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Updated: June 11, 2025
Haldin did not stir a limb, but his overshadowed eyes moving a little gazed upwards at Razumov with wistful gratitude for this manifestation 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 appalled by the nature of that apology for a murderous intention his mind had found somewhere within him.
"Well, Kirylo Sidorovitch, we shall have to say good-bye, presently." In his incertitude of the ground on which he stood Razumov felt perturbed. Turning his head quickly, he saw two men on the opposite side of the road. Seeing themselves noticed by Sophia Antonovna, they crossed over at once, and passed one after another through the little gate by the side of the empty lodge.
I have no use for a name, and I have almost forgotten it myself." Razumov murmured gravely, "Yes, but still..." She went on much slower, with indifference "You may call me Tekla, then. My poor Andrei called me so. I was devoted to him. He lived in wretchedness and suffering, and died in misery. That is the lot of all us Russians, nameless Russians.
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 fanatic?" 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 velvet. But a throne is a seat of power too.
And any disguise you may think of, that too I could procure from a costumier, a Jew I know. Let a fool be made serviceable according to his folly. Perhaps also a false beard or something of that kind may be needed. "Razumov turned at bay. "There are no false beards needed in this business, Kostia you good-hearted lunatic, you. What do you know of my ideas? My ideas may be poison to you."
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked in a stern tone. "Tut! Silliness. He's always like that." Sophia Antonovna was obviously vexed. But she dropped the information, "Necator," from her lips just loud enough to be heard by Razumov. The abrupt squeaks of the fat man seemed to proceed from that thing like a balloon he carried under his overcoat.
The order to carry out the sentence was sent by telegraph at noon. I wrote out the telegram myself. He was hanged at four o'clock this afternoon." The definite information of Haldin's death gave Razumov the feeling of general lassitude which follows a great exertion or a great excitement. He kept very still on the sofa, but a murmur escaped him "He had a belief in a future existence."
"Yes, I am washed clean," muttered Razumov, who was dripping from head to foot, and passed through the inner door towards the staircase leading to his room. He did not change his clothes, but, after lighting the candle, took off his watch and chain, laid them on the table, and sat down at once to write.
Razumov remembered certain words he said, the speeches he had listened to, the harmless gatherings he had attended it was almost impossible for a student to keep out of that sort of thing, without becoming suspect to his comrades. Razumov saw himself shut up in a fortress, worried, badgered, perhaps ill-used.
Razumov lived near by. "If I go myself," Miss Haldin argued, "I can go straight to him from the hotel. And in any case I should have to go out, because I must explain to Mr. Razumov personally prepare him in a way. You have no idea of mother's state of mind." Her colour came and went.
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