Razumov saw himself shut up in a fortress, worried, badgered, perhaps illused. He saw himself deported by an administrative order, his life broken, ruined, and robbed of all hope. He saw himselfat bestleading a miserable existence under police supervision, in some small, faraway provincial town, without friends to assist his necessities or even take any steps to alleviate his lotas others had. Others had fathers, mothers, brothers, relations, connexions, to move heaven and earth on their behalfhe had no one. The very officials that sentenced him some morning would forget his existence before sunset.
He saw his youth pass away from him in misery and half starvationhis strength give way, his mind become an abject thing. He saw himself creeping, broken down and shabby, about the streetsdying unattended in some filthy hole of a room, or on the sordid bed of a Government hospital.
He shuddered. Then the peace of bitter calmness came over him. It was best to keep this man out of the streets till he could be got rid of with some chance of escaping. That was the best that could be done. Razumov, of course, felt the safety of his lonely existence to be permanently endangered. This evening's doings could turn up against him at any time as long as this man lived and the present institutions endured. They appeared to him rational and indestructible at that moment. They had a force of harmonyin contrast with the horrible discord of this man's presence. He hated the man. He said quietly
"Yes, of course, I will go. 'You must give me precise directions, and for the restdepend on me."
"Ah! You are a fellow! Collectedcool as a cucumber. A regular Englishman. Where did you get your soul from? There aren't many like you. Look here, brother! Men like me leave no posterity, but their souls are not lost. No man's soul is ever lost. It works for itselfor else where would be the sense of selfsacrifice, of martyrdom, of conviction, of faiththe labours of the soul? What will become of my soul when I die in the way I must diesoonvery soon perhaps? It shall not perish. Don't make a mistake, Razumov. This is not murderit is war, war. My spirit shall go on warring in some Russian body till all falsehood is swept out of the world. The modern civilization is false, but a new revelation shall come out of Russia. Ha! you say nothing. You are a sceptic. I respect your philosophical scepticism, Razumov, but don't touch the soul. The Russian soul that lives in all of us. It has a future. It has a mission, I tell you, or else why should I have been moved to do thisrecklesslike a butcherin the middle of all these innocent peoplescattering deathI! I! I wouldn't hurt a fly!"
"Not so loud," warned Razumov harshly.
Haldin sat down abruptly, and leaning his head on his folded arms burst into tears. He wept for a long time. The dusk had deepened in the room. Razumov, motionless in sombre wonder, listened to the sobs.
The other raised his head, got up and with an effort mastered his voice.
"Yes. Men like me leave no posterity," he repeated in a subdued tone, "I have a sister though. She's with my old motherI persuaded them to go abroad this yearthank God. Not a bad little girl my sister. She has the most trustful eyes of any human being that ever walked this earth. She will marry well, I hope. She may have childrensons perhaps. Look at me. My father was a Government official in the provinces, He had a little land too. A simple servant of Goda true Russian in his way. His was the soul of obedience. But I am not like him. They say I resemble my mother's eldest brother, an officer. They shot him in '28. Under Nicholas, you know. Haven't I told you that this is war, war But God of Justice! This is weary work."
Razumov, in his chair, leaning his head on his hand, spoke as if from the bottom of an abyss.
"You believe in God, Haldin?"
"There you go catching at words that are wrung from one. What does it matter? What was it the Englishman said: 'There is a divine soul in things' Devil take himI don't remember now. But he spoke the truth. When the day of you thinkers comes don't you forget what's divine in the Russian souland that's resignation. Respect that in your intellectual restlessness and don't let your arrogant wisdom spoil its message to the world. I am speaking to you now like a man with a rope round his neck. What do you imagine I am? A being in revolt? No. It's you thinkers who are in everlasting revolt. I am one of the resigned. When the necessity of this heavy work came to me and I understood that it had to be donewhat did I do? Did I exult? Did I take pride in my purpose? Did I try to weigh its worth and consequences? No! I was resigned. I thought 'God's will be done.'"
He threw himself full length on Razumov's bed and putting the backs of his hands over his eyes remained perfectly motionless and silent. Not even the sound of his breathing could be heard. The dead stillness or the room remained undisturbed till in the darkness Razumov said gloomily
"Haldin."
"Yes," answered the other readily, quite invisible now on the bed and without the slightest stir.