The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (easy to read books for adults list .txt) 📕
"Those innocent eyes slit my soul up like a razor," he used to say afterwards, with his loathsome snigger. In a man so depraved this might, of course, mean no more than sensual attraction. As he had received no dowry with his wife, and had, so to speak, taken her "from the halter," he did not stand on ceremony with her. Making her feel that she had "wronged" him, he took advantage of her phenomenal meekness and submissiveness to trample on the elemen
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These are the people we are most afraid of. They are dreadful people
The socialist who is a Christian is more to be dreaded than a
socialist who is an atheist.’ The words struck me at the time, and now
they have suddenly come back to me here, gentlemen.”
“You apply them to us, and look upon us as socialists?” Father
Paissy asked directly, without beating about the bush.
But before Pyotr Alexandrovitch could think what to answer, the
door opened, and the guest so long expected, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, came
in. They had, in fact, given up expecting him, and his sudden
appearance caused some surprise for a moment.
Why Is Such a Man Alive?
DMITRI FYODOROVITCH, a young man of eight and twenty, of medium
height and agreeable countenance, looked older than his years. He
was muscular, and showed signs of considerable physical strength.
Yet there was something not healthy in his face. It was rather thin,
his cheeks were hollow, and there was an unhealthy sallowness in their
colour. His rather large, prominent, dark eyes had an expression of
firm determination, and yet there was a vague look in them, too.
Even when he was excited and talking irritably, his eyes somehow did
not follow his mood, but betrayed something else, sometimes quite
incongruous with what was passing. “It’s hard to tell what he’s
thinking,” those who talked to him sometimes declared. People who
saw something pensive and sullen in his eyes were startled by his
sudden laugh, which bore witness to mirthful and lighthearted
thoughts at the very time when his eyes were so gloomy. A certain
strained look in his face was easy to understand at this moment.
Everyone knew, or had heard of, the extremely restless and
dissipated life which he had been leading of late, as well as of the
violent anger to which he had been roused in his quarrels with his
father. There were several stories current in the town about it. It is
true that he was irascible by nature, “of an unstable and unbalanced
mind,” as our justice of the peace, Katchalnikov, happily described
him.
He was stylishly and irreproachably dressed in a carefully
buttoned frock-coat. He wore black gloves and carried a top hat.
Having only lately left the army, he still had moustaches and no
beard. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and combed forward on
his temples. He had the long, determined stride of a military man.
He stood still for a moment on the threshold, and glancing at the
whole party went straight up to the elder, guessing him to be their
host. He made him a low bow, and asked his blessing. Father Zossima,
rising in his chair, blessed him. Dmitri kissed his hand respectfully,
and with intense feeling, almost anger, he said:
“Be so generous as to forgive me for having kept you waiting so
long, but Smerdyakov, the valet sent me by my father, in reply to my
inquiries, told me twice over that the appointment was for one. Now
I suddenly learn- “
“Don’t disturb yourself,” interposed the elder. “No matter. You
are a little late. It’s of no consequence…. “
“I’m extremely obliged to you, and expected no less from your
goodness.”
Saying this, Dmitri bowed once more. Then, turning suddenly
towards his father, made him, too, a similarly low and respectful bow.
He had evidently considered it beforehand, and made this bow in all
seriousness, thinking it his duty to show his respect and good
intentions.
Although Fyodor Pavlovitch was taken unawares, he was equal to the
occasion. In response to Dmitri’s bow he jumped up from his chair
and made his son a bow as low in return. His face was suddenly
solemn and impressive, which gave him a positively malignant look.
Dmitri bowed generally to all present, and without a word walked to
the window with his long, resolute stride, sat down on the only
empty chair, near Father Paissy, and, bending forward, prepared to
listen to the conversation he had interrupted.
Dmitri’s entrance had taken no more than two minutes, and the
conversation was resumed. But this time Miusov thought it
unnecessary to reply to Father Paissy’s persistent and almost
irritable question.
“Allow me to withdraw from this discussion,” he observed with a
certain well-bred nonchalance. “It’s a subtle question, too. Here Ivan
Fyodorovitch is smiling at us. He must have something interesting to
say about that also. Ask him.”
“Nothing special, except one little remark,” Ivan replied at once.
“European Liberals in general, and even our liberal dilettanti,
often mix up the final results of socialism with those of
Christianity. This wild notion is, of course, a characteristic
feature. But it’s not only Liberals and dilettanti who mix up
socialism and Christianity, but, in many cases, it appears, the
police-the foreign police, of course-do the same. Your Paris
anecdote is rather to the point, Pyotr Alexandrovitch.”
“I ask your permission to drop this subject altogether,” Miusov
repeated. “I will tell you instead, gentlemen, another interesting and
rather characteristic anecdote of Ivan Fyodorovitch himself. Only five
days ago, in a gathering here, principally of ladies, he solemnly
declared in argument that there was nothing in the whole world to make
men love their neighbours. That there was no law of nature that man
should love mankind, and that, if there had been any love on earth
hitherto, it was not owing to a natural law, but simply because men
have believed in immortality. Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis
that the whole natural law lies in that faith, and that if you were to
destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but
every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once
be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would
be lawful, even cannibalism. That’s not all. He ended by asserting
that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not believe in God
or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed
into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that
egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognised
as the inevitable, the most rational, even honourable outcome of his
position. From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of
our eccentric and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch’s theories.”
“Excuse me,” Dmitri cried suddenly; “if I’ve heard aright, crime
must not only be permitted but even recognised as the inevitable and
the most rational outcome of his position for every infidel! Is that
so or not?”
“Quite so,” said Father Paissy.
“I’ll remember it.”
Having uttered these words Dmitri ceased speaking as suddenly as
he had begun. Everyone looked at him with curiosity.
“Is that really your conviction as to the consequences of the
disappearance of the faith in immortality?” the elder asked Ivan
suddenly.
“Yes. That was my contention. There is no virtue if there is no
immortality.”
“You are blessed in believing that, or else most unhappy.”
“Why unhappy?” Ivan asked smiling.
“Because, in all probability you don’t believe yourself in the
immortality of your soul, nor in what you have written yourself in
your article on Church Jurisdiction.”
“Perhaps you are right!… But I wasn’t altogether joking,” Ivan
suddenly and strangely confessed, flushing quickly.
“You were not altogether joking. That’s true. The question is
still fretting your heart, and not answered. But the martyr likes
sometimes to divert himself with his despair, as it were driven to
it by despair itself. Meanwhile, in your despair, you, too, divert
yourself with magazine articles, and discussions in society, though
you don’t believe your own arguments, and with an aching heart mock at
them inwardly…. That question you have not answered, and it is
your great grief, for it clamours for an answer.”
“But can it be answered by me? Answered in the affirmative?”
Ivan went on asking strangely, still looking at the elder with the
same inexplicable smile.
“If it can’t be decided in the affirmative, it will never be
decided in the negative. You know that that is the peculiarity of your
heart, and all its suffering is due to it. But thank the Creator who
has given you a lofty heart capable of such suffering; of thinking and
seeking higher things, for our dwelling is in the heavens. God grant
that your heart will attain the answer on earth, and may God bless
your path.”
The elder raised his hand and would have made the sign of the
cross over Ivan from where he stood. But the latter rose from his
seat, went up to him, received his blessing, and kissing his hand went
back to his place in silence. His face looked firm and earnest. This
action and all the preceding conversation, which was so surprising
from Ivan, impressed everyone by its strangeness and a certain
solemnity, so that all were silent for a moment, and there was a
look almost of apprehension in Alyosha’s face. But Miusov suddenly
shrugged his shoulders. And at the same moment Fyodor Pavlovitch
jumped up from his seat.
“Most pious and holy elder,” he cried pointing to Ivan, “that is
my son, flesh of my flesh, the dearest of my flesh! He is my most
dutiful Karl Moor, so to speak, while this son who has just come in,
Dmitri, against whom I am seeking justice from you, is the undutiful
Franz Moor-they are both out of Schiller’s Robbers, and so I am the
reigning Count von Moor! Judge and save us! We need not only your
prayers but your prophecies!”
“Speak without buffoonery, and don’t begin by insulting the
members of your family,” answered the elder, in a faint, exhausted
voice. He was obviously getting more and more fatigued, and his
strength was failing.
“An unseemly farce which I foresaw when I came here!” cried Dmitri
indignantly. He too leapt up. “Forgive it, reverend Father,” he added,
addressing the elder. “I am not a cultivated man, and I don’t even
know how to address you properly, but you have been deceived and you
have been too good-natured in letting us meet here. All my father
wants is a scandal. Why he wants it only he can tell. He always has
some motive. But I believe I know why- “
“They all blame me, all of them!” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch in his
turn. “Pyotr Alexandrovitch here blames me too. You have been
blaming me, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, you have!” he turned suddenly to
Miusov, although the latter was not dreaming of interrupting him.
“They all accuse me of having hidden the children’s money in my boots,
and cheated them, but isn’t there a court of law? There they will
reckon out for you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, from your notes, your
letters, and your agreements, how much money you had, how much you
have spent, and how much you have left. Why does Pyotr
Alexandrovitch refuse to pass judgment? Dmitri is not a stranger to
him. Because they are all against me, while Dmitri Fyodorovitch is
in debt to me, and not a little, but some thousands of which I have
documentary proof. The whole town is echoing with his debaucheries.
And where he was stationed before, he several times spent a thousand
or two for the seduction of some respectable girl; we know all about
that, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, in its most secret details. I’ll prove
it…. Would you believe it, holy Father, he has captivated the
heart of the most honourable of young ladies of good family and
fortune, daughter of a gallant colonel, formerly his superior officer,
who had received many honours and had the Anna Order on his breast. He
compromised the girl by his promise of
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