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- Федор Достоевский
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"
How
can
I
?
How
can
I
?
"
cried
Hippolyte
,
looking
at
him
in
amazement
.
"
Gentlemen
!
I
was
a
fool
!
I
wo
n't
break
off
again
.
Listen
,
everyone
who
wants
to
!
"
He
gulped
down
some
water
out
of
a
glass
standing
near
,
bent
over
the
table
,
in
order
to
hide
his
face
from
the
audience
,
and
recommenced
.
"
The
idea
that
it
is
not
worth
while
living
for
a
few
weeks
took
possession
of
me
a
month
ago
,
when
I
was
told
that
I
had
four
weeks
to
live
,
but
only
partially
so
at
that
time
.
The
idea
quite
overmastered
me
three
days
since
,
that
evening
at
Pavlofsk
.
The
first
time
that
I
felt
really
impressed
with
this
thought
was
on
the
terrace
at
the
prince
's
,
at
the
very
moment
when
I
had
taken
it
into
my
head
to
make
a
last
trial
of
life
.
I
wanted
to
see
people
and
trees
(
I
believe
I
said
so
myself
)
,
I
got
excited
,
I
maintained
Burdovsky
's
rights
,
'
my
neighbour
!
'
--
I
dreamt
that
one
and
all
would
open
their
arms
,
and
embrace
me
,
that
there
would
be
an
indescribable
exchange
of
forgiveness
between
us
all
!
In
a
word
,
I
behaved
like
a
fool
,
and
then
,
at
that
very
same
instant
,
I
felt
my
'
last
conviction
.
'
I
ask
myself
now
how
I
could
have
waited
six
months
for
that
conviction
!
I
knew
that
I
had
a
disease
that
spares
no
one
,
and
I
really
had
no
illusions
;
but
the
more
I
realized
my
condition
,
the
more
I
clung
to
life
;
I
wanted
to
live
at
any
price
.
I
confess
I
might
well
have
resented
that
blind
,
deaf
fate
,
which
,
with
no
apparent
reason
,
seemed
to
have
decided
to
crush
me
like
a
fly
;
but
why
did
I
not
stop
at
resentment
?
Why
did
I
begin
to
live
,
knowing
that
it
was
not
worthwhile
to
begin
?
Why
did
I
attempt
to
do
what
I
knew
to
be
an
impossibility
?
And
yet
I
could
not
even
read
a
book
to
the
end
;
I
had
given
up
reading
.
What
is
the
good
of
reading
,
what
is
the
good
of
learning
anything
,
for
just
six
months
?
That
thought
has
made
me
throw
aside
a
book
more
than
once
.
"
Yes
,
that
wall
of
Meyer
's
could
tell
a
tale
if
it
liked
.
There
was
no
spot
on
its
dirty
surface
that
I
did
not
know
by
heart
.
Accursed
wall
!
and
yet
it
is
dearer
to
me
than
all
the
Pavlofsk
trees
!
--
That
is
--
it
would
be
dearer
if
it
were
not
all
the
same
to
me
,
now
!
"
I
remember
now
with
what
hungry
interest
I
began
to
watch
the
lives
of
other
people
--
interest
that
I
had
never
felt
before
!
I
used
to
wait
for
Colia
's
arrival
impatiently
,
for
I
was
so
ill
myself
,
then
,
that
I
could
not
leave
the
house
.
I
so
threw
myself
into
every
little
detail
of
news
,
and
took
so
much
interest
in
every
report
and
rumour
,
that
I
believe
I
became
a
regular
gossip
!
I
could
not
understand
,
among
other
things
,
how
all
these
people
--
with
so
much
life
in
and
before
them
--
do
not
become
rich
--
and
I
do
n't
understand
it
now
.
I
remember
being
told
of
a
poor
wretch
I
once
knew
,
who
had
died
of
hunger
.
I
was
almost
beside
myself
with
rage
!
I
believe
if
I
could
have
resuscitated
him
I
would
have
done
so
for
the
sole
purpose
of
murdering
him
!
"
Occasionally
I
was
so
much
better
that
I
could
go
out
;
but
the
streets
used
to
put
me
in
such
a
rage
that
I
would
lock
myself
up
for
days
rather
than
go
out
,
even
if
I
were
well
enough
to
do
so
!
I
could
not
bear
to
see
all
those
preoccupied
,
anxious-looking
creatures
continuously
surging
along
the
streets
past
me
!
Why
are
they
always
anxious
?
What
is
the
meaning
of
their
eternal
care
and
worry
?
It
is
their
wickedness
,
their
perpetual
detestable
malice
--
that
's
what
it
is
--
they
are
all
full
of
malice
,
malice
!
"
Whose
fault
is
it
that
they
are
all
miserable
,
that
they
do
n't
know
how
to
live
,
though
they
have
fifty
or
sixty
years
of
life
before
them
?
Why
did
that
fool
allow
himself
to
die
of
hunger
with
sixty
years
of
unlived
life
before
him
?
"
And
everyone
of
them
shows
his
rags
,
his
toil-worn
hands
,
and
yells
in
his
wrath
:
'
Here
are
we
,
working
like
cattle
all
our
lives
,
and
always
as
hungry
as
dogs
,
and
there
are
others
who
do
not
work
,
and
are
fat
and
rich
!
'
The
eternal
refrain
!
And
side
by
side
with
them
trots
along
some
wretched
fellow
who
has
known
better
days
,
doing
light
porter
's
work
from
morn
to
night
for
a
living
,
always
blubbering
and
saying
that
'
his
wife
died
because
he
had
no
money
to
buy
medicine
with
,
'
and
his
children
dying
of
cold
and
hunger
,
and
his
eldest
daughter
gone
to
the
bad
,
and
so
on
.
Oh
!
I
have
no
pity
and
no
patience
for
these
fools
of
people
.
Why
ca
n't
they
be
Rothschilds
?
Whose
fault
is
it
that
a
man
has
not
got
millions
of
money
like
Rothschild
?
If
he
has
life
,
all
this
must
be
in
his
power
!
Whose
fault
is
it
that
he
does
not
know
how
to
live
his
life
?
