se the bitterness of solitude
from which he suffered was not an altogether morbid phenomenon.

PART FOUR

I

That I should, at the beginning of this retrospect, mention again that
Mr. Razumov's youth had no one in the world, as literally no one as it
can be honestly affirmed of any human being, is but a statement of fact
from a man who believes in the psychological value of facts. There
is also, perhaps, a desire of punctilious fairness. Unidentified with
anyone in this narrative where the aspects of honour and shame are
remote from the ideas of the Western world, and taking my stand on the
ground of common humanity, it is for that very reason that I feel a
strange reluctance to state baldly here what every reader has most
likely already discovered himself. Such reluctance may appear absurd if
it were not for the thought that because of the imperfection of language
there is always something ungracious (and even disgraceful) in the
exhibition of naked truth. But the time has come when Councillor of
State Mikulin can no longer be ignored. His simple question "Where to?"
on which we left Mr. Razumov in St. Petersburg, throws a light on the
general meaning of this individual case.

"Where to?" was the answer in the form of a gentle question to what we
may call Mr. Razumov's declaration of independence. The question was not
menacing in the least and, indeed, had the ring of innocent inquiry.
Had it been taken in a merely topographical sense, the only answer to it
would have appeared sufficiently appalling to Mr Razumov. Where to? Back
to his rooms, where the Revolution had sought him out to put to a sudden
test his dormant instincts, his half-conscious thoughts and almost
wholly unconscious ambitions, by the touch as of some furious and
dogmatic religion, with its call to frantic sacrifices, its tender
resignations, its dreams and hopes uplifting the soul by the side of the
most sombre moods of despair. And Mr. Razumov had let go the door-handle
and had come back to the middle of the room, asking Councillor Mikulin
angrily, "What do you mean by it?"

As far as I can tell, Councillor Mikulin did not answer that question.
He drew Mr. Razumov into familiar conversation. It is the peculiarity of
Russian natures that, however strongly engaged in the drama of action,
they are still turning their ear to the murmur of abstract ideas. This
conversation (and others later on) need not be recorded. Suffice it to
say that