It was morning, that is, it was not yet daylight, but about six o'clock. I woke up in the same arm-chair; my candle had burnt out; everyone was asleep in the captain's room, and there was a stillness all round, rare in our flat. First of all I leapt up in great amazement: nothing like this had ever happened to me before, not even in the most trivial detail; I had never, for instance, fallen asleep like this in my arm-chair. While I was standing and coming to myself I suddenly caught sight of my revolver lying loaded, ready — but instantly I thrust it away! Oh, now, life, life! I lifted up my hands and called upon eternal truth, not with words, but with tears; ecstasy, immeasurable ecstasy flooded my soul. Yes, life and spreading the good tidings! Oh, I at that moment resolved to spread the tidings, and resolved it, of course, for my whole life. I go to spread the tidings, I want to spread the tidings — of what? Of the truth, for I have seen it, have seen it with my own eyes, have seen it in all its glory.
And since then I have been preaching! Moreover I love all those who laugh at me more than any of the rest. Why that is so I do not know and cannot explain, but so be it. I am told that I am vague and confused, and if I am vague and confused now, what shall I be later on? It is true indeed: I am vague and confused, and perhaps as time goes on I shall be more so. And of course I shall make many blunders before I find out how to preach, that is, find out what words to say, what things to do, for it is a very difficult task. I see all that as clear as daylight, but, listen, who does not make mistakes? An yet, you know, all are making for the same goal, all are striving in the same direction anyway, from the sage to the lowest robber, only by different roads. It is an old truth, but this is what is new: I cannot go far wrong. For I have seen the truth; I have seen and I know that people can be beautiful and happy without losing the power of living on earth. I will not and cannot believe that evil is the normal condition of mankind. And it is just this faith of mine that they laugh at. But how can I help believing it? I have seen the truth — it is not as though I had invented it with my mind, I have seen it, seen it, and the living image of it has filled my soul for ever. I have seen it in such full perfection that I cannot believe that it is impossible for people to have it. And so how can I go wrong? I shall make some slips no doubt, and shall perhaps talk in second-hand language, but not for long: the living image of what I saw will always be with me and will always correct and guide me. Oh, I am full of courage and freshness, and I will go on and on if it were for a thousand years! Do you know, at first I meant to conceal the fact that I corrupted them, but that was a mistake — that was my first mistake! But truth whispered to me that I was lying, and preserved me and corrected me. But how to establish paradise — I don't know, because I do not know how to put it into words. After my dream I lost command of words. All the chief words, anyway, the most necessary ones. But never mind, I shall go and I shall keep talking, I won't leave off, for anyway I have seen it with my own eyes, though I cannot describe what I saw. But the scoffers do not understand that. It was a dream, they say, delirium, hallucination. Oh! As though that meant so much! And they are so proud! A dream! What is a dream? And is not our life a dream? I will say more. Suppose that this paradise will never come to pass (that I understand), yet I shall go on preaching it. And yet how simple it is: in one day, in one hour everything could be arranged at once! The chief thing is to love others like yourself, that's the chief thing, and that's everything; nothing else is wanted — you will find out at once how to arrange it all. And yet it's an old truth which has been told and retold a billion times — but it has not formed part of our lives! The consciousness of life is higher than life, the knowledge of the laws of happiness is higher than happiness — that is what one must contend against. And I shall. If only everyone wants it, it can be arranged at once.
And I tracked down that little girl … and I shall go on and on!
The Brothers Karamazov
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky
(Translator: Constance Garnett)
Table of Contents
The Brothers Karamazov Part 1 The History of a Family Chapter 1 Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov
Chapter 2 He Gets Rid of His Eldest Son
Chapter 3 The Second Marriage and the Second Family
Chapter 4 The Third Son, Alyosha
Chapter 5 Elders
Part 2 An Unfortunate Gathering Chapter 1 They Arrive at the Monastery
Chapter 2 The Old Buffoon
Chapter 3 Peasant Women Who Have Faith
Chapter 4 A Lady of Little Faith
Chapter 5 So Be It! So Be It!
Chapter 6 Why Is Such a Man Alive?
Chapter 7 A Young Man Bent on a Career
Chapter 8 The Scandalous Scene
Part 3 The Sensualists Chapter 1 In the Servants' Quarters
Chapter 2 Lizaveta
Chapter 3 The Confession of a Passionate Heart- in Verse
Chapter 4 The Confession of a Passionate Heart- In Anecdote
Chapter 5 The Confession of a Passionate Heart- "Heels Up"
Chapter 6 Smerdyakov
Chapter 7 The Controversy
Chapter 8 Over the Brandy
Chapter 9 The Sensualists
Chapter 10 Both Together
Chapter 11 Another Reputation Ruined
Part 4 Lacerations Chapter 1 Father Ferapont
Chapter 2 At His Father's
Chapter 3 A Meeting with the Schoolboys
Chapter 4 At the Hohlakovs'
Chapter 5 A Laceration in the Drawing-Room
Chapter 6 A Laceration in the Cottage
Chapter 7 And in the Open Air
Part 5 Pro and Contra Chapter 1 The Engagement
Chapter 2 Smerdyakov with a Guitar
Chapter 3 The Brothers Make Friends
Chapter 4 Rebellion
Chapter 5 The Grand Inquisitor
Chapter 6 For Awhile a Very Obscure One
Chapter 7 "It's Always Worth While Speaking to a Clever Man"
Part 6 The Russian Monk Chapter 1 Father Zossima and His Visitors
Chapter 2 (c) Recollections of Father Zossima's Youth before he became a Monk. The Duel
Chapter 3 Conversations and Exhortations of Father Zossima
Part 7 Alyosha Chapter 1 The Breath of Corruption
Chapter 2 A Critical Moment
Chapter 3 An Onion
Chapter 4 Cana of Galilee
Part 8 Mitya Chapter 1 Kuzma Samsonov
Chapter 2 Lyagavy
Chapter 3 Gold Mines
Chapter 4 In the Dark
Chapter 5 A Sudden Resolution
Chapter 6 "I Am Coming, Too!"
Chapter 7 The First and Rightful Lover
Chapter 8 Delirium
Part 9 The Preliminary Investigation Chapter 1 The Beginning of Perhotin's Official Career
Chapter 2 The Alarm
Chapter 3 The Sufferings of a Soul — The First Ordeal
Chapter 4 The Second Ordeal
Chapter 5 The Third Ordeal
Chapter 6 The Prosecutor Catches Mitya
Chapter 7 Mitya's Great Secret Received with Hisses
Chapter 8 The Evidences of the Witnesses. The Babe
Chapter 9 They Carry Mitya Away
Part 10 The Boys Chapter 1 Kolya Krassotkin
Chapter 2 Children
Chapter 3 The Schoolboy
Chapter 4 The Lost Dog
Chapter 5 By Ilusha's Bedside
Chapter 6 Precocity
Chapter 7 Ilusha
Part 11 Ivan Chapter 1 — At Grushenka's
Chapter 2 The Injured Foot
Chapter 3 A Little Demon
Chapter 4 A Hymn and a Secret
Chapter 5 Not You, Not You!
Chapter 6 The First Interview with Smerdyakov
Chapter 7 The Second Visit to Smerdyakov
Chapter 8 The Third and Last Interview with Smerdyakov
Chapter 9 The Devil. Ivan's Nightmare
Chapter 10 "It Was He Who Said That"
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p; Part 12 A Judicial Error Chapter 1 The Fatal Day
Chapter 2 Dangerous Witnesses
Chapter 3 The Medical Experts and a Pound of Nuts
Chapter 4 Fortune Smiles on Mitya
Chapter 5 A Sudden Catastrophe
Chapter 6 The Prosecutor's Speech. Sketches of Character
Chapter 7 An Historical Survey
Chapter 8 A Treatise on Smerdyakov
Chapter 9 The Galloping Troika. The End of the Prosecutor's Speech
Chapter 10 The Speech for the Defence. An Argument that Cuts Both Ways
Chapter 11 There Was No Money. There Was No Robbery
Chapter 12 And There Was No Murder Either
Chapter 13 A Corrupter of Thought
Chapter 14 The Peasants Stand Firm
Part 13 Epilogue Chapter 1 Plans for Mitya's Escape
Chapter 2 For a Moment the Lie Becomes Truth
Chapter 3 Ilusha's Funeral. The Speech at the Stone
Part 1
The History of a Family
Chapter 1 Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov
ALEXEY Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day, and still remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic death, which happened thirteen years ago, and which I shall describe in its proper place. For the present I will only say that this "landowner"- for so we used to call him, although he hardly spent a day of his life on his own estate- was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to be met with, a type abject and vicious and at the same time senseless. But he was one of those senseless persons who are very well capable of looking after their worldly affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else. Fyodor Pavlovitch, for instance, began with next to nothing; his estate was of the smallest; he ran to dine at other men's tables, and fastened on them as a toady, yet at his death it appeared that he had a hundred thousand roubles in hard cash. At the same time, he was all his life one of the most senseless, fantastical fellows in the whole district. I repeat, it was not stupidity- the majority of these fantastical fellows are shrewd and intelligent enough- but just senselessness, and a peculiar national form of it.
He was married twice, and had three sons, the eldest, Dmitri, by his first wife, and two, Ivan and Alexey, by his second. Fyodor Pavlovitch's first wife, Adelaida Ivanovna, belonged to a fairly rich and distinguished noble family, also landowners in our district, the Miusovs. How it came to pass that an heiress, who was also a beauty, and moreover one of those vigorous intelligent girls, so common in this generation, but sometimes also to be found in the last, could have married such a worthless, puny weakling, as we all called him, I won't attempt to explain. I knew a young lady of the last "romantic" generation who after some years of an enigmatic passion for a gentleman, whom she might quite easily have married at any moment, invented insuperable obstacles to their union, and ended by throwing herself one stormy night into a rather deep and rapid river from a high bank, almost a precipice, and so perished, entirely to satisfy her own caprice, and to be like Shakespeare's Ophelia. Indeed, if this precipice, a chosen and favourite spot of hers, had been less picturesque, if there had been a prosaic flat bank in its place, most likely the suicide would never have taken place. This is a fact, and probably there have been not a few similar instances in the last two or three generations. Adelaida Ivanovna Miusov's action was similarly, no doubt, an echo of other people's ideas, and was due to the irritation caused by lack of mental freedom. She wanted, perhaps, to show her feminine independence, to override class distinctions and the despotism of her family. And a pliable imagination persuaded her, we must suppose, for a brief moment, that Fyodor Pavlovitch, in spite of his parasitic position, was one of the bold and ironical spirits of that progressive epoch, though he was, in fact, an ill-natured buffoon and nothing more. What gave the marriage piquancy was that it was preceded by an elopement, and this greatly captivated Adelaida Ivanovna's fancy. Fyodor Pavlovitch's position at the time made him specially eager for any such enterprise, for he was passionately anxious to make a career in one way or another. To attach himself to a good family and obtain a dowry was an alluring prospect. As for mutual love it did not exist apparently, either in the bride or in him, in spite of Adelaida Ivanovna's beauty. This was, perhaps, a unique case of the kind in the life of Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was always of a voluptuous temper, and ready to run after any petticoat on the slightest encouragement. She seems to have been the only woman who made no particular appeal to his senses.
Immediately after the elopement Adelaida Ivanovna discerned in a flash that she had no feeling for her husband but contempt. The marriage accordingly showed itself in its true colours with extraordinary rapidity. Although the family accepted the event pretty quickly and apportioned the runaway bride her dowry, the husband and wife began to lead a most disorderly life, and there were everlasting scenes between them. It was said that the young wife showed incomparably more generosity and dignity than Fyodor Pavlovitch, who, as is now known, got hold of all her money up to twenty five thousand roubles as soon as she received it, so that those thousands were lost to her forever. The little village and the rather fine town house which formed part of her dowry he did his utmost for a long time to transfer to his name, by means of some deed of conveyance. He would probably have succeeded, merely from her moral fatigue and desire to get rid of him, and from the contempt and loathing he aroused by his persistent and shameless importunity. But, fortunately, Adelaida Ivanovna's family intervened and circumvented his greediness. It is known for a fact that frequent fights took place between the husband and wife, but rumour had it that Fyodor Pavlovitch did not beat his wife but was beaten by her, for she was a hot-tempered, bold, dark-browed, impatient woman, possessed of remarkable physical strength. Finally, she left the house and ran away from Fyodor Pavlovitch with a destitute divinity student, leaving Mitya, a child of three years old, in her husband's hands. Immediately Fyodor Pavlovitch introduced a regular harem into the house, and abandoned himself to orgies of drunkenness. In the intervals he used to drive all over the province, complaining tearfully to each and all of Adelaida Ivanovna's having left him, going into details too disgraceful for a husband to mention in regard to his own married life. What seemed to gratify him and flatter his self-love most was to play the ridiculous part of the injured husband, and to parade his woes with embellishments.
"One would think that you'd got a promotion, Fyodor Pavlovitch, you seem so pleased in spite of your sorrow," scoffers said to him. Many even added that he was glad of a new comic part in which to play the buffoon, and that it was simply to make it funnier that he pretended to be unaware of his ludicrous position. But, who knows, it may have been simplicity. At last he succeeded in getting on the track of his runaway wife. The poor woman turned out to be in Petersburg, where she had gone with her divinity student, and where she had thrown herself into a life of complete emancipation. Fyodor Pavlovitch at once began bustling about, making preparations to go to Petersburg, with what object he could not himself have said. He would perhaps have really gone; but having determined to do so he felt at once entitled to fortify himself for the journey by another bout of reckless drinking. And just at that time his wife's family received the news of her death in Petersburg. She had died quite suddenly in a garret, according to one story, of typhus, or as another version had it, of starvation. Fyodor Pavlovitch was drunk when he heard of his wife's death, and the story is that he ran out into the street and began shouting with joy, raising his hands to Heaven: "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," but others say he wept without restraint like a little child, so much so that people were sorry for him, in spite of the repulsion he inspired. It is quite possible that both versions were true, that he rejoiced at his release, and at the same time wept for her who released him. As a general rule, people, even the wicked, are much more naive and simple-hearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too.
Chapter 2 He Gets Rid of His Eldest Son
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nbsp; YOU can easily imagine what a father such a man could be and how he would bring up his children. His behaviour as a father was exactly what might be expected. He completely abandoned the child of his marriage with Adelaida Ivanovna, not from malice, nor because of his matrimonial grievances, but simply because he forgot him. While he was wearying everyone with his tears and complaints, and turning his house into a sink of debauchery, a faithful servant of the family, Grigory, took the three-year old Mitya into his care. If he hadn't looked after him there would have been no one even to change the baby's little shirt.
It happened moreover that the child's relations on his mother's side forgot him too at first. His grandfather was no longer living, his widow, Mitya's grandmother, had moved to Moscow, and was seriously ill, while his daughters were married, so that Mitya remained for almost a whole year in old Grigory's charge and lived with him in the servant's cottage. But if his father had remembered him (he could not, indeed, have been altogether unaware of his existence) he would have sent him back to the cottage, as the child would only have been in the way of his debaucheries. But a cousin of Mitya's mother, Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miusov, happened to return from Paris. He lived for many years afterwards abroad, but was at that time quite a young .man, and distinguished among the Miusovs as a man of enlightened ideas and of European culture, who had been in the capitals and abroad. Towards the end of his life he became a Liberal of the type common in the forties and fifties. In the course of his career he had come into contact with many of the most Liberal men of his epoch, both in Russia and abroad. He had known Proudhon and Bakunin personally, and in his declining years was very fond of describing the three days of the Paris Revolution of February, 1848, hinting that he himself had almost taken part in the fighting on the barricades. This was one of the most grateful recollections of his youth. He had an independent property of about a thousand souls, to reckon in the old style. His splendid estate lay on the outskirts of our little town and bordered on the lands of our famous monastery, with which Pyotr Alexandrovitch began an endless lawsuit, almost as soon as he came into the estate, concerning the rights of fishing in the river or wood-cutting in the forest, I don't know exactly which. He regarded it as his duty as a citizen and a man of culture to open an attack upon the "clericals." Hearing all about Adelaida Ivanovna, whom he, of course, remembered, and in whom he had at one time been interested, and learning of the existence of Mitya, he intervened, in spite of all his youthful indignation and contempt for Fyodor Pavlovitch. He made the latter's acquaintance for the first time, and told him directly that he wished to undertake the child's education. He used long afterwards to tell as a characteristic touch, that when he began to speak of Mitya, Fyodor Pavlovitch looked for some time as though he did not understand what child he was talking about, and even as though he was surprised to hear that he had a little son in the house. The story may have been exaggerated, yet it must have been something like the truth.
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