crime and punishment(罪与罚)-第4章
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be taking place within him； and with it he felt a sort of thirst for
company。 He was so weary after a whole month of concentrated
wretchedness and gloomy excitement that he longed to rest； if only for
a moment； in some other world； whatever it might be； and； in spite
of the filthiness of the surroundings； he was glad now to stay in
the tavern。
The master of the establishment was in another room； but he
frequently came down some steps into the main room； his jaunty； tarred
boots with red turn…over tops coming into view each time before the
rest of his person。 He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black
satin waistcoat； with no cravat； and his whole face seemed smeared
with oil like an iron lock。 At the counter stood a boy of about
fourteen； and there was another boy somewhat younger who handed
whatever was wanted。 On the counter lay some sliced cucumber； some
pieces of dried black bread； and some fish； chopped up small； all
smelling very bad。 It was insufferably close； and so heavy with the
fumes of spirits that five minutes in such an atmosphere might well
make a man drunk。
There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the
first moment； before a word is spoken。 Such was the impression made on
Raskolnikov by the person sitting a little distance from him； who
looked like a retired clerk。 The young man often recalled this
impression afterwards； and even ascribed it to presentiment。 He looked
repeatedly at the clerk； partly no doubt because the latter was
staring persistently at him； obviously anxious to enter into
conversation。 At the other persons in the room； including the
tavern…keeper； the clerk looked as though he were used to their
company； and weary of it； showing a shade of condescending contempt
for them as persons of station and culture inferior to his own； with
whom it would be useless for him to converse。 He was a man over fifty；
bald and grizzled； of medium height； and stoutly built。 His face；
bloated from continual drinking； was of a yellow； even greenish；
tinge； with swollen eyelids out of which keen reddish eyes gleamed
like little chinks。 But there was something very strange in him； there
was a light in his eyes as though of intense feeling… perhaps there
were even thought and intelligence； but at the same time there was a
gleam of something like madness。 He was wearing an old and
hopelessly ragged black dress coat； with all its buttons missing
except one； and that one he had buttoned； evidently clinging to this
last trace of respectability。 A crumpled shirt front covered with
spots and stains； protruded from his canvas waistcoat。 Like a clerk；
he wore no beard； nor moustache； but had been so long unshaven that
his chin looked like a stiff greyish brush。 And there was something
respectable and like an official about his manner too。 But he was
restless； he ruffled up his hair and from time to time let his head
drop into his hands dejectedly resting his ragged elbows on the
stained and sticky table。 At last he looked straight at Raskolnikov；
and said loudly and resolutely：
〃May I venture； honoured sir； to engage you in polite
conversation？ Forasmuch as； though your exterior would not command
respect； my experience admonishes me that you are a man of education
and not accustomed to drinking。 I have always respected education when
in conjunction with genuine sentiments； and I am besides a titular
counsellor in rank。 Marmeladov… such is my name； titular counsellor。 I
make bold to inquire… have you been in the service？〃
〃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
