under western eyes-第5部分

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or　the　means　by　which　historical　autocracy　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　delirious

（and　perhaps　not　even　then）　that　he　could　be　beaten　with　whips　as

a　practical　measure　either　of　investigation　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；　specially　to　Mr。　Razumov。　　No　doubt　it　entered

unconsciously　into　the　general　dread　and　the　general

appallingness　　of　this　crisis。　　Razumov；　as　has　been　seen；　was

aware　of　more　subtle　ways　in　which　an　individual　may　be　undone　by

the　proceedings　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　utterly　a　young　man　depending　entirely　upon　the

development　of　his　natural　abilities　for　his　place　in　the　world。

He　was　a　Russian：　and　for　him　to　be　implicated　meant　simply

sinking　into　the　lowest　social　depths　amongst　the　hopeless　and

the　destitutethe　night　birds　of　the　city。



The　peculiar　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

sledges　glided　phantom…like　and　jingling　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　exhorted　himself　mentally。　　All　his　strength　was

suddenly　gone　as　if　taken　out　by　a　hand。　　Then　by　a　mighty　effort

of　will　it　came　back　because　he　was　afraid　of　fainting　in　the

street　and　being　picked　up　by　the　police　with　the　key　of　his

lodgings　in　his　pocket。　　They　would　find　Haldin　there；　and　then；

indeed；　he　would　be　undone。



Strangely　enough　it　was　this　fear　which　seems　to　have　kept　him　up

to　the　end。　　The　passers…by　were　rare。　　They　came　upon　him

suddenly；　looming　up　black　in　the　snowflakes　close　by；　then

vanishing　all　at　once…without　footfalls。



It　was　the　quarter　of　the　very　poor。　　Razumov　noticed　an　elderly

woman　tied　up　in　ragged　shawls。　　Under　the　street　lamp　she　seemed

a　beggar　off　duty。　She　walked　leisurely　in　the　blizzard　as　though

she　had　no　home　to　hurry　to；　she　hugged　under　one　arm　a　round

loaf　of　black　bread　with　an　air　of　guarding　a　priceless　booty：

and　Razumov　averting　his　glance　envied　her　the　peace　of　her　mind

and　the　serenity　of　her　fate。



To　one　reading　Mr。　Razumov's　narrative　it　is　really　a　wonder　how

he　managed　to　keep　going　as　he　did　along　one　interminable　street

after　another　on　pavements　that　were　gradually　becoming　blocked

with　snow。　　It　was　the　thought　of　Haldin　locked　up　in　his　rooms

and　the　desperate　desire　to　get　rid　of　his　presence　which

drove　him　forward。　　No　rational　determination　had　any　part　in

his　exertions。　　Thus；　when　on　arriving　at　the　low　eating…house　he

heard　that　the　man　of　horses；　Ziemianitch；　was　not　there；　he

could　only　stare　stupidly。



The　waiter；　a　wild…haired　youth　in　tarred　boots　and　a　pink　shirt；

exclaimed；　uncovering　his　pale　gums　in　a　silly　grin；　that

Ziemianitch　had　got　his　skinful　early　in　the　afternoon　and　had

gone　away　with　a　bottle　under　each　arm　to　keep　it　up　amongst　the

horseshe　supposed。



The　owner　of　the　vile　den；　a　bony　short　man　in　a　dirty　cloth

caftan　coming　down　to　his　heels；　stood　by；　his　hands　tucked　into

his　belt；　and　nodded　confirmation。



The　reek　of　spirits；　the　greasy　rancid　steam　of　food　got　Razumov

by　the　throat。　　He　struck　a　table　with　his　clenched　hand　and

shouted　violently



〃You　lie。〃



Bleary　unwashed　faces　were　turned　to　his　direction。　A　mild…eyed

ragged　tramp　drinking　tea　at　the　next　table　moved　farther　away。

A　murmur　of　wonder　arose　with　an　undertone　of　uneasiness。　　A

laugh　was　heard　too；　and　an　exclamation；　〃There！　there！〃

jeeringly　soothing。　　The　waiter　looked　all　round　and　announced　to

the　room



〃The　gentleman　won't　believe　that　Ziemianitch　is　drunk。〃



》From　a　distant　corner　a　hoarse　voice　belonging　to　a　horrible；

nondescript；　shaggy　being　with　a　black　face　like　the　muzzle　of　a

bear　grunted　angrily



〃The　cursed　driver　of　thieves。　　What　do　we　want　with　his

gentlemen　here？　　We　are　all　honest　folk　in　this　place。〃



Razumov；　biting　his　lip　till　blood　came　to　keep　himself　from

bursting　into　imprecations；　followed　the　owner　of　the　den；　who；

whispering　〃Come　along；　little　father；〃　led　him　into　a　tiny　hole

of　a　place　behind　the　wooden　counter；　whence　proceeded　a　sound　of

splashing。　　A　wet　and　bedraggled　creature；　a　sort　of　sexless

and　shivering　scarecrow；　washed　glasses　in　there；　bending　over　a

wooden　tub　by　the　light　of　a　tallow　dip。



〃Yes；　little　father；〃　the　man　in　the　long　caftan　said

plaintively。　　He　had　a　brown；　cunning　little　face；　a　thin　greyish

beard。　　Trying　to　light　a　tin　lantern　he　hugged　it　to　his　breast

and　talked　garrulously　the　while。



He　would　show　Ziemianitch　to　the　gentleman　to　prove　there　were　no

lies　told。　　And　he　would　show　him　drunk。　　His　woman；　it　seems；

ran　away　from　him　last　night。　　〃Such　a　hag　she　was！　　Thin！

Pfui！〃　　He　spat。　　They　were　always　running　away　from　that　driver

of　the　deviland　he　sixty　years　old　too；　could　never　get　used　to

it。　　But　each　heart　knows　sorrow　after　its　own　kind　and

Ziemianitch　was　a　born　fool　all　his　days。　And　then　he　would　fly

to　the　bottle。　〃'Who　could　bear　life　in　our　land　without　the

bottle？'　he　says。　　A　proper　Russian　manthe　little　pig。　。　。　。

Be　pleased　to　follow　me。〃



Razumov　crossed　a　quadrangle　of　deep　snow　enclosed　between　high

walls　with　innumerable　windows。　　Here　and　there　a　dim　yellow

light　hung　within　the　four…square　mass　of　darkness。　　The　house

was　an　enormous　slum；　a　hive　of　human　vermin；　a　monumental　abode

of　misery　towering　on　the　verge　of　starvation　and　despair。



In　a　corner　the　ground　sloped　sharply　down；　and　Razumov　followed

the　light　of　the　lantern　through　a　small　doorway　into　a　long

cavernous　place　like　a　neglected　subterranean　byre。　　Deep　within；

three　shaggy　little　horses　tied　up　to　rings　hung　their　heads

together；　motionless　and　shadowy　in　the　dim　light　of　the　lantern。

It　must　have　been　the　famous　team　of　Haldin's　escape。　　Razumov

peered　fearfully　into　the　gloom。　　His　guide　pawed　in　the　straw

with　his　foot。



〃Here　he　is。　　Ah！　　the　little　pigeon。　　A　true　Russian　man。

'No　heavy　hearts　for　me；'　he　says。　　'Bring　out　the　bottle　and

take　your　ugly　mug　out　of　my　sight。'　Ha！　ha！　ha！　　That's　the

fellow　he　is。〃



He　held　the　lantern　over　a　prone　form　of　a　man；　apparently　fully

dressed　for　outdoors。　　His　head　was　lost　in　a　pointed　cloth　hood。

On　the　other　side　of　a　heap　of　straw　protruded　a　pair　of　feet　in

monstrous　thick　boots。



〃Always　ready　to　drive；〃　commented　the　keeper　of　the

eating…house。　　〃A　proper　Russian　driver　that。　　Saint　or　devil；

night　or　day　is　all　one　to　Ziemianitch　when　his　heart　is　free

from　sorrow。　　'I　don't　ask　who　you　are；　but　where　you　want　to

go；'　he　says。　　He　would　drive　Satan　himself　to　his　own　abode　and

come　back　chirruping　to　his　horses。　　Many　a　one　he　has　driven　who

is　clanking　his　chains　in　the　Nertchinsk　mines　by　this　time。〃



Razumov　shuddered。



〃Call　him；　wake　him　up；〃　he　faltered　out。



The　other　set　down　his　light；　stepped　back　and　launched　a　kick　at

the　prostrate　sleeper。　　The　man　shook　at　the　impact　but　did　not

move。　　At　the　third　kick　he　grunted　but　remained　inert　as　before。



The　eating…house　keeper　desisted　and　fetched　a　deep　sigh。



〃You　see　for　yourself　how　it　is。　　We　have　done　what　we　can　for

you。〃



He　picked　up　the　lantern。　The　intense　black　spokes　of　shadow

swung　about　in　the　circle　of　light。　　A　terrible　furythe　blind

rage　of　self…preservationpossessed　Razumov。



〃Ah！　The　vile　beast；〃　he　bellowed　out　in　an　unearthly　tone

which　made　the　lantern　jump　and　tremble！　　〃I　shall　wake　you！

Give　me　。　。　。　　Give　me　。　。　。〃



He　looked　round　wildly；　seized　the　handle　of　a　stablefork　and

rushing　forward　struck　at　the　prostrate　body　with

inarticulate　cries。　　After　a　time　his　cries　ceased；　and　the　rain

of　blows　fell　in　the　stillness　and　shadows　of　the　cellar…like

stable。　　Razumov　belaboured　Ziemianitch　with　an　insatiable　fury；

in　great　volleys　of　sounding　thwacks。　　Except　for　the　violent

movements　of　Razumov　nothing　stirred；　neither　the　beaten　man　nor

the　spoke…like　shadows　on　the　walls。　　And　only　the　sound　of　blows

was　heard。　　It　was　a　weird　scene。



Suddenly　there　was　a　sharp　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　lanternonly　his　breast　heaved　for　air　as　if　ready

to　burst。



Some　dull　sensation　of　pain　must　have　penetrated　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；

twicethen　the　gleam　went　out。　　For　a　moment　he　sat　in　the　straw

with　closed　eyes　with　a　strange　air　of　weary　meditation；　then

fell　over　slowly　on　his　　side　without　making　the　slightest　sound。

Only　the　straw　rustled　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