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<h1>The Brothers Karamazov</h1>
<h4>Translated from the Russian of</h4>
<h2 class="no-break">Fyodor Dostoyevsky</h2>
<h3>by Constance Garnett</h3>
<h4>The Lowell Press</h4>
<h4>New York</h4>
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<h2>Contents</h2>
<h2><SPAN name="part01"></SPAN>PART I</h2>
<h2><SPAN name="book01"></SPAN>Book I. The History Of A Family</h2>
<h2><SPAN name="chap01"></SPAN>Chapter I.<br/> Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov</h2>
<p>Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov,
a land owner 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.</p>
<p>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, Adelaïda Ivanovna, belonged to a fairly rich and distinguished noble
family, also landowners in our district, the Miüsovs. 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 favorite
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. Adelaïda Ivanovna Miüsov’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 Adelaïda
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 Adelaïda
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.</p>
<p>Immediately after the elopement Adelaïda Ivanovna discerned in a flash that she
had no feeling for her husband but contempt. The marriage accordingly showed
itself in its true colors 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 for ever. 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, Adelaïda
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
rumor 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 Adelaïda 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.</p>
<p>“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 naïve and simple‐hearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too.</p>
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