Look
at me. My father was a Government official in the provinces, He had a
little land too. A simple servant of God--a 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 him--I 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 soul--and 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 done--what 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.
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