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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780199552375 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Oxford University Press |
| Publication date: | 09/07/2009 |
| Series: | Oxford World's Classics Series |
| Edition description: | Reissue |
| Pages: | 368 |
| Sales rank: | 396,318 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 7.60(h) x 0.80(d) |
About the Author
Date of Birth:
December 3, 1857Date of Death:
August 3, 1924Place of Birth:
Berdiczew, Podolia, RussiaPlace of Death:
Bishopsbourne, Kent, EnglandEducation:
Tutored in Switzerland. Self-taught in classical literature. Attended maritime school in Marseilles, FranceRead an Excerpt
To begin with I wish to disclaim the possession of those high gifts of imagination and expression which would have enabled my pen to create for the reader the personality of the man who called himself, after the Russian custom, Cyril son of Isidor—Kirylo Sidorovitch—Razumov.
If I have ever had these gifts in any sort of living form they have been smothered out of existence a long time ago under a wilderness of words. Words, as is well known, are the great foes of reality. I have been for many years a teacher of languages. It is an occupation which at length becomes fatal to whatever share of imagination, observation, and insight an ordinary person may be heir to. To a teacher of languages there comes a time when the world is but a place of many words and man appears a mere talking animal not much more wonderful than a parrot.
This being so, I could not have observed Mr. Razumov or guessed at his reality by the force of insight, much less have imagined him as he was. Even to invent the mere bald facts of his life would have been utterly beyond my powers. But I think that without this declaration the readers of these pages will be able to detect in the story the marks of documentary evidence. And that is perfectly correct. It is based on a document; all I have brought to it is my knowledge of the Russian language, which is sufficient for what is attempted here. The document, of course, is something in the nature of a journal, a diary, yet not exactly that in its actual form. For instance, most of it was not written up from day to day, though all the entries are dated. Some of these entries cover months of time and extend over dozens of pages. All the earlier partis a retrospect, in a narrative form, relating to an event which took place about a year before.
I must mention that I have lived for a long time in Geneva. A whole quarter of that town, on account of many Russians residing there, is called La Petite Russie—Little Russia. I had a rather extensive connexion in Little Russia at that time. Yet I confess that I have no comprehension of the Russian character. The illogicality of their attitude, the arbitrariness of their conclusions, the frequency of the exceptional, should present no difficulty to a student of many grammars; but there must be something else in the way, some special human trait—one of those subtle differences that are beyond the ken of mere professors. What must remain striking to a teacher of languages is the Russians’ extraordinary love of words. They gather them up; they cherish them, but they don’t hoard them in their breasts; on the contrary, they are always ready to pour them out by the hour or by the night with an enthusiasm, a sweeping abundance, with such an aptness of application sometimes that, as in the case of very accomplished parrots, one can’t defend oneself from the suspicion that they really understand what they say. There is a generosity in their ardour of speech which removes it as far as possible from common loquacity; and it is ever too disconnected to be classed as eloquence. . . . But I must apologize for this digression.
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.
Mr. Razumov was supposed to be the son of an Archpriest and to be protected by a distinguished nobleman—perhaps of his own distant province. But his outward appearance accorded badly with such humble origin. Such a descent was not credible. It was, indeed, suggested that Mr. Razumov was the son of an Archpriest’s pretty daughter—which, of course, would put a different complexion on the matter. This theory also rendered intelligible the protection of the distinguished nobleman. All this, however, had never been investigated maliciously or otherwise. No one knew or cared who the nobleman in question was. Razumov received a modest but very sufficient allowance from the hands of an obscure attorney, who seemed to act as his guardian in some measure. Now and then he appeared at some professor’s informal reception. Apart from that Razumov was not known to have any social relations in the town. He attended the obligatory lectures regularly and was considered by the authorities as a very promising student. He worked at home in the manner of a man who means to get on, but did not shut himself up severely for that purpose. He was always accessible, and there was nothing secret or reserved in his life.
From the Hardcover edition.
Table of Contents
| General Editor's Preface | vii | |
| Acknowledgements | x | |
| Introduction | xi | |
| Note on the Text | xxxi | |
| Select Bibliography | xl | |
| A Chronology of Joseph Conrad | xlv | |
| Under Western Eyes | 1 | |
| Author's Note | 281 | |
| Explanatory Notes | 284 |
Reading Group Guide
1. In 1903 Conrad referred to himself as a "homo duplex," or "double man." The image of the doppelg?nger appears frequently in his work. How does the idea of a "double" apply to this text? Does Razumov ever encounter his own "double"? If so, what purpose does it serve?
2. Consider the role of the professor of languages. What do you think Conrad's intention was in giving the narrator this profession? What is the professor's function in the novel? Is the fact that he is an Englishman significant? If so, what perspective does this provide?
3. Examine the role of women in the text. How have Tekla, Mrs. Haldin, Nathalie, and Sophia affected Razumov? How are their roles similar? Different? In addition, examine the conversations between Razumov and Sophia. What is Conrad saying about the nature of women as compared to the nature of the revolutionary? Is it convincing?
4. Consider Razumov's reaction to the mention of women in his first encounter with the professor of languages. Why do you think he reacts in such an antagonistic manner? What does this reveal about Razumov?
5. Consider the title. How does Conrad use sight and seeing as motifs throughout the novel?
6. Some critics regard the scene where Razumov leaves Councillor Mikulin to be the dramatic climax of the novel. Examine the last lines of their conversation. What is the implication of Mikulin's softly spoken question "Where to?" How does this question set the theme for the rest of the novel? What does it imply?
7. In his Author's Note of 1920, Conrad reflects, "These people are unable to see that all they can effect is merely a change of names. The oppressors and the oppressed are all Russians together." With this in mind, compare Conrad's representation of the revolutionaries as opposed to the czarists. Does he favor one over the other? What is Conrad saying about an individual's free will as opposed to the demands of the state? Can this dichotomy be reconciled? If so, how?
8. Examine Razumov's decision to give up Haldin. How does he come to this decision? How does he justify and personalize this decision? Is he acting for his own safety or for the good of the czarist state? Does one take precedence over the other?
9. Finally, examine Razumov's own decision to confess. What is the catalyst for his decision? Is there more than one? Is this a confrontation with his own morality?