It would be idle to inquire why Mr. Razumov has left this record behind him.  It is inconceivable that he should have wished any human eye to see it.  A mysterious impulse of human nature comes into play here.  Putting aside Samuel Pepys, who has forced in this way the door of immortality, innumerable people, criminals, saints, philosophers, young girls, statesmen, and simple imbeciles, have kept self-revealing records from vanity no doubt, but also from other more inscrutable motives.  There must be a wonderful soothing power in mere words since so many men have used them for self-communion.  Being myself a quiet individual I take it that what all men are really after is some form or perhaps only some formula of peace.  Certainly they are crying loud enough for it at the present day.  What sort of peace Kirylo Sidorovitch Razumov expected to find in the writing up of his record it passeth my understanding to guess.

The fact remains that he has written it.

Mr. Razumov was a tall, well-proportioned young man, quite unusually dark for a Russian from the Central Provinces.  His good looks would have been unquestionable if it had not been for a peculiar lack of fineness in the features.  It was as if a face modelled vigorously in wax (with some approach even to a classical correctness of type) had been held close to a fire till all sharpness of line had been lost in the softening of the material.  But even thus he was sufficiently good-looking.  His manner, too, was good.  In discussion he was easily swayed by argument and authority.  With his younger compatriots he took the attitude of an inscrutable listener, a listener of the kind that hears you out intelligently and then—­just changes the subject.

This sort of trick, which may arise either from intellectual insufficiency or from an imperfect trust in one’s own convictions, procured for Mr. Razumov a reputation of profundity.  Amongst a lot of exuberant talkers, in the habit of exhausting themselves daily by ardent discussion, a comparatively taciturn personality is naturally credited with reserve power.  By his comrades at the St. Petersburg University, Kirylo Sidorovitch Razumov, third year’s student in philosophy, was looked upon as a strong nature—­an altogether trustworthy man.  This, in a country where an opinion may be a legal crime visited by death or sometimes by a fate worse than mere death, meant that he was worthy of being trusted with forbidden opinions.  He was liked also for his amiability and for his quiet readiness to oblige his comrades even at the cost of personal inconvenience.