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- Федор Достоевский
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- Стр. 8/453
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“
No
,
I
am
studying
,
”
answered
the
young
man
,
somewhat
surprised
at
the
grandiloquent
style
of
the
speaker
and
also
at
being
so
directly
addressed
.
In
spite
of
the
momentary
desire
he
had
just
been
feeling
for
company
of
any
sort
,
on
being
actually
spoken
to
he
felt
immediately
his
habitual
irritable
and
uneasy
aversion
for
any
stranger
who
approached
or
attempted
to
approach
him
.
“
A
student
then
,
or
formerly
a
student
,
”
cried
the
clerk
.
“
Just
what
I
thought
!
I
’
m
a
man
of
experience
,
immense
experience
,
sir
,
”
and
he
tapped
his
forehead
with
his
fingers
in
self
-
approval
.
“
You
’
ve
been
a
student
or
have
attended
some
learned
institution
!
.
.
.
But
allow
me
.
.
.
.
”
He
got
up
,
staggered
,
took
up
his
jug
and
glass
,
and
sat
down
beside
the
young
man
,
facing
him
a
little
sideways
.
He
was
drunk
,
but
spoke
fluently
and
boldly
,
only
occasionally
losing
the
thread
of
his
sentences
and
drawling
his
words
.
He
pounced
upon
Raskolnikov
as
greedily
as
though
he
too
had
not
spoken
to
a
soul
for
a
month
.
“
Honoured
sir
,
”
he
began
almost
with
solemnity
,
“
poverty
is
not
a
vice
,
that
’
s
a
true
saying
.
Yet
I
know
too
that
drunkenness
is
not
a
virtue
,
and
that
that
’
s
even
truer
.
But
beggary
,
honoured
sir
,
beggary
is
a
vice
.
In
poverty
you
may
still
retain
your
innate
nobility
of
soul
,
but
in
beggary
—
never
—
no
one
.
For
beggary
a
man
is
not
chased
out
of
human
society
with
a
stick
,
he
is
swept
out
with
a
broom
,
so
as
to
make
it
as
humiliating
as
possible
;
and
quite
right
,
too
,
forasmuch
as
in
beggary
I
am
ready
to
be
the
first
to
humiliate
myself
.
Hence
the
pot
-
house
!
Honoured
sir
,
a
month
ago
Mr
.
Lebeziatnikov
gave
my
wife
a
beating
,
and
my
wife
is
a
very
different
matter
from
me
!
Do
you
understand
?
Allow
me
to
ask
you
another
question
out
of
simple
curiosity
:
have
you
ever
spent
a
night
on
a
hay
barge
,
on
the
Neva
?
”
“
No
,
I
have
not
happened
to
,
”
answered
Raskolnikov
.
“
What
do
you
mean
?
”
“
Well
,
I
’
ve
just
come
from
one
and
it
’
s
the
fifth
night
I
’
ve
slept
so
.
.
.
.
”
He
filled
his
glass
,
emptied
it
and
paused
.
Bits
of
hay
were
in
fact
clinging
to
his
clothes
and
sticking
to
his
hair
.
It
seemed
quite
probable
that
he
had
not
undressed
or
washed
for
the
last
five
days
.
His
hands
,
particularly
,
were
filthy
.
They
were
fat
and
red
,
with
black
nails
.
His
conversation
seemed
to
excite
a
general
though
languid
interest
.
The
boys
at
the
counter
fell
to
sniggering
.
The
innkeeper
came
down
from
the
upper
room
,
apparently
on
purpose
to
listen
to
the
“
funny
fellow
”
and
sat
down
at
a
little
distance
,
yawning
lazily
,
but
with
dignity
.
Evidently
Marmeladov
was
a
familiar
figure
here
,
and
he
had
most
likely
acquired
his
weakness
for
high
-
flown
speeches
from
the
habit
of
frequently
entering
into
conversation
with
strangers
of
all
sorts
in
the
tavern
.
This
habit
develops
into
a
necessity
in
some
drunkards
,
and
especially
in
those
who
are
looked
after
sharply
and
kept
in
order
at
home
.
Hence
in
the
company
of
other
drinkers
they
try
to
justify
themselves
and
even
if
possible
obtain
consideration
.
“
Funny
fellow
!
”
pronounced
the
innkeeper
.
“
And
why
don
’
t
you
work
,
why
aren
’
t
you
at
your
duty
,
if
you
are
in
the
service
?
”
“
Why
am
I
not
at
my
duty
,
honoured
sir
,
”
Marmeladov
went
on
,
addressing
himself
exclusively
to
Raskolnikov
,
as
though
it
had
been
he
who
put
that
question
to
him
.
“
Why
am
I
not
at
my
duty
?
Does
not
my
heart
ache
to
think
what
a
useless
worm
I
am
?
A
month
ago
when
Mr
.
Lebeziatnikov
beat
my
wife
with
his
own
hands
,
and
I
lay
drunk
,
didn
’
t
I
suffer
?
Excuse
me
,
young
man
,
has
it
ever
happened
to
you
.
.
.
hm
.
.
.
well
,
to
petition
hopelessly
for
a
loan
?
”
