declaration the readers of these pages will be able todetect in the story the marks of documentary evidence. And that isperfectly correct. It is based on a document; all I have brought toit is my knowledge of the Russian language, which is sufficient forwhat is attempted here. The document, of course, is something inthe nature of a journal, a diary, yet not exactly that in itsactual form. For instance, most of it was not written up from dayto day, though all the entries are dated. Some of these entriescover months of time and extend over dozens of pages. All theearlier part is a retrospect, in a narrative form, relating to anevent which took place about a year before.
I must mention that I have lived for a long time in Geneva. Awhole quarter of that town, on account of many Russians residingthere, is called La Petite Russie—Little Russia. I had a ratherextensive connexion in Little Russia at that time. Yet I confessthat I have no comprehension of the Russian character. Theillogicality of their attitude, the arbitrariness of theirconclusions, the frequency of the exceptional, should present nodifficulty to a student of many grammars; but there must besomething else in the way, some special human trait—one of thosesubtle differences that are beyond the ken of mere professors. Whatmust remain striking to a teacher of languages is the Russians'extraordinary love of words. They gather them up; they cherishthem, but they don't hoard them in their breasts; on the contrary,they are always ready to pour them out by the hour or by the nightwith an enthusiasm, a sweeping abundance, with such an aptness ofapplication sometimes that, as in the case of very accomplishedparrots, one can't defend oneself from the suspicion that theyreally understand what they say. There is a generosity in theirardour of speech which removes it as far as possible from commonloquacity; and it is ever too disconnected to be classed aseloquence… But I must apologize for this digression.
It would be idle to inquire why Mr. Razumov has left thisrecord behind him. It is inconceivable that he should have wishedany human eye to see it. A mysterious impulse of human nature comesinto play here. Putting aside Samuel Pepys, who has forced in thisway the door of immortality, innumerable people, criminals, saints,philosophers, young girls, statesmen, and simple imbeciles, havekept self–revealing records from vanity no doubt, but also fromother more inscrutable motives. There must be a wonderful soothingpower in mere words since so many men have used them forself–communion. Being myself a quiet individual I take it that whatall men are really after is some form or perhaps only some formulaof peace. Certainly they are crying loud enough for it at thepresent day. What sort of peace Kirylo Sidorovitch Razumov expectedto find in the writing up of his record it passeth my understandingto guess.
The fact remains that he has written it.
Mr. Razumov was a tall, well–proportioned young man, quiteunusually dark for a Russian from the Central Provinces. His goodlooks would have been unquestionable if it had not been for apeculiar lack of fineness in the features. It was as if a facemodelled vigorously in wax (with some approach even to a classicalcorrectness of type) had been held close to a fire till allsharpness of line had been lost in the softening of the material.But even thus he was sufficiently good–looking. His manner, too,was good. In discussion he was easily swayed by argument andauthority. With his younger compatriots he took the attitude of aninscrutable listener, a listener of the kind that hears you outintelligently and then—just changes the subject.
This sort of trick, which may arise either from intellectualinsufficiency or from an imperfect trust in one's own convictions,procured for Mr. Razumov a reputation of profundity. Amongst alot of exuberant talkers, in the habit of exhausting themselvesdaily by ardent discussion, a comparatively taciturn personality isnaturally credited with reserve power. By his comrades at theSt. Petersburg University, Kirylo Sidorovitch Razumov, thirdyear's student in philosophy, was looked upon as a strong nature—analtogether trustworthy man. This, in a country where an opinion maybe a legal crime visited by death or sometimes by a fate worse thanmere death, meant that he was worthy of being trusted withforbidden opinions. He was liked also for his amiability and forhis quiet readiness to oblige his comrades even at the cost ofpersonal inconvenience.
Mr. Razumov was supposed to be the son of an Archpriest andto be protected by a distinguished nobleman—perhaps of his owndistant province. But his outward appearance accorded badly withsuch humble origin. Such a descent was not credible. It was,indeed, suggested that Mr. Razumov was the son of anArchpriest's pretty daughter—which, of course, would put adifferent complexion on the matter. This theory also renderedintelligible the protection of the distinguished nobleman. Allthis, however, had never been investigated maliciously orotherwise. No one knew or cared who the nobleman in question was.Razumov received a modest but very sufficient allowance from thehands of an obscure attorney, who seemed to act as his guardian insome measure. Now and then he appeared at some professor's informalreception. Apart from that Razumov was not known to have any socialrelations in the town. He attended the obligatory lecturesregularly and was considered by the authorities as a very promisingstudent. He worked at home in the manner of a man who means to geton, but did not shut himself up severely for that purpose. He wasalways accessible, and there was nothing secret or reserved in hislife.
II
The origin of Mr. Razumov's record is connected with anevent characteristic of modern Russia in the actual fact: theassassination of a prominent statesman—and still morecharacteristic of the moral corruption of an oppressed societywhere the noblest aspirations of humanity, the desire of freedom,an ardent patriotism, the love of justice, the sense of pity, andeven the fidelity of simple minds are prostituted to the lusts ofhate and fear, the inseparable companions of an uneasydespotism.
The fact alluded to above is the successful attempt on the lifeof Mr. de P—-, the President of the notorious Repressive Commissionof some years ago, the Minister of State invested withextraordinary powers. The newspapers made noise enough about thatfanatical, narrow–chested figure in gold–laced uniform, with a faceof crumpled parchment, insipid, bespectacled eyes, and the cross ofthe Order of St. Procopius hung under the skinny throat. For atime, it may be remembered, not a month passed without his portraitappearing in some one of the illustrated papers of Europe. Heserved the monarchy by imprisoning, exiling, or sending to thegallows men and women, young and old, with an equable, unweariedindustry. In his mystic acceptance of the principle of autocracy hewas bent on extirpating from the land every vestige of anythingthat resembled freedom in public institutions; and in his ruthlesspersecution of the rising generation he seemed to aim at thedestruction of the very hope of liberty itself.
It is said that this execrated personality had not enoughimagination to be aware of the hate he inspired. It is hardlycredible; but it is a fact that he took very few precautions forhis safety. In the preamble of a certain famous State paper he haddeclared once that "the thought of liberty has never existed in theAct of the Creator. From the multitude of men's counsel nothingcould come but revolt and disorder; and revolt and disorder in aworld created for obedience and stability is sin. It was not Reasonbut Authority which expressed the Divine Intention. God was theAutocrat of the Universe…" It may be that the man who made thisdeclaration believed that heaven itself was bound to protect him inhis remorseless defence of Autocracy on this earth.
No doubt the vigilance of the police saved him many times; but,as a matter of fact, when his appointed fate overtook him, thecompetent authorities could not have given him any warning. Theyhad no knowledge of any conspiracy against the Minister's life, hadno hint of any plot through their usual channels of information,had seen no signs, were aware of no suspicious movements ordangerous persons.
Mr. de P—- was being driven towards the railway station in atwo–horse uncovered sleigh with footman and coachman on the box.Snow had been falling all night, making the roadway, uncleared asyet at this early hour, very heavy for the horses. It was stillfalling thickly. But the sleigh must have been observed and markeddown. As it drew over to the left before taking a turn, the footmannoticed a peasant walking slowly