1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In "The Brothers Karamazov," Fyodor Dostoevsky presents a profound exploration of faith, morality, and the human condition through the tumultuous lives of the Karamazov brothers. This novel, written in a rich, psychological style, incorporates philosophical dialogue and ethical dilemmas that engage with the existential crises of the 19th century. Set against the backdrop of a rapidly modernizing Russia, the narrative delves into the tensions between rationality and spirituality, culminating in a gripping murder mystery that probes deeper questions of guilt, freedom, and redemption. Dostoevsky, drawing from his own tumultuous experiences and intense spiritual struggles, crafts a narrative that reflects his profound understanding of human psychology. Having faced profound societal upheaval, including imprisonment and personal loss, he infuses the text with his concerns regarding morality, faith, and the existence of God. It is through characters like the intellectual Ivan and the devout Alyosha that Dostoevsky channels his philosophical inquiries, making the text a timely reflection on the nature of goodness and the complexities of familial relationships. This masterpiece is highly recommended for readers seeking not only a gripping narrative but an intricate examination of existential questions that resonate throughout human history. "The Brothers Karamazov" invites you to engage with its rich philosophical underpinnings and to contemplate the moral quandaries that challenge the very essence of humanity. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - An Author Biography reveals milestones in the author's life, illuminating the personal insights behind the text. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Ähnliche
THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV
Table of Contents
Introduction
"If you want to overcome the whole world, overcome yourself first." This poignant reflection encapsulates the essence of The Brothers Karamazov, where the internal struggles of faith, morality, and personal responsibility take center stage. Dostoevsky illuminates the journey each character undertakes in confronting their own demons, highlighting how the pursuit of truth and self-understanding resonates profoundly within the human experience. As the story unfolds, readers are led through a labyrinth of philosophical quandaries that challenges their understanding of good and evil, love and hate, freedom and moral obligation.
The Brothers Karamazov is revered as one of the crown jewels of world literature, not solely for its narrative complexity but for its deep philosophical underpinnings. First published in 1880, it transcends time and space, inviting readers into a discourse on existential dilemmas that remain pertinent today. Its exploration of religious faith, skepticism, and human psychology solidifies its status as a classic, influencing literary giants such as Nietzsche, Camus, and Kafka. The power of its themes and the richness of its characters ensure that it reverberates across generations, fostering ongoing dialogue about the nature of humanity.
Written by the formidable Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov was penned during a period of social, political, and religious upheaval in Russia. Composed in the late 1870s, this monumental work draws upon Dostoevsky's own tumultuous life experiences, mirroring his struggles with faith and morality. Comprised of a multi-layered narrative centered around the Karamazov family, the novel delves into the conflicts among the brothers—Dmitri, Ivan, and Alyosha—each representing diverse paths in the quest for truth. Dostoevsky's intention was to explore the depths of the human soul and the complexities of familial bonds amidst philosophical discourse.
The Karamazov brothers serve as archetypes reflecting varied human responses to existential questions. Dmitri, the passionate and impulsive brother, embodies the struggle for justice and desire, while Ivan wrestles with rationalism and skepticism, questioning the existence of God and moral absolutes. Alyosha, the youngest, shines as the beacon of faith and compassion, portraying the essence of love and brotherhood. Each character's journey unfolds in a narrative that intertwines their individual stories with broader themes of morality, faith, the nature of good and evil, and the search for redemption, creating a rich tapestry of human experience.
Dostoevsky's narrative style and philosophical inquiries propel The Brothers Karamazov toward unprecedented depths of introspection. The interplay of dialogue, monologue, and existential reflection invites readers to reflect on their own beliefs and struggles. The author employs a unique blend of realism, allegory, and psychological insight, effectively drawing readers into a world where their understanding of morality is challenged and their perceptions of faith are analyzed. This intricate structure serves not only as a vehicle for character development but also as a catalyst for profound ethical discussions that linger long after the final page.
The familial dynamics in The Brothers Karamazov are a microcosm of broader societal and philosophical dilemmas, making it an exceptional narrative vehicle for exploring deep themes. The conflict over their father Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov’s legacy and competing allegiances create a foundation that highlights the intricacies of love and betrayal. This interplay among kin serves as a metaphor for the universal human condition, wherein relationships and their accompanying struggles mirror the overarching quest for meaning and understanding in the face of life's complexities. It is this familial entanglement that illustrates the intricate web of human emotions transcending time.
Throughout the novel, Dostoevsky cleverly incorporates religion as a central theme that resonates through each character's internal battle. The spectrum of faith is vividly portrayed, from doubt to devotion, as characters grapple with existential questions about sin, redemption, and the nature of divine love. The presence of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, who embodies moral degradation and selfishness, serves as a stark reminder of the human propensity for evil, inviting contemplation on the choices individuals make and the consequences that arise from them. Religion is not merely a backdrop; it frames the essence of the brothers' struggles and their search for spiritual meaning.
Dostoevsky presents the concept of free will as a double-edged sword, emphasizing the complexities and burdens that accompany individual choices. This exploration lays bare the ethical dilemmas faced by the Karamazov brothers and extends into broader questions about human nature itself. The character of Ivan, in particular, poignantly articulates the agony of living in a world rife with suffering and injustice, challenging the concept of a benevolent deity. Each brother's journey ultimately explores the delicate balance between fate and autonomy, allowing readers to reflect on their own understanding of choice and destiny.
Another significant theme within The Brothers Karamazov is the notion of brotherhood, which transcends familial ties and extends into the broader human experience. The novel emphasizes the importance of empathy, understanding, and unconditional love in promoting connections that foster healing and redemption. Dostoevsky deftly illustrates that the bond shared among brothers is both a source of strength and a catalyst for conflict. This dynamic serves as a reminder of the fundamental truth that unity and compassion can overcome strife, resonating with readers on a personal level and inviting introspection on their own relationships.
The philosophical discourse ignited by The Brothers Karamazov has spurred discussions on morality that persist through subsequent literary movements. Its themes of existentialism, ethics, and religious faith have profoundly impacted 20th-century literature and beyond, prompting writers to explore the complexities of the human condition. Dostoevsky's inquiry into fundamental questions about existence continues to resonate, inspiring countless interpretations and adaptations across various media. This ever-expanding legacy speaks to the timelessness of his ideas and the universal applicability of his characters' struggles, ensuring its relevance for modern audiences.
The rich characterizations in The Brothers Karamazov not only illuminate individual experiences but also embody larger philosophical concepts. For instance, the figure of the devil in Ivan’s reflections serves as a representation of skepticism and doubt—contrasting with Alyosha’s faith-driven perspective. Such multifaceted portrayals encourage readers to cultivate an understanding of the spectrum of human beliefs and emotions, allowing for deeper empathy toward differing viewpoints. This complexity invites discussions on morality and ethics that are as relevant today as they were during Dostoevsky's time, reinforcing the novel's lasting significance.
Dostoevsky's narrative is steeped in psychological depth, illuminating the characters' internal landscapes with remarkable clarity. Through his exploration of guilt, redemption, and the search for meaning, readers are often left with questions about their own moral choices. The author delves into the minds of his characters, unraveling their fears and desires, resulting in a robust psychological portrait that resonates with both historical and contemporary readers. This penetrating insight not only enlivens the story but also invites audience members to confront their own vulnerabilities, ensuring the book’s continued relevance.
The Brothers Karamazov culminates in a symphony of philosophical inquiry, intertwining questions about God, morality, and free will with deeply personal narratives. As the brothers navigate their familial loyalties and grapple with their respective beliefs, readers are invited to embark on their own journeys of self-reflection. The ethical dilemmas presented are not merely intellectual exercises; they prompt profound emotional responses, deepening the engagement between reader and text. This connection reinforces the enduring power of literature as a means of exploring and understanding the complexities of being human.
As a reflection of Dostoevsky’s tumultuous life, The Brothers Karamazov offers insights into the author’s own struggles with faith and morality. Growing up amidst social upheaval and personal tragedies, Dostoevsky’s examinations of suffering stem from his introspective experiences. Thus, the novel serves not only as a fictional account but also as an exploration of the human spirit's capacity for resilience in the face of despair. Dostoevsky's authenticity resonates, ultimately presenting readers with a relatable depiction of the search for truth and grace amid life's challenges.
The Brothers Karamazov invites readers beyond mere enjoyment into a profound journey of moral contemplation. It serves as a philosophical treatise that engages a diverse audience by addressing existential concerns that transcend time. Through the lens of the Karamazov brothers, readers are reminded of the intricacies of life, the conflicts inherent in human relationships, and the perennial search for meaning. This shared exploration encourages readers to revisit their own beliefs and values and embrace the intricacies of the human condition—ensuring that the work remains compelling and relevant across generations.
In its entirety, The Brothers Karamazov is a comprehensive meditation on the nature of human existence, intricately woven into the fabric of its narrative. Dostoevsky’s exploration of faith, morality, free will, and the search for love continues to spark conversations about the fundamental questions that define us. Each character’s journey speaks to collective human struggles, making the novel a mirror to society’s moral complexities and ethical quests. This enduring examination of the human soul enriches the reader’s understanding of themselves, allowing the work to resonate on both individual and universal levels.
In conclusion, the significance of The Brothers Karamazov resides not only in its literary artistry but in its capacity to provoke thought and generate discussion. Its rich tapestry of philosophical themes, complex characterizations, and exploration of enduring human dilemmas ensures that it remains an unparalleled work within the canon of literature. As readers engage with Dostoevsky’s intricate narrative, they are invited to contemplate their own beliefs, thus forging a lasting connection that transcends time. The novel's continued relevance highlights its power to inspire and challenge, making it a cornerstone of the literary landscape.
Synopsis
The Brothers Karamazov, a philosophical novel by Fyodor Dostoevsky, revolves around the tumultuous relationships of the Karamazov family, particularly the three brothers—Dmitri, Ivan, and Alexei—and their father, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov. The narrative delves into profound themes of faith, morality, free will, and the struggles inherent in the human condition. Set in 19th-century Russia, the story intricately explores the distinct personalities of each brother, highlighting their philosophical and existential dilemmas. The conflicting motivations and desires of these characters serve as a backdrop for the larger questions posed by the novel about existence and spirituality.
Dmitri, the eldest brother, is passionate and impulsive, torn between his love for Grushenka, a seductive woman, and his strained relationship with his father, who competes for her affection and symbolizes moral decay. Ivan, the middle brother, is an intellectual skeptic, wrestling with the concept of God and ethical responsibility, particularly regarding the suffering of innocents. Alexei, the youngest, known as Alyosha, embodies faith and compassion, seeking to connect the brothers despite their conflicting natures. The diverse perspectives represented by the brothers enhance the exploration of Dostoevsky’s expansive philosophical inquiries on life.
The novel unfolds as family tensions escalate following a feud over their inheritance and conflicting ideals surrounding faith and morality. A pivotal incident occurs when Fyodor Pavlovich is brutally murdered, drawing suspicion onto Dmitri, who had a motive tied to his struggles with their father. The murder case serves as a critical turning point in the story, effectively merging personal conflict with a broader societal critique. As Dmitri faces trial, the varied responses from family members and the community underscore the complex moral landscape Dostoevsky navigates in the narrative.
Amid the trial, Ivan grapples with his intellectual beliefs, particularly the implications of his rejection of God, which he articulates through the famous parable of the Grand Inquisitor. This narrative within the novel challenges the foundations of faith and authority, presenting a poignant critique that resonates throughout the text. Through Ivan’s existential crisis, Dostoevsky raises significant questions regarding the coexistence of suffering and divine justice, establishing a dramatic tension that pervades the story and influences characters' decisions leading to the climax.
Alyosha, in contrast to Ivan’s skepticism, embodies hope and love, influenced profoundly by the teachings of the monastic elder, Zosima. The interactions between Alyosha and Zosima reveal Dostoevsky's arguments about the importance of spirituality and the interconnectedness of humanity. Zosima's teachings emphasize compassion and forgiveness in a world rife with suffering, and these principles guide Alyosha as he attempts to reconcile the fractured relationships within his family, particularly with Dmitri and Ivan.
As the trial progresses, the psychological complexities of character motivations become increasingly prominent. Characters are forced to confront their moral choices, and their contrasting responses to guilt and redemption shape their arcs. Dmitri’s trial reveals the themes of betrayal, familial loyalty, and the search for justice, leading the characters to re-evaluate their beliefs and principles in the face of societal judgment. The courtroom setting serves as an allegory for the moral and ethical dilemmas presented throughout the narrative.
Alyosha takes on a mediating role, striving to foster reconciliation between his brothers. His efforts reflect Dostoevsky's hopeful vision of humanity's capacity for compassion and understanding. Throughout the narrative, the conflict among the brothers symbolizes broader philosophical debates concerning faith, doubt, and the moral implications of a life lived without belief in a higher power. Alyosha’s journey serves as a counterbalance to the despair encapsulated in Ivan and Dmitri’s lives, emphasizing the enduring quest for meaning amidst chaos.
The culmination of the story unfolds with dramatic confrontations and revelations that challenge the brothers' convictions and allegiances. Each character's journey reaches a critical juncture, forcing them to confront the consequences of their choices. The narrative builds towards a resolution that encapsulates the themes of suffering, forgiveness, and the possibility of redemption. By juxtaposing the stark realities of life with spiritual aspirations, Dostoevsky weaves a tapestry of human experience that remains relevant across the ages.
In closing, The Brothers Karamazov is more than a tale of familial strife; it is an exploration of profound philosophical questions regarding existence, faith, and moral responsibility. Through the distinct journeys of the Karamazov brothers, Dostoevsky invites readers to grapple with the complexities of human nature, the struggle between belief and doubt, and the enduring quest for truth. The novel challenges readers to reflect on their values and the interconnectedness of humanity, ultimately presenting a rich and layered narrative that resonates well beyond its historical context.
Historical Context
The novel is set in Russia during the latter half of the nineteenth century, a time of significant social and political transformation. As Western philosophy and scientific ideas gained currency, traditional feudal structures gave way to a rising urban class and new economic relations. Debates over reform, religious doubt, and philosophical inquiry animated intellectual circles, and these tensions are reflected in the lives of the three brothers, whose divergent convictions echo the broader struggles of their era.
The Decembrist uprising of 1825, though decades earlier, cast a long shadow over subsequent generations of reformers and thinkers. Its failure and the harsh reprisals that followed shaped the discourse on constitutionalism and individual rights, and the novel’s moral conflicts bear traces of those early hopes and disappointments.
The emancipation of the serfs in 1861 was a landmark reform that released millions from bondage but offered scant resources for their economic integration. The uneven distribution of land and the persistence of landlord authority fueled resentment and instability. Within this context, the family at the center of the story embodies the clash between old privileges and the uncertain freedoms of a changed society.
Questions of moral authority and spiritual crisis emerge in the figure of the middle brother, whose skeptical inquiries into God and morality mirror the growing influence of nihilist and radical critiques. His debates with others dramatize the unsettled condition of belief in an age when established certainties were eroding.
At the same time, early socialist and utopian ideas were circulating among students and activists, challenging the existing order and advocating aid for the poor. Discussions of wealth, justice and the rights of laborers surface in conversations among the characters, reflecting the era’s concern with economic inequality and social reform.
By the 1870s, political violence by groups such as the People’s Will had inaugurated a climate of fear and surveillance. The novel’s atmosphere of suspicion and its exploration of guilt and responsibility are shaped by this backdrop of revolutionary agitation and government repression.
The Russian Orthodox Church remained a potent cultural force even as secularizing currents spread. Within the narrative, characters range from devout believers to fervent doubters, illustrating how faith could serve both as a source of comfort and as a battleground for competing worldviews.
Rapid industrial growth and urbanization brought new hardships: overcrowded towns, precarious employment and deepening class divides. The youngest brother’s idealistic vision of love and community stands in stark relief against scenes of alienation experienced by others, underscoring the novel’s concern with the human costs of progress.
Women’s roles in this period were circumscribed by legal and social constraints. The experiences of the principal female figures—caught between duty, desire and financial insecurity—reflect emerging questions about female autonomy and the limits imposed by a patriarchal society.
Throughout, the narrative engages with the reality of censorship and the suppression of dissent. Its probing theological and ethical inquiries serve, in part, as a veiled critique of an environment in which free expression was often curtailed.
Underlying the plot is a sustained exploration of free will, moral choice and the nature of responsibility. The brothers’ inner struggles bring to life contemporary debates about individual agency in a world where old certainties were crumbling.
The tension between scientific rationalism and religious belief also figures prominently. Arguments over reason and faith dramatize the challenges faced by those seeking to reconcile emerging empirical knowledge with longstanding spiritual traditions.
In its depiction of radical populist ideals and the gap between lofty principles and daily realities, the story highlights the dilemmas of a generation striving for social justice while confronting practical limits.
By portraying poverty, privilege and the moral consequences of each, the work offers a vivid portrait of social injustice. Individual interior lives become a microcosm for a society wrestling with entrenched inequality and the question of collective responsibility.
At the heart of the narrative lie questions of familial duty and paternal authority. The breakdown of traditional family bonds parallels the wider erosion of inherited hierarchies, as characters seek identity and meaning in a rapidly changing world.
Ultimately, the novel presents a rich social and political critique of its time, weaving together issues of faith, doubt, guilt and redemption. Its examination of class tensions, spiritual upheaval and the burden of choice continues to resonate as a testament to an age defined by both hope and turmoil.
Author Biography
Introduction
Fyodor Dostoevsky was a towering figure of nineteenth-century Russian literature, renowned for novels that probe conscience, faith, freedom, and the psychology of crime and redemption. Rising from early acclaim to periods of exile and hardship, he transformed lived experience into works of exceptional moral and philosophical depth. His major books include Poor Folk, Notes from Underground, Crime and Punishment, The Idiot, Demons (also known as The Devils), The Adolescent, and The Brothers Karamazov. Through intricate narratives and unforgettable characters, he interrogated the dilemmas of modernity, from nihilism to spiritual doubt. His influence spans world literature, philosophy, and psychology, securing his status as a foundational voice in the modern novel.
Education and Literary Influences
Dostoevsky received a technical education at the main military engineering school in Saint Petersburg, where he trained for a career as an engineer. Though prepared for practical service, he gravitated toward literature, translation, and the intellectual debates circulating in the Russian capital. Early exposure to European languages and Russian letters sharpened his sensitivity to style and character. After a brief period in the civil service, he committed himself to writing. The discipline of engineering and the rational rigor of his studies remained in tension with his emerging fascination with spiritual struggle and psychological complexity, a tension that would energize his mature fiction and its distinctive investigative intensity.
His literary formation drew on key Russian and European models. He admired Alexander Pushkin and delivered a celebrated public address on Pushkin late in life. He read and engaged with Nikolai Gogol, whose social satire and grotesque imagination opened paths for early experiments like The Double. He also absorbed French and German currents—balancing his respect for figures such as Balzac (whom he translated early on) with skepticism toward reductive rationalism. Participation in the Petrashevsky circle exposed him to utopian socialism and radical thought, against which he would later react. Throughout, the Bible and Russian Orthodox tradition anchored his evolving sense of moral conflict, compassion, and redemption.
Literary Career
Dostoevsky’s debut, Poor Folk, appeared in the mid-1840s and earned immediate praise from leading critics, who hailed a new voice of social compassion. He followed with experimental works, including The Double, testing the boundaries of psychological representation. This promising ascent was abruptly halted when he was arrested for association with the Petrashevsky circle, a discussion group scrutinized for its political heterodoxy. A staged execution and commuted sentence sent him to a Siberian penal fortress, then into military service on the frontier. The rupture changed his artistic trajectory: the encounter with suffering, deprivation, and raw human fellowship would become central to his later fiction.
The Siberian years supplied hard-won insights into faith, guilt, and endurance. After release from hard labor and subsequent service, he eventually returned to literary life. Notes from a Dead House, drawn from prison experiences, appeared in the early 1860s and was widely read for its humane portrayal of convicts and guards. Its documentary texture and spiritual probing announced a new phase: Dostoevsky would conjoin realism with metaphysical inquiry. The book earned him renewed attention and positioned him to address Russia’s post-emancipation society, where debates about reform, punishment, and personal responsibility swirled, and where his witness carried unusual authority.
Back in Saint Petersburg, Dostoevsky edited literary journals that published fiction, criticism, and public commentary. These ventures, though sometimes curtailed by censorship and financial strain, amplified his voice and network of readers. During this period he produced Notes from Underground, a brief but seminal work that challenged rational egoism and the cult of utility. Its bitter, paradox-loving narrator dissected the promises of enlightened progress, inaugurating Dostoevsky’s signature method: staging collisions of ideas inside tormented consciousness. The novella’s daring form and anti-heroic stance foreshadowed the grand novels to come, in which ethical debate and psychological confession develop through dramatic, often fevered dialogue.
The later 1860s brought a burst of masterpieces under intense pressure. Crime and Punishment fused a murder narrative with a profound examination of guilt, pride, and moral awakening, cementing his reputation. Severe deadlines and debts forced rapid composition of The Gambler, produced with the aid of a stenographer amid travels in Western Europe. The Idiot followed, attempting to imagine a perfectly good person within a corrupt world, and revealing Dostoevsky’s fascination with innocence, illness, and grace. Throughout, he used serialization to reach broad audiences, honing cliffhangers, polyphonic voices, and moral argumentation that kept readers engrossed while deepening philosophical stakes.
In the 1870s Dostoevsky turned to the convulsions of ideology and collective violence in Demons, a novel that scrutinizes radical conspiracies and moral emptiness. He extended his exploration of youth, family, and society in The Adolescent, and then embarked on his final epic, The Brothers Karamazov, a capacious inquiry into faith, patricide, freedom, and love. Alongside fiction, his Diary of a Writer engaged public events, law, and culture, blending reportage with moral reflection. Reception was polarized but intense: admirers saw prophetic depth, detractors decried polemic or excess. By the end of the decade, he stood as a national figure whose international reputation continued to grow.
Beliefs and Advocacy
Dostoevsky’s core convictions coalesced around freedom, responsibility, compassion, and the possibility of redemption through suffering. Marked by exile and illness, his faith in Russian Orthodoxy deepened, while he wrestled with doubt and theodicy. His fiction dramatizes spiritual trials rather than resolving them: Raskolnikov’s confession, Prince Myshkin’s luminous meekness, and Alyosha Karamazov’s charity embody counterpoints to pride, cruelty, and despair. He insisted on the irreducible dignity of the person against systems that treat humans as means. His art privileges inner transformation over social engineering, arguing that only freely embraced goodness—tested in pain and relation to others—can heal the fractures of modern life.
As a public intellectual, Dostoevsky was a critic of nihilism and utilitarian reductionism, themes he probed with ferocity in Demons and Notes from Underground. He engaged the debate between Westernizers and Slavophiles, ultimately affirming a vision of Russian culture grounded in communal bonds and spiritual tradition. His journalism and fiction drew attention to the humanity of prisoners and the moral hazards of capital punishment, informed by his own near-execution. Although sometimes labeled reactionary by opponents, he consistently advocated mercy for the marginalized and skepticism toward abstract utopias. His advocacy was literary and moral: to persuade readers that conscience, faith, and love are irreducible forces.
Final Years & Legacy
In his final years, Dostoevsky composed The Brothers Karamazov, intended as the first part of a larger project. He delivered a widely acclaimed address on Pushkin that presented literature as a vehicle of national and spiritual reconciliation. His health remained fragile, yet his stature in Russia was immense. He died in early 1881 in Saint Petersburg, and the public response was profound, with large crowds marking his passing. Contemporaries recognized both the artistic audacity and moral gravity of his work, sensing that a decisive voice in national self-understanding had fallen silent. Posthumous editions and translations quickly extended his reach beyond Russia.
Dostoevsky’s legacy is enduring and global. His polyphonic novels—later illuminated by Mikhail Bakhtin—give autonomous life to clashing worldviews, anticipating modernist and existentialist experimentation. Philosophers and writers, including Nietzsche, Kafka, Camus, and Sartre, engaged his probing of freedom, guilt, and belief. Psychologists and psychoanalysts drew on his insights into obsession, doubling, trauma, and confession. His narratives continue to inspire adaptations across theater, film, and visual arts, and they remain foundational in university curricula. In today’s debates about ethics, identity, violence, and faith, his characters and arguments retain urgent relevance, securing his position among the chief architects of the modern psychological and philosophical novel.
THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV
Part I
Book I
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[1], 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 simple-hearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too.
Chapter 2
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[2], 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.
Fyodor Pavlovitch was all his life fond of acting, of suddenly playing an unexpected part, sometimes without any motive for doing so, and even to his own direct disadvantage, as, for instance, in the present case. This habit, however, is characteristic of a very great number of people, some of them very clever ones, not like Fyodor Pavlovitch. Pyotr Alexandrovitch carried the business through vigorously, and was appointed, with Fyodor Pavlovitch, joint guardian of the child, who had a small property, a house and land, left him by his mother. Mitya did, in fact, pass into this cousin’s keeping, but as the latter had no family of his own, and after securing the revenues of his estates was in haste to return at once to Paris, he left the boy in charge of one of his cousins, a lady living in Moscow. It came to pass that, settling permanently in Paris he, too, forgot the child, especially when the Revolution of February broke out, making an impression on his mind that he remembered all the rest of his life. The Moscow lady died, and Mitya passed into the care of one of her married daughters. I believe he changed his home a fourth time later on. I won’t enlarge upon that now, as I shall have much to tell later of Fyodor Pavlovitch’s firstborn, and must confine myself now to the most essential facts about him, without which I could not begin my story.
In the first place, this Mitya, or rather Dmitri Fyodorovitch, was the only one of Fyodor Pavlovitch’s three sons who grew up in the belief that he had property, and that he would be independent on coming of age. He spent an irregular boyhood and youth. He did not finish his studies at the gymnasium, he got into a military school, then went to the Caucasus, was promoted, fought a duel, and was degraded to the ranks, earned promotion again, led a wild life, and spent a good deal of money. He did not begin to receive any income from Fyodor Pavlovitch until he came of age, and until then got into debt. He saw and knew his father, Fyodor Pavlovitch, for the first time on coming of age, when he visited our neighbourhood on purpose to settle with him about his property. He seems not to have liked his father. He did not stay long with him, and made haste to get away, having only succeeded in obtaining a sum of money, and entering into an agreement for future payments from the estate, of the revenues and value of which he was unable (a fact worthy of note), upon this occasion, to get a statement from his father. Fyodor Pavlovitch remarked for the first time then (this, too, should be noted) that Mitya had a vague and exaggerated idea of his property. Fyodor Pavlovitch was very well satisfied with this, as it fell in with his own designs. He gathered only that the young man was frivolous, unruly, of violent passions, impatient, and dissipated, and that if he could only obtain ready money he would be satisfied, although only, of course, a short time. So Fyodor Pavlovitch began to take advantage of this fact, sending him from time to time small doles, instalments. In the end, when four years later, Mitya, losing patience, came a second time to our little town to settle up once for all with his father, it turned out to his amazement that he had nothing, that it was difficult to get an account even, that he had received the whole value of his property in sums of money from Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was perhaps even in debt to him, that by various agreements into which he had, of his own desire, entered at various previous dates, he had no right to expect anything more, and so on, and so on. The young man was overwhelmed, suspected deceit and cheating, and was almost beside himself. And, indeed, this circumstance led to the catastrophe, the account of which forms the subject of my first introductory story, or rather the external side of it. But before I pass to that story I must say a little of Fyodor Pavlovitch’s other two sons, and of their origin.
Chapter 3
The Second Marriage and the Second Family
VERY shortly after getting his four-year-old Mitya off his hands Fyodor Pavlovitch married a second time. His second marriage lasted eight years. He took this second wife, Sofya Ivanovna, also a very young girl, from another province, where he had gone upon some small piece of business in company with a Jew. Though Fyodor Pavlovitch was a drunkard and a vicious debauchee he never neglected investing his capital, and managed his business affairs very successfully, though, no doubt, not over-scrupulously. Sofya Ivanovna was the daughter of an obscure deacon, and was left from childhood an orphan without relations. She grew up in the house of a general’s widow, a wealthy old lady of good position, who was at once her benefactress and tormentor. I do not know the details, but I have only heard that the orphan girl, a meek and gentle creature, was once cut down from a halter in which she was hanging from a nail in the loft, so terrible were her sufferings from the caprice and everlasting nagging of this old woman, who was apparently not bad-hearted but had become an insufferable tyrant through idleness.
Fyodor Pavlovitch made her an offer; inquiries were made about him and he was refused. But again, as in his first marriage, he proposed an elopement to the orphan girl. There is very little doubt that she would not on any account have married him if she had known a little more about him in time. But she lived in another province; besides, what could a little girl of sixteen know about it, except that she would be better at the bottom of the river than remaining with her benefactress. So the poor child exchanged a benefactress for a benefactor. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not get a penny this time, for the general’s widow was furious. She gave them nothing and cursed them both. But he had not reckoned on a dowry; what allured him was the remarkable beauty of the innocent girl, above all her innocent appearance, which had a peculiar attraction for a vicious profligate, who had hitherto admired only the coarser types of feminine beauty.
“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 elementary decencies of marriage. He gathered loose women into his house, and carried on orgies of debauchery in his wife’s presence. To show what a pass things had come to, I may mention that Grigory[3], the gloomy, stupid, obstinate, argumentative servant, who had always hated his first mistress, Adelaida Ivanovna, took the side of his new mistress. He championed her cause, abusing Fyodor Pavlovitch in a manner little befitting a servant, and on one occasion broke up the revels and drove all the disorderly women out of the house. In the end this unhappy young woman, kept in terror from her childhood, fell into that kind of nervous disease which is most frequently found in peasant women who are said to be “possessed by devils.” At times after terrible fits of hysterics she even lost her reason. Yet she bore Fyodor Pavlovitch two sons, Ivan and Alexey, the eldest in the first year of marriage and the second three years later. When she died, little Alexey was in his fourth year, and, strange as it seems, I know that he remembered his mother all his life, like a dream, of course. At her death almost exactly the same thing happened to the two little boys as to their elder brother, Mitya. They were completely forgotten and abandoned by their father. They were looked after by the same Grigory and lived in his cottage, where they were found by the tyrannical old lady who had brought up their mother. She was still alive, and had not, all those eight years, forgotten the insult done her. All that time she was obtaining exact information as to her Sofya’s manner of life, and hearing of her illness and hideous surroundings she declared aloud two or three times to her retainers:
“It serves her right. God has punished her for her ingratitude.”
Exactly three months after Sofya Ivanovna’s death the general’s widow suddenly appeared in our town, and went straight to Fyodor Pavlovitch’s house. She spent only half an hour in the town but she did a great deal. It was evening. Fyodor Pavlovitch, whom she had not seen for those eight years, came in to her drunk. The story is that instantly upon seeing him, without any sort of explanation, she gave him two good, resounding slaps on the face, seized him by a tuft of hair, and shook him three times up and down. Then, without a word, she went straight to the cottage to the two boys. Seeing, at the first glance, that they were unwashed and in dirty linen, she promptly gave Grigory, too, a box on the ear, and announcing that she would carry off both the children she wrapped them just as they were in a rug, put them in the carriage, and drove off to her own town. Grigory accepted the blow like a devoted slave, without a word, and when he escorted the old lady to her carriage he made her a low bow and pronounced impressively that, “God would repay her for orphans.” “You are a blockhead all the same,” the old lady shouted to him as she drove away.
Fyodor Pavlovitch, thinking it over, decided that it was a good thing, and did not refuse the general’s widow his formal consent to any proposition in regard to his children’s education. As for the slaps she had given him, he drove all over the town telling the story.
It happened that the old lady died soon after this, but she left the boys in her will a thousand roubles each “for their instruction, and so that all be spent on them exclusively, with the condition that it be so portioned out as to last till they are twenty-one, for it is more than adequate provision for such children. If other people think fit to throw away their money, let them.” I have not read the will myself, but I heard there was something queer of the sort, very whimsically expressed. The principal heir, Yefim Petrovitch Polenov, the Marshal of Nobility of the province, turned out, however, to be an honest man. Writing to Fyodor Pavlovitch, and discerning at once that he could extract nothing from him for his children’s education (though the latter never directly refused but only procrastinated as he always did in such cases, and was, indeed, at times effusively sentimental), Yefim Petrovitch took a personal interest in the orphans. He became especially fond of the younger, Alexey, who lived for a long while as one of his family. I beg the reader to note this from the beginning. And to Yefim Petrovitch, a man of a generosity and humanity rarely to be met with, the young people were more indebted for their education and bringing up than to anyone. He kept the two thousand roubles left to them by the general’s widow intact, so that by the time they came of age their portions had been doubled by the accumulation of interest. He educated them both at his own expense, and certainly spent far more than a thousand roubles upon each of them. I won’t enter into a detailed account of their boyhood and youth, but will only mention a few of the most important events. Of the elder, Ivan, I will only say that he grew into a somewhat morose and reserved, though far from timid boy. At ten years old he had realised that they were living not in their own home but on other people’s charity, and that their father was a man of whom it was disgraceful to speak. This boy began very early, almost in his infancy (so they say at least), to show a brilliant and unusual aptitude for learning. I don’t know precisely why, but he left the family of Yefim Petrovitch when he was hardly thirteen, entering a Moscow gymnasium and boarding with an experienced and celebrated teacher, an old friend of Yefim Petrovitch. Ivan used to declare afterwards that this was all due to the “ardour for good works” of Yefim Petrovitch, who was captivated by the idea that the boy’s genius should be trained by a teacher of genius. But neither Yefim Petrovitch nor this teacher was living when the young man finished at the gymnasium and entered the university. As Yefim Petrovitch had made no provision for the payment of the tyrannical old lady’s legacy, which had grown from one thousand to two, it was delayed, owing to formalities inevitable in Russia, and the young man was in great straits for the first two years at the university, as he was forced to keep himself all the time he was studying. It must be noted that he did not even attempt to communicate with his father, perhaps from pride, from contempt for him, or perhaps from his cool common sense, which told him that from such a father he would get no real assistance. However that may have been, the young man was by no means despondent and succeeded in getting work, at first giving sixpenny lessons and afterwards getting paragraphs on street incidents into the newspapers under the signature of “Eye-Witness.” These paragraphs, it was said, were so interesting and piquant that they were soon taken. This alone showed the young man’s practical and intellectual superiority over the masses of needy and unfortunate students of both sexes who hang about the offices of the newspapers and journals, unable to think of anything better than everlasting entreaties for copying and translations from the French. Having once got into touch with the editors Ivan Fyodorovitch always kept up his connection with them, and in his latter years at the university he published brilliant reviews of books upon various special subjects, so that he became well known in literary circles. But only in his last year he suddenly succeeded in attracting the attention of a far wider circle of readers, so that a great many people noticed and remembered him. It was rather a curious incident. When he had just left the university and was preparing to go abroad upon his two thousand roubles, Ivan Fyodorovitch published in one of the more important journals a strange article, which attracted general notice, on a subject of which he might have been supposed to know nothing, as he was a student of natural science. The article dealt with a subject which was being debated everywhere at the time — the position of the ecclesiastical courts. After discussing several opinions on the subject he went on to explain his own view. What was most striking about the article was its tone, and its unexpected conclusion. Many of the Church party regarded him unquestioningly as on their side. And yet not only the secularists but even atheists joined them in their applause. Finally some sagacious persons opined that the article was nothing but an impudent satirical burlesque. I mention this incident particularly because this article penetrated into the famous monastery in our neighbourhood, where the inmates, being particularly interested in question of the ecclesiastical courts, were completely bewildered by it. Learning the author’s name, they were interested in his being a native of the town and the son of “that Fyodor Pavlovitch.” And just then it was that the author himself made his appearance among us.
Why Ivan Fyodorovitch had come amongst us I remember asking myself at the time with a certain uneasiness. This fateful visit, which was the first step leading to so many consequences, I never fully explained to myself. It seemed strange on the face of it that a young man so learned, so proud, and apparently so cautious, should suddenly visit such an infamous house and a father who had ignored him all his life, hardly knew him, never thought of him, and would not under any circumstances have given him money, though he was always afraid that his sons Ivan and Alexey would also come to ask him for it. And here the young man was staying in the house of such a father, had been living with him for two months, and they were on the best possible terms. This last fact was a special cause of wonder to many others as well as to me. Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miusov, of whom we have spoken already, the cousin of Fyodor Pavlovitch’s first wife, happened to be in the neighbourhood again on a visit to his estate. He had come from Paris, which was his permanent home. I remember that he was more surprised than anyone when he made the acquaintance of the young man, who interested him extremely, and with whom he sometimes argued and not without inner pang compared himself in acquirements.
“He is proud,” he used to say, “he will never be in want of pence; he has got money enough to go abroad now. What does he want here? Everyone can see that he hasn’t come for money, for his father would never give him any. He has no taste for drink and dissipation, and yet his father can’t do without him. They get on so well together!”
That was the truth; the young man had an unmistakable influence over his father, who positively appeared to be behaving more decently and even seemed at times ready to obey his son, though often extremely and even spitefully perverse.
It was only later that we learned that Ivan had come partly at the request of, and in the interests of, his elder brother, Dmitri, whom he saw for the first time on this very visit, though he had before leaving Moscow been in correspondence with him about an important matter of more concern to Dmitri than himself. What that business was the reader will learn fully in due time. Yet even when I did know of this special circumstance I still felt Ivan Fyodorovitch to be an enigmatic figure, and thought his visit rather mysterious.
I may add that Ivan appeared at the time in the light of a mediator between his father and his elder brother Dmitri, who was in open quarrel with his father and even planning to bring an action against him.
