The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (reading an ebook TXT) 📗
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The Brothers Karamazov
by Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
1879
translated by Constance Garnett
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The History of a Family
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.
Immediatley 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
simplehearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too.
He Gets Rid of His Eldest Son
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
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