It did not matter
to him what it was--vanity, despair, love, hate, greed, intelligent
pride or stupid conceit, it was all one to him as long as the man could
be made to serve. The obscure, unrelated young student Razumov, in the
moment of great moral loneliness, was allowed to feel that he was an
object of interest to a small group of people of high position. Prince
K--- was persuaded to intervene personally, and on a certain occasion
gave way to a manly emotion which, all unexpected as it was, quite upset
Mr. Razumov. The sudden embrace of that man, agitated by his loyalty to
a throne and by suppressed paternal affection, was a revelation to Mr.
Razumov of something within his own breast.
"So that was it!" he exclaimed to himself. A sort of contemptuous
tenderness softened the young man's grim view of his position as
he reflected upon that agitated interview with Prince K---. This
simpleminded, worldly ex-Guardsman and senator whose soft grey official
whiskers had brushed against his cheek, his aristocratic and convinced
father, was he a whit less estimable or more absurd than that
famine-stricken, fanatical revolutionist, the red-nosed student?
And there was some pressure, too, besides the persuasiveness. Mr.
Razumov was always being made to feel that he had committed himself.
Pages:
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392