Karamazov

Dosdoevsky,"The Brothers Karamazov"
Translated by Constance Garnett
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1.�@�Ӯa�x��v

Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov�Էĩ�s��A�̨��Ӥ�Adelaida��](1)�A��lMitya��Q�߱�A��Ӥ~��D��
�˴��F�F�L��o��]��(2)�C��Sofya�ҥͤ�Ivan�A��ѥ��l(3)�A��lAlyosha��G��䦳��g��
�˼v�T�A��O��ʮ�A�i�F�׹D�|(4)�CZossima��Ѭ��u��Ѩ�v��t�{�A�w��歫�CKaramazov�@�a��F�]
��D�A�e�h��L(5)�C

2.��A��E�|

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��UAlyosha�J�@�A�u�b�~�w��M�V��֡v�ARakitin�h��R�F�u�Ⱝ�B�^�ҡB�v�Шg�v��Karamazov�ʮ�(7)
�C�b�߮b��AFyodor�h�۳��_�G�|�F��Q��(8)�C

3.�n�⤧�{

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6.�Xù��Q

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7.Alexey

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8.Mitya

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9.�w�f

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10.�֦~��

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Alyosha��e�ܦ��@�ئۨ��P��(6)�CIlyusha��f��O��F(7)�C

11.��Ivan Fyodorovich

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12.��~��f�P

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13.��n

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��bKolya�P�֦~�̡uKaramazov�U��v��w�I�n��C(3)

��۱�

��Though these young men unhappily fail to understand that the
sacrifice of life is, in many cases, the easiest of all sacrifices,
and that to sacrifice, for instance, five or six years of their
seething youth to hard and tedious study, if only to multiply
tenfold their powers of serving the truth and the cause they have
set before them as their goal such a sacrifice is utterly beyond the
strength of many of them. The path Alyosha chose was a path going in
the opposite direction, but he chose it with the same thirst for swift
achievement. (1-5,p.42)

��Look how our young people commit suicide,
without asking themselves Hamlet's question what there is beyond,
without a sign of such a question, as though all that relates to the
soul and to what awaits us beyond the grave had long been erased in
their minds and buried under the sands. Look at our vice, at our
profligates. Fyodor Pavlovitch, the luckless victim in the present
case, was almost an innocent babe compared with many of them. And
yet we all knew him, 'he lived among us!'...(12-6,p.789)�]�S��W�ҫH��A�۱��ݡ^

��}�ߴN�O�b��A�۱��H�]�\�S��b��A�u��C�b��M��O��Χ��P��Ʊ��C��O�c�r��B��
��A�۱��H�b��۱��Ӯɶ��A�|�[��L�@��l�r�}��H�C(12-12,p.834)

��v��

��Faith does not, in the realist, spring from the miracle but
the miracle from faith. (1-5,p.42)

��Oh! he understood
that for the humble soul of the Russian peasant, worn out by grief and
toil, and still more by the everlasting injustice and everlasting sin,
his own and the world's, it was the greatest need and comfort to
find someone or something holy to fall down before and worship.
(1-5,p.46)

��"Remember, young man, unceasingly," Father Paissy began, without
preface, "that the science of this world, which has become a great
power, has, especially in the last century, analysed everything divine
handed down to us in the holy books. After this cruel analysis the
learned of this world have nothing left of all that was sacred of old.
But they have only analysed the parts and overlooked the whole, and
indeed their blindness is marvellous. Yet the whole still stands
steadfast before their eyes, and the gates of hell shall not prevail
against it. Has it not lasted nineteen centuries, is it not still a
living, a moving power in the individual soul and in the masses of
people? It is still as strong and living even in the souls of
atheists, who have destroyed everything! For even those who have
renounced Christianity and attack it, in their inmost being still
follow the Christian ideal, for hitherto neither their subtlety nor
the ardour of their hearts has been able to create a higher ideal of
man and of virtue than the ideal given by Christ of old. When it has
been attempted, the result has been only grotesque. Remember this
especially, young man, since you are being sent into the world by your
departing elder. Maybe, remembering this great day, you will not
forget my words, uttered from the heart for your guidance, seeing
you are young, and the temptations of the world are great and beyond
your strength to endure. Well, now go, my orphan."(4-1,p.203)
�]��ǩ��F��^

��v�СG��P

�� "Tut- tut- tut- sanctimoniousness and stock phrases! Old phrases
and old gestures. The old lies and formal prostrations. We know all
about them. A kiss on the lips and a dagger in the heart, as in
Schiller's Robbers. I don't like falsehood, Fathers, I want the truth.
But the truth is not to be found in eating gudgeon�]�p�ճ��^ and that I proclaim
aloud! Father monks, why do you fast? Why do you expect reward in
heaven for that? Why, for reward like that I will come and fast too!
No, saintly monk, you try being virtuous in the world, do good to
society, without shutting yourself up in a monastery at other people's
expense, and without expecting a reward up aloft for it- you'll find
that a bit harder. I can talk sense, too, Father Superior. What have
they got here?" He went up to the table. "Old port wine, mead brewed
by the Eliseyev Brothers. Fie, fie, fathers! That is something
beyond gudgeon. Look at the bottles the fathers have brought out, he
he he! And who has provided it all? The Russian peasant, the labourer,
brings here the farthing earned by his horny hand, wringing it from
his family and the tax-gatherer! You bleed the people, you know,
holy Fathers."(2-8,p.110)�]��﹬�Q��T�j��P�G1.�u�D�W�ѽ�� 2.��|�S�^�m 3.��d�H��^

��Ϲ��Ѩ�H�̩Ҥ��N��]�N�O��Q��u�b��v�C(3-11,p.191)

��H��G�h��

��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. (2-6,p.87)�]��Ъ��R�إߦb�W��/�åͫH��F�ëD�ۦs��^

��You know, dear boy, there was an old sinner in the eighteenth
century who declared that,�� if there were no God, he would have to be
invented. S'il n'existait pas Dieu, il faudrait l'inventer. And man
has actually invented God. And what's strange, what would be
marvellous, is not that God should really exist; ��the marvel is that
such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head
of such a savage, vicious beast as man. So holy it is, so touching, so
wise and so great a credit it does to man. �]�|��ҤW�ҬO�H��ʡ^

As for me, I've long
resolved not to think whether man created God or God man. And I
won't go through all the axioms laid down by Russian boys on that
subject, all derived from European hypotheses; for what's a hypothesis
there is an axiom with the Russian boy, and not only with the boys but
with their teachers too, for our Russian professors are often just the
same boys themselves. And so I omit all the hypotheses. For what are
we aiming at now? I am trying to explain as quickly as possible my
essential nature, that is what manner of man I am, what I believe
in, and for what I hope, that's it, isn't it? And therefore I tell you
that I accept God simply. But you must note this: if God exists and if
He really did create the world, then, as we all know, He created it
according to the geometry of Euclid and the human mind with the
conception of only three dimensions in space. Yet there have been
and still are geometricians and philosophers, and even some of the
most distinguished, who doubt whether the whole universe, or to
speak more widely, the whole of being, was only created in Euclid's
geometry; they even dare to dream that two parallel lines, which
according to Euclid can never meet on earth, may meet somewhere in
infinity. I have come to the conclusion that, since I can't understand
even that, I can't expect to understand about God. I acknowledge
humbly that I have no faculty for settling such questions, I have a
Euclidian earthly mind, and how could I solve problems that are not of
this world? And I advise you never to think about it either, my dear
Alyosha, especially about God, whether He exists or not.�� All such
questions are utterly inappropriate for a mind created with an idea of
only three dimensions. And so I accept God and am glad to, and
what's more, I accept His wisdom, His purpose which are utterly beyond
our ken;�� I believe in the underlying order and the meaning of life;
I believe in the eternal harmony in which they say we shall one day be
blended. I believe in the Word to Which the universe is striving,
and Which Itself was 'with God,' and Which Itself is God and so on,
and so on, to infinity. (5-3,p.276)�]�W�Ҧs�b�D�W�V�H��z�ʡA�L�q�ҩ��F��ڭ̥i�H�H��u��^

��H��G�Ѧa��

��I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion
and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there
when everyone suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the
religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer.
But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them?
That's a question I can't answer. For the hundredth time I repeat,
there are numbers of questions, but I've only taken the children,
because in their case what I mean is so unanswerably clear. Listen! If
all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children
to do with it, tell me, please? It's beyond all comprehension why they
should suffer, and why they should pay for the harmony. Why should
they, too, furnish material to enrich the soil for the harmony of
the future?....

Some jester will say,
perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you
see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight
years old. Oh, Alyosha, I am not blaspheming!....

But what do I care for avenging them? What
do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since
those children have already been tortured? And what becomes of
harmony, if there is hell? I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I
don't want more suffering. ��And if the sufferings of children go to
swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then
I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. I don't want the
mother to embrace the oppressor who threw her son to the dogs! She
dare not forgive him!

I don't want harmony. From
love for humanity I don't want it. I would rather be left with the
unavenged suffering. I would rather remain with my unavenged suffering
and unsatisfied indignation, even if I were wrong. Besides, ��too high a
price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to
enter on it. And so I hasten to give back my entrance ticket, and if I
am an honest man I am bound to give it back as soon as possible. And
that I am doing. It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I
most respectfully return him the ticket."
"That's rebellion," murmered Alyosha, looking down.
(5-4,p.287-8)
�]��ڵ��H��ݼɪ��W�ҡG�H��L�d�p�Ĭ��ҡC��F��H��R�ӭI�q�W�ҡ^

��It is prophesied that Thou wilt come again in victory, Thou
wilt come with Thy chosen, the proud and strong, but we will say
that they have only saved themselves, but we have saved all. We are
told that the harlot who sits upon the beast, and holds in her hands
the mystery, shall be put to shame, that the weak will rise up
again, and will rend her royal purple and will strip naked her
loathsome body. But then I will stand up and point out to Thee the
thousand millions of happy children who have known no sin. And we
who have taken their sins upon us for their happiness will stand up
before Thee and say: "Judge us if Thou canst and darest." Know that
I fear Thee not. Know that I too have been in the wilderness, I too
have lived on roots and locusts, I too prized the freedom with which
Thou hast blessed men, and I too was striving to stand among Thy
elect, among the strong and powerful, thirsting "to make up the
number." But I awakened and would not serve madness. I turned back and
joined the ranks of those who have corrected Thy work. I left the
proud and went back to the humble, for the happiness of the humble.
What I say to Thee will come to pass, and our dominion will be built
up. I repeat, to-morrow Thou shalt see that obedient flock who at a
sign from me will hasten to heap up the hot cinders about the pile
on which I shall burn Thee for coming to hinder us. For if anyone
has ever deserved our fires, it is Thou. To-morrow I shall burn
Thee. Dixi.'"*(5-5,P.304)�]��F�a�H�P�p�ĦӭI�q�W�ҡ^

��H��G��R

�� "I suffer... from lack of faith."
"Lack of faith in God?"
"Oh, no, no! I dare not even think of that. But the future life-
it is such an enigma And no one, no one can solve it.....
"No doubt. But there's no proving it, though you can be
convinced of it."�]�L�k�ҩ��A�u��H��^
"By the ��experience of active love. Strive to love your neighbour
actively and indefatigably. In as far as you advance in love you
will grow surer of the reality of God and of the immortality of your
soul. If you attain to perfect self-forgetfulness in the love of
your neighbour, then you will believe without doubt, and no doubt
can possibly enter your soul. This has been tried. This is certain."
"In active love? There's another question and such a question! You
see, I so ��love humanity that- would you believe it?- I often dream
of forsaking all that I have, leaving Lise, and becoming a sister of
mercy. I close my eyes and think and dream, and at that moment I
feel full of strength to overcome all obstacles. No wounds, no
festering sores could at that moment frighten me. I would bind them up
and wash them with my own hands. I would nurse the afflicted. I
would be�� ready to kiss such wounds."�]�ۧ��묹��ʵ��H�^
(2-4,p.73-4)

�� "It's just the same story as a doctor once told me," observed
the elder. "He was a man getting on in years, and undoubtedly
clever. He spoke as frankly as you, though in jest, in bitter jest. 'I
love humanity,' he said, 'but I wonder at myself. The more I love
humanity in general, the less I love man in particular. In my dreams,'
he said, 'I have often come to making enthusiastic schemes for the
service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually have faced
crucifixion if it had been suddenly necessary; and ��yet I am
incapable of living in the same room with anyone for two days
together, as I know by experience. As soon as anyone is near me, his
personality disturbs my self-complacency and restricts my freedom.
In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he's
too long over his dinner; another because he has a cold and keeps on
blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come
close to me. But it has always happened that the more I detest men
individually the more ardent becomes my love for humanity.'
(2-4,p.75)�]��ͱ`��g�Ըs�G�R�W��H��H�A�h��H��I�^

�� I once read somewhere of John the Merciful, a saint, that
when a hungry, frozen beggar came to him, he took him into his bed,
held him in his arms, and began breathing into his mouth, which was
putrid and loathsome from some awful disease. I am convinced that he
did that from 'self-laceration,' from the self-laceration of
falsity, for the sake of the charity imposed by duty, as a penance
laid on him.�� For anyone to love a man, he must be hidden, for as
soon as he shows his face, love is gone."
"Father Zossima has talked of that more than once," observed
Alyosha; "he, too, said that the face of a man often hinders many
people not practised in love, from loving him.(5-4,p.278)
�]��R�`�U��F�ӤH��^

�� He was driving somewhere in the steppes, where he had been
stationed long ago, and a peasant was driving him in a cart with a
pair of horses, through snow and sleet. He was cold, it was early in
November, and the snow was falling in big wet flakes, melting as
soon as it touched the earth. And the peasant drove him smartly, he
had a fair, long beard. He was not an old man, somewhere about
fifty, and he had on a grey peasant's smock. Not far off was a
village, he could see the black huts, and half the huts were burnt
down, there were only the charred beams sticking up. And as they drove
in, there were peasant women drawn up along the road, a lot of
women, a whole row, all thin and wan, with their faces a sort of
brownish colour, especially one at the edge, a tall, bony woman, who
looked forty, but might have been only twenty, with a long thin
face. And in her arms was a little baby crying. And her breasts seemed
so dried up that there was not a drop of milk in them. And the child
cried and cried, and held out its little bare arms, with its little
fists blue from cold.
"Why are they crying? Why are they crying?" Mitya asked, as they
dashed gaily by.
"It's the babe," answered the driver, "the babe weeping."
And Mitya was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, "the
babe," and he liked the peasant's calling it a "babe." There seemed
more pity in it.
"But why is it weeping?" Mitya persisted stupidly, "why are its
little arms bare? Why don't they wrap it up?"
"The babe's cold, its little clothes are frozen and don't warm
it."
"But why is it? Why?" foolish Mitya still persisted.
"Why, they're poor people, burnt out. They've no bread. They're
begging because they've been burnt out."
"No, no," Mitya, as it were, still did not understand. "Tell me
why it is those poor mothers stand there? Why are people poor? Why
is the babe poor? Why is the steppe barren? Why don't they hug each
other and kiss? Why don't they sing songs of joy? Why are they so dark
from black misery? Why don't they feed the babe?"
And he felt that, though his questions were unreasonable and
senseless, yet he wanted to ask just that, and he had to ask it just
in that way. And he felt that a passion of pity, such as he had
never known before, was rising in his heart, that he wanted to cry,
that he wanted to do something for them all, so that the babe should
weep no more, so that the dark-faced, dried-up mother should not weep,
that no one should shed tears again from that moment, and he wanted to
do it at once, at once, regardless of all obstacles, with all the
recklessness of the Karamazovs.....
"I've had a good dream, gentlemen," he said in a strange voice,
with a new light, as of joy, in his face.(9-8,p.576)
�]��ܤH�ͪ��R��ڡA�HKaramazov��ӫD�W�Ҧ��O�q�^

��H��G�~�w

�� "What is it? This is not your place for the time. I bless you
for great service in the world. Yours will be a long pilgrimage. And
you will have to take a wife, too. You will have to bear all before
you come back. There will be much to do. But I don't doubt of you, and
so I send you forth. Christ is with you. Do not abandon Him and He
will not abandon you. You will see great sorrow, and in that sorrow
you will be happy. This is my last message to you: ��In sorrow seek
happiness. Work, work unceasingly. Remember my words, for although I
shall talk with you again, not only my days but my hours are
numbered."(2-7,p.95)�]��b�~�w�̴M�V��֡^

��'Except a corn of wheat fall into the
ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth
much fruit.' Remember that. You, Alexey, I've many times silently
blessed for your face, know that," added the elder with a gentle
smile. "This is what I think of you, you will go forth from these
walls, but will live like a monk in the world. You will have many
enemies, but even your foes will love you. ��Life will bring you many
misfortunes, but you will find your happiness in them, and will
bless life and will make others bless it- which is what matters
most.(6-1,p.331)�]�\�h��a�ӥͩR�^

��O��ͩR�A��|�g�O��A�|�g��q�ôb��l�̳q�L....�]��h�W�N�O�ͩR�A�S��h�W�A��
�٦��r�֡H�ӷ|��N�ܦ��L����ë��§�C(11-9,p.730)

��"Stay," Mitya interrupted, suddenly, and impelled by
uncontrollable feeling he pronounced, addressing all in the room:
"Gentlemen, ��we're all cruel, we're all monsters, we all make men
weep, and mothers, and babes at the breast, but of all, let it be
settled here, now, of all I am the lowest reptile! I've sworn to
amend, and every day I've done the same filthy things. I understand
now that such men as I need a blow, a blow of destiny to catch them as
with a noose, and bind them by a force from without. Never, never
should I have risen of myself! But the thunderbolt has fallen. I
accept the torture of accusation, and my public shame; I want to
suffer and ��by suffering I shall be purified. Perhaps I shall be
purified, gentlemen? But listen, for the last time, I am not guilty of
my father's blood. I accept my punishment, not because I killed him,
but because I meant to kill him, and perhaps I really might have
killed him. (9-9,p.577)�]��ڦP�j�a��O�o�H�A��ǭW��~�b�ۤv�^

��

��I've asked
myself many times whether there is in the world any despair that would
overcome this frantic and perhaps unseemly thirst for life in me,
and I've come to the conclusion that there isn't, that is ��till I am
thirty, and then I shall lose it of myself, I fancy. Some drivelling
consumptive moralists- and poets especially- often call that thirst
for life base. It's�� a feature of the Karamazovs, it's true, that
��thirst for life regardless of everything; you have it no doubt too,
but why is it base? The centripetal force on our planet is still
fearfully strong, Alyosha. I have a longing for life, and I go on
��living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the
universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in
spring. I love the blue sky, I love some people....

I know I shall
fall on the ground and kiss those stones and weep over them; though
I'm convinced in my heart that it's long been nothing but a graveyard.
And I shall not weep from despair, but simply because I shall be happy
in my tears, I shall steep my soul in emotion. I love the sticky
leaves in spring, the blue sky- that's all it is. It's not a matter of
intellect or logic, it's loving with one's inside, with one's stomach.
��One loves the first strength of one's youth.....

"I understand too well, Ivan. One longs to love with one's inside,
with one's stomach. You said that so well and I am awfully glad that
you have such a longing for life," cried Alyosha. "I think everyone
should ��love life above everything in the world."
"Love life more than the meaning of it?"
"Certainly, love it, regardless of logic as you say, ��it must be
regardless of logic, and it's only then one will understand the
meaning of it. I have thought so a long time. Half your work is
done, Ivan, you love life, now you've only to try to do the second
half and you are saved."(5-3,p.272)�]�R�ͩR�Ʃ󥦪��N�q�A�R�L�~��N�q�^
�]Karamazov��ͩR��O�@��s��D�w�^

��s�b�D�q

��As soon as men have all of them
denied God- and I believe that period, analogous with geological
periods, will come to pass- the old conception of the universe will
fall of itself without cannibalism, and, what's more, the old
morality, and everything will begin anew. Men will unite to take
from life all it can give, but only for joy and happiness in the
present world. Man will be lifted up with a spirit of divine Titanic
pride and the man-god will appear. From hour to hour extending his
conquest of nature infinitely by his will and his science, man will
feel such lofty joy from hour to hour in doing it that it will make up
for all his old dreams of the joys of heaven. Everyone will know
that he is mortal and will ��accept death proudly and serenely like a
god. His pride will teach him that it's useless for him to repine at
life's being a moment, and he will love his brother without need of
reward. Love will be sufficient only for a moment of life, but the
very consciousness of its momentariness will intensify its fire, which
now is dissipated in dreams of eternal love beyond the grave'... and
so on and so on in the same style. Charming!"(11-9,p.737)
�]ź�Ʀa��L�P��`�^

��ʴc

��He got up, and throwing up his hands, declaimed, "Blessed be the
womb that bare thee, and the paps that gave thee suck- the paps
especially. When you said just now, 'Don't be so ashamed of
yourself, for that is at the root of it all,' you pierced right
through me by that remark, and read me to the core. Indeed, I always
feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that they all
take me for a buffoon. So I say, 'Let me really play the buffoon. I am
not afraid of your opinion, ��for you are every one of you worse than
I am.' That is why I am a buffoon. It is from shame, great elder, from
shame; it's simply over-sensitiveness that makes me rowdy. If I had
only been sure that everyone would accept me as the kindest and wisest
of men, oh, Lord, what a good man I should have been then! Teacher!"
(2-2,p.60)�]�H�ҩʴc�A�u��ۮ��t�O�^

��"My brothers are destroying themselves," he went on, "my father,
too. And they are destroying others with them. It's '��the primitive
force of the Karamazovs,' as father Paissy said the other day, a
crude, unbridled, earthly force. Does the spirit of God move above
that force? Even that I don't know. I only know that I, too, am a
Karamazov.... Me a monk, a monk! Am I a monk, Lise? You said just
now that I was."
"Yes, I did."
"And perhaps I don't even believe in God."
"You don't believe? What is the matter?" said Lise quietly and
gently. But Alyosha did not answer. There was something too
mysterious, too subjective in these last words of his, perhaps obscure
to himself, but yet torturing him.(5-1,p.259)

�� "If you care to know, the folks there and ours here are just alike
in their vice. They are swindlers�]�F�l�^, only there the scoundrel wears
polished boots and here he grovels in filth and sees no harm in it.
The Russian people want thrashing, as Fyodor Pavlovitch said very
truly yesterday, though he is mad, and all his children."(5-2,p.265)
�]�~��H�]��@�˩ʴc�^

��"But the little sticky leaves, and the precious tombs, and the
blue sky, and the woman you love! How will you live, how will you love
them?" Alyosha cried sorrowfully. "With such a hell in your heart
and your head, how can you? No, that's just what you are going away
for, to join them... if not, you will kill yourself, you can't
endure it!"
"There is a strength to endure everything," Ivan said with a
cold smile.
"The strength of the Karamazovs- the strength of the Karamazov
baseness."
"To sink into debauchery, to stifle your soul with corruption,
yes?"
"Possibly even that... only perhaps till I am thirty I shall
escape it, and then-"
"How will you escape it? By what will you escape it? That's
impossible with your ideas."
"In the Karamazov way, again."
"'Everything is lawful,' you mean? Everything is lawful, is that
it?"
Ivan scowled, and all at once turned strangely pale.(5-5,p.307)
�]�@��i�Q��\�^

��]��J�M�S��ë��W�ҡA�K�L�ҿ׹D�w�A�]�N��A�ݭn��C(11-8,p.737)

��The probability is that in the first
case he was genuinely noble, and in the second as genuinely base.
And why? Because he was of the broad Karamazov character- that's
just what I am leading up to- capable of combining the most
incongruous contradictions, and capable of the greatest heights and of
the greatest depths. Remember the brilliant remark made by a young
observer who has seen the Karamazov family at close quarters- Mr.
Rakitin: 'The sense of their own degradation is as essential to
those reckless, unbridled natures as the sense of their lofty
generosity.' And that's true, they need continually this unnatural
mixture. Two extremes at the same moment, or they are miserable and
dissatisfied and their existence is incomplete. They are wide, wide as
mother Russia; they include everything and put up with everything.(12-6,p.794)
�]�q�w�ҿױä㪺��F��G�@��/�Z��^

��He remembered his own words at the elder's:
"I always feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that
they all take me for a buffoon; so I say let me play the buffoon,
for you are, every one of you, stupider and lower than I." He longed
to revenge himself on everyone for his own unseemliness. He suddenly
recalled how he had once in the past been asked, "Why do you hate so
and so, so much?" And he had answered them, with his shameless
impudence, "I'll tell you. He has done me no harm. But I played him
a dirty trick, and ever since I have hated him."
Remembering that now, he smiled quietly and malignantly,
hesitating for a moment. His eyes gleamed, and his lips positively
quivered.
"Well, since I have begun, I may as well go on," he decided. His
predominant sensation at that moment might be expressed in the
following words, "Well, there is no rehabilitating myself now. So
let me shame them for all I am worth. I will show them I don't care
what they think- that's all!"(2-8,p.105)�]�Ϧӵh��U��`�̡^

��ڥi�H�@�C�⪺�H�A�㦳�C��Ӽ��A�o��@��B�@�p��B��H�a�f�U�B�ȶi�H�a�e�ΡC�ڡB
Dmitri Karamazov�O��o�˰��C(3-6,p.143)

��Ǯո̪��p�ĭ̬O�L��ߪ��ڡA��}�F�A�O�ѤW�w�X��A�@�E�F�_�ӡA�ר�b�Ǯո̡A�L�̫K��@
�L��H�C(4-7,p.242)

��ʼ�

��"Grushenka? No, brother, he doesn't despise her. Since he has
openly abandoned his betrothed for her, he doesn't despise her.
There's something here, my dear boy, that you don't understand yet.
A man will fall in love with some beauty, with a woman's body, or even
with a part of a woman's body (a sensualist can understand that),
and he'll abandon his own children for her, sell his father and
mother, and his country, Russia, too. If he's honest, he'll steal;
if he's humane, he'll murder; if he's faithful, he'll deceive.
Pushkin, the poet of women's feet, sung of their feet in his verse.
Others don't sing their praises, but they can't look at their feet
without a thrill- and it's not only their feet. Contempt's no help
here, brother, even if he did despise Grushenka. He does, but he can't
tear himself away."....
"I understand that," Alyosha jerked out suddenly.
"Really? Well, I dare say you do understand, since you blurt it
out at the first word," said Rakitin, malignantly. "That escaped you
unawares, and the confession's the more precious. So it's a familiar
subject; you've thought about it already, about sensuality, I mean!
Oh, you virgin soul! You're a quiet one, Alyosha, you're a saint, I
know, but the devil only knows what you've thought about, and what you
know already! You are pure, but you've been down into the depths....
I've been watching you a long time.�� You're a Karamazov yourself;
you're a thorough Karamazov- no doubt birth and selection have
something to answer for. You're a sensualist from your father, a crazy
saint from your mother. Why do you tremble? Is it true, then? Do you
know, Grushenka has been begging me to bring you along. '��I'll pull off
his cassock,' she says. You can't think how she keeps begging me to
bring you. I wondered why she took such an interest in you. Do you
know, she's an extraordinary woman, too!"
"Thank her and say I'm not coming," said Alyosha, with a
strained smile. "Finish what you were saying, Misha. I'll tell you. my
idea after."
"There's nothing to finish. It's all clear. It's the same old
tune, brother. If even you are a sensualist at heart, what of your
brother, Ivan? He's a Karamazov, too.�� What is at the root of all you
Karamazovs is that you're all sensual, grasping and crazy! Your
brother Ivan writes theological articles in joke, for some idiotic,
unknown motive of his own, though he's an atheist, and he admits
it's a fraud himself- that's your brother Ivan. He's trying to get
Mitya's betrothed for himself.(2-7,p.99)
�]Karamazov�ʮ�G�Ⱝ�B�^�ҡB�M�v�Шg�^

�� Would he purge his soul from vileness
And attain to light and worth,
He must turn and cling for ever
To his ancient Mother Earth.

But the difficulty is how am I to cling for ever to Mother
Earth. ��I don't kiss her. I don't cleave to her bosom. Am I to become a
peasant or a shepherd? I go on and I don't know whether I'm going to
shame or to light and joy. That's the trouble, for everything in the
world is a riddle! And whenever I've happened to sink into the
vilest degradation (and it's always been happening) I always read that
poem about Ceres and man. Has it reformed me? Never! For I'm a
Karamazov. For when I do leap into the pit, I go headlong with my
heels up, and am pleased to be falling in that degrading attitude, and
pride myself upon it. And ��in the very depths of that degradation I
begin a hymn of praise.....

Her gifts to man are friends in need,
The wreath, the foaming must,
To angels- vision of God's throne,
To insects- sensual lust.

But enough poetry! I am in tears; let me cry. It may be
foolishness that everyone would laugh at. But you won't laugh. Your
eyes are shining, too. Enough poetry. I want to tell you now about the
insects to whom God gave 'sensual lust.'

To insects- sensual lust.

I am that insect, brother, and it is said of me specially. All
we ��Karamazovs are such insects, and, angel as you are, that insect
lives in you, too, and will stir up a tempest in your blood. Tempests,
because ��sensual lust is a tempest worse than a tempest! ��Beauty is a
terrible and awful thing! It is terrible because it has not been
fathomed and never can be fathomed, for God sets us nothing but
riddles. Here the boundaries meet and all contradictions exist side by
side. I am a cultivated man, brother, but I've thought a lot about
this. It's terrible what mysteries there are! Too many riddles weigh
men down on earth. We must solve them as we can, and try to keep a dry
skin in the water. Beauty! I can't endure the thought that a man of
lofty mind and heart begins with the ideal of the Madonna and ends
with the ideal of�� Sodom. ��What's still more awful is that a man with
the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not renounce the ideal of the
Madonna, and his heart may be on fire with that ideal, genuinely on
fire, just as in his days of youth and innocence. Yes, man is broad,
too broad, indeed. I'd have him narrower. The devil only knows what to
make of it! ��What to the mind is shameful is beauty and nothing else to
the heart. Is there beauty in Sodom? Believe me, that for the
immense mass of mankind beauty is found in Sodom. Did you know that
secret? ��The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as
terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battlefield
is the heart of man. (3-3,p.130-2)�]��t�M�o�c��i�H�O�O�H�ԷĪ��^

��

��Above all, don't lie to yourself. The
man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a
pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him,
and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no
respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself
without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and
sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other
men and to himself. The man who lies to himself can be more easily
offended than anyone. You know it is sometimes very pleasant to take
offence, isn't it? A man may know that nobody has insulted him, but
that he has invented the insult for himself, has lied and
exaggerated to make it picturesque, has caught at a word and made a
mountain out of a molehill- he knows that himself, yet he will be
the first to take offence, and will revel in his resentment till he
feels great pleasure in it, and so pass to genuine vindictiveness. But
get up, sit down, I beg you. All this, too, is deceitful
posturing...."(2-2,p.60)�]��ۡA�O�@��o�c�ӷ��^

��P�z

��To my thinking, Christ-like love for men is a miracle
impossible on earth. He was God. But we are not gods. Suppose I, for
instance, suffer intensely. Another can never know how much I
suffer, because he is another and not I. And what's more, a man is
rarely ready to admit another's suffering (as though it were a
distinction). (5-4,p.279)�]�L�k�A�ѥL�H��W�^

��R��

��"Alyosha, we must put off kissing. We are not ready for that
yet, and we shall have a long time to wait," she ended suddenly. "Tell
me rather why you who are so clever, so intellectual, so observant,
choose a little idiot, an invalid like me? Ah, Alyosha, I am awfully
happy, for I don't deserve you a bit."�]��ı�O��f��k�H�A�t��W�L�^
"You do, Lise. I shall be leaving the monastery altogether in a
few days. If I go into the world, I must marry. I know that. He told
me to marry, too. Whom could I marry better than you- and who would
have me except you? I have been thinking it over. In the first
place, you've known me from a child and you've a great many
qualities I haven't. You are more light-hearted than I am; above
all, you are more innocent than I am. I have been brought into contact
with many, many things already.... Ah, you don't know, but I, too,
am a Karamazov. What does it matter if you do laugh and make jokes,
and at me, too? Go on laughing. I am so glad you do. You laugh like
a little child, but you think like a martyr�]��D�̡^."(5-1,p.255)

��k�H

��˷R��p�ġA�A�d�U��n�b��ɭԦV�A�߷R��k�H�ШD�Ǯ��ۤv��B�I....�o�|��A��o��@��
��....�C��魱��k�H��өȤ@�Ӥ��k�H�A�o�O�ڪ��H��A�γ\�o��O�H��A�o�O��P�C�k�H��Ӽe��j
�q�A�o��|�÷l�k�H��l�A�Ʀܤ��|�÷l�^��A��|�÷l�ͼ��I��O�쩳��n�ШD�Ǯ��I(11-4,p.673)

��"To my thinking," he revived at once, seeming to grow sober the
instant he touched on his favourite topic. "To my thinking... Ah,
you boys! You children, little sucking-pigs, to my thinking...�� I never
thought a woman ugly in my life- that's been my rule! Can you
understand that? How could you understand it? You've milk in your
veins, not blood. You're not out of your shells yet. My rule has
been that ��you can always find something devilishly interesting in
every woman that you wouldn't find in any other. Only, one must know
how to find it, that's the point! That's a talent! To my mind there
are no ugly women. The very fact that she is a woman is half the
battle... but how could you understand that?��Even in vieilles
filles�]�ѳB�k�^, even in them you may discover something that makes you
simply wonder that men have been such fools as to let them grow old
without noticing them. Bare-footed girls or unattractive ones, you
must take by surprise. Didn't you know that? You must astound them
till they're fascinated, upset, ashamed that such a gentleman should
fall in love with such a little slut. It's a jolly good thing that
there always are and will be�� masters and slaves in the world, so there
always will be a little maid-of-all-work and her master, and you know,
that's all that's needed for happiness. Stay... listen, Alyosha, I
always used to surprise your mother, but in a different way. I paid no
attention to her at all, but all at once, when the minute came, I'd be
all devotion to her, crawl on my knees, kiss her feet, and I always,
always- I remember it as though it were to-day- reduced her to that
tinkling, quiet, nervous, queer little laugh. It was peculiar to
her. I knew her attacks always used to begin like that. The next day
she would begin shrieking ��hysterically, and this little laugh was
not a sign of delight, though it made a very good counterfeit.
(3-8,p.165-6)�]�i�פk�H�M�a�I�I�S��Ӥk�H�O�ۦP��^�]�`��D�H�P��^

��

�� "It's just the same story as a doctor once told me," observed
the elder. "He was a man getting on in years, and undoubtedly
clever. He spoke as frankly as you, though in jest, in bitter jest. 'I
love humanity,' he said, 'but I wonder at myself. The more I love
humanity in general, the less I love man in particular. In my dreams,'
he said, 'I have often come to making enthusiastic schemes for the
service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually have faced
crucifixion if it had been suddenly necessary; and ��yet I am
incapable of living in the same room with anyone for two days
together, as I know by experience. As soon as anyone is near me, his
personality disturbs my self-complacency and restricts my freedom.
In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he's
too long over his dinner; another because he has a cold and keeps on
blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come
close to me. But it has always happened that the more I detest men
individually the more ardent becomes my love for humanity.'
(2-4,p.75)�]��ͱ`��g�Ըs�G�R�W��H��H�A�h��H��I�^

��"Philosophy, indeed, when all my right side is numb and I am
moaning and groaning. I've tried all the medical faculty: they can
diagnose beautifully, they have the whole of your disease at their
finger-tips, but�� they've no idea how to cure you. There was an
��enthusiastic little student here, 'You may die,' said he, 'but
you'll know perfectly what disease you are dying of!' And then what
a way they have of sending people to specialists! 'We only
diagnose,' they say, 'but go to such-and-such a specialist, he'll cure
you.' The old doctor who used to cure all sorts of disease has
completely disappeared, I assure you, now there are only specialists
and they all advertise in the newspapers. If anything is wrong with
your nose, they send you to Paris: there, they say, is a European
specialist who cures noses. If you go to Paris, he'll look at your
nose; ��I can only cure your right nostril, he'll tell you, for I
don't cure the left nostril, that's not my speciality, but go to
Vienna, there there's a specialist who will cure your left nostril.
What are you to do? I fell back on popular remedies, a German doctor
advised me to rub myself with honey and salt in the bath-house. Solely
to get an extra bath I went, smeared myself all over and it did me
no good at all. In despair I wrote to Count Mattei in Milan. He sent
me a book and some drops, bless him, and, only fancy, Hoff's malt
extract cured me! I bought it by accident, drank a bottle and a half
of it, and I was ready to dance, it took it away completely. I made up
my mind to write to the papers to thank him, I was prompted by a
feeling of gratitude, and only fancy, it led to no end of a bother:
not a single paper would take my letter. 'It would be very
reactionary,' they said, 'none will believe it. Le diable n'existe
point.* You'd better remain anonymous,' they advised me. What use is a
letter of thanks if it's anonymous? (11-9,p.728)�]��N�L�Ρ^

��믫��

��But Father Zossima, on entering the portico, went first straight
to the peasants who were crowded at the foot of the three steps that
led up into the portico. Father Zossima stood on the top step, put
on his stole, and began blessing the women who thronged about him. One
crazy woman was led up to him. As soon as she caught sight of the
elder she began shrieking and writhing as though in the pains of
childbirth. Laying the stole on her forehead, he read a short prayer
over her, and she was at once soothed and quieted.
I do not know how it may be now, but in my childhood I often
happened to see and hear these "possessed" women in the villages and
monasteries. They used to be brought to mass; they would squeal and
bark like a dog so that they were heard all over the church. But
when the sacrament was carried in and they were led up to it, at
once the "possession" ceased, and the sick women were always soothed
for a time. I was greatly impressed and amazed at this as a child; but
then I heard from country neighbours and from my town teachers that
the whole illness was simulated to avoid work, and that it could
always be cured by suitable severity; various anecdotes were told to
confirm this. But later on I learnt with astonishment from medical
specialists that there is no pretence about it, that it is a
terrible illness to which women are subject, ��especially prevalent
among us in Russia, and that it is due to the hard lot of the
peasant women. It is a disease, I was told, arising from exhausting
toil too soon after hard, abnormal and unassisted labour in
childbirth, and from the hopeless misery, from beatings, and so on,
which some women were not able to endure like others. The strange
and instant healing of the frantic and struggling woman as soon as she
was led up to the holy sacrament, which had been explained to me as
due to ��malingering and the trickery of the "clericals," arose probably
in the most natural manner. Both the women who supported her and the
invalid herself fully believed as a truth beyond question that the
evil spirit in possession of her could not hold if the sick woman were
brought to the sacrament and made to bow down before it. And so,
with a nervous and psychically deranged woman, a sort of convulsion of
the whole organism always took place, and was bound to take place,
at the moment of bowing down to the sacrament, aroused by the
expectation of the miracle of healing and ��the implicit belief that
it would come to pass; and it did come to pass, though only for a
moment. It was exactly the same now as soon as the elder touched the
sick woman with the stole.(2-3,p.63-5)�]��w�H��Ϫv�F�믫�f�^

��ߤH�ѺK
2001.8.16