The Brothers Karamazov: Compare Translations

Alexey Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day (and still remembered among us) owing to his tragic and obscure death, which happened exactly 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 lived on his own estate at all—was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to be met with, a trashy and depraved type and, in addition, 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 Pavlovich, 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 rubles in hard cash. At the same time, he was all his life one of the most senseless madcaps in the whole district. I repeat, it was not stupidity—the majority of these foolish fellows are shrewd and intelligent enough—but just senselessness, and a peculiar and national form of it.

Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of a landowner from our district, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, well known in his own day (and still remembered among us) because of his dark and tragic death, which happened exactly thirteen years ago and which I shall speak of in its proper place. For the moment I will only say of this “landowner” (as we used to call him, though for all his life he hardly ever lived on his estate) that he was a strange type, yet one rather frequently met with, precisely the type of man who is not only worthless and depraved but muddleheaded as well—one of those muddleheaded people who still handle their own little business deals quite skillfully, if nothing else. Fyodor Pavlovich, for instance, started with next to nothing, he was a very small landowner, he ran around having dinner at other men’s tables, he tried to foist himself off as a sponger, and yet at his death he was discovered to have as much as a hundred thousand roubles in hard cash. At the same time he remained all his life one of the most muddleheaded madcaps in our district. Again I say it was not stupidity—most of these madcaps are rather clever and shrewd-but precisely muddleheadedness even a special, national form of it.

Alexey Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day still remembered among us because of 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 person, yet one fairly frequently to be met with, a despicable, vicious man and at the same time senseless. But he was one of those senseless people who are very capable of looking after their affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else. Fyodor Karamazov, for instance, began with next to nothing; his estate was of the smallest; he ran to dine at other men’s tables, fastened on to them as a toady, and at his death had a hundred thousand roubles in hard cash. At the same time, he was always one of the most senseless, fantastic men in the whole district. I repeat, it was not stupidity—the majority of these fantastic men are shrewd and intelligent enough-but just senselessness, and a peculiar national form of it.

Aleksei Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a landowner of our district, extremely well known in his time (and to this day still remembered in these parts) on account of his violent and mysterious death exactly thirteen years ago, the circumstances of which I shall relate in due course. All I shall say now about this landowner (as we used to call him, even though he scarcely ever lived on his estate) is that he was an eccentric, a type not uncommon however, not only worthless and depraved but muddle-headed as well, yet one of those whose muddle-headedness never stops them from making an excellent job of their business affairs. Fyodor Pavlovich, for instance, started with next to nothing at all; the smallest of landowners, he used to do the rounds and cadge a meal off other people, was content to be a hanger-on, but at the time of his death it turned out that he was worth a round hundred thousand roubles in cash. And yet all his life he had been one of the craziest crackpots in the whole of our district. Let me repeat yet again: this was not a case of stupidity—most of these crackpots are shrewd and cunning enough—but of muddle-headedness, and of a special, typically Russian kind.

Alexey Fyodorovich Marakazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a landowner of our district, who became notorious in his own day (and is still remembered among us) because of his tragic and mysterious death, which occurred exactly thirteen years ago and which I shall relate in its proper place. For the present all I shall say about this ‘landowner’ (as we used to call him, though he hardly ever lived on his estate) is that he was a strange sort of individual, yet one that is met with pretty frequently, the sort of man who is not only worthless and depraved, but also muddle-headed – though one of those muddle-headed men who know very well how to bring off their far from honest business deals and, it would seem, nothing else. Fyodor Karamazov, for instance, began with next to nothing. He was a very small landowner, who always contrived to get himself invited to dinner and persistently aspired to the role of sponger. And yet at his death it was found that he left as much as a hundred thousand roubles in hard cash. And at the same time he continued all his life to be one of the most muddle-headed and preposterous fellows of our district. I repeat: it was not stupidity, for most of these preposterous fellows are rather clever and cunning, but sheer muddle-headedness, and of a special national kind at that.

Alexey Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovich 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 Pavlovich, 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 rubles 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.

Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a landowner in our uyezd, a man who once acquired some notoriety (and is still remembered in our parts) because of his tragic and mysterious death, which took place exactly thirteen years ago and will be dealt with here in due course. For the time, I shall merely say of this “land-owner” (as he was known locally though he hardly ever lived on his estate during his whole life) that he was a strange creature, yet of a kind fairly often to be met, namely, not only an evil and thoroughly reprobate man but, at the same time, a bungler, though of those bunglers who are deft at feathering their own nests, and at nothing else, it would seem. For instance, Fyodor Pavlovich began with practically nothing to his name; actually a petty landowner, he was constantly cadging invitations to dinners and fawning for small favours, yet he was worth a cool hundred thousand when he died. At the same time, he remained throughout his life one of the ultimately most inept cranks in our uyezd. I repeat: it was not simply a matter of obtuseness — most of these cranks are quite intelligent and wily — but of sheer ineptitude, and of a special and national brand at that.

Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day, and still remembered among us owing to his mysterious and tragic death, was a strange type, despicable and vicious and at the same time absurd. But he was one of those absurd 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 rubles in hard cash.

Aleksey Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of a landowner Ain our district, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, so well known in his own time (and still remembered among us) for his dark and tragic demise, which occurred exactly thirteen years ago, and which I’ll tell you about at the proper time. For now all I’ll say about this “landowner” (as he was called by us, although for his whole life he hardly ever lived on his estate) is that he was a strange type, though one that’s encountered fairly often; not only was he utterly worthless and depraved, but he had no sense at all—and yet he was one of those people with no sense who knew how to take very good care of his worldly affairs, and, apparently, not much else. For example, Fyodor Pavlovich had begun with almost nothing; he was the owner of a small estate; he hastened to take a place at other men’s dinner tables, latching on as a freeloader; that said at the time of his death he had accumulated a hundred thousand rubles in cold cash. Yet at the same time, all his life he continued to be one of the eccentrics in our entire district who was most lacking in sense. I repeat: it was not a matter of stupidity; the majority of these eccentrics are rather clever and shrewd, just lacking in basic common sense-and displaying a particularly Russian form of that lack.

Aleksey Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of a landowner in our district, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, so noted in his time (and even now still recollected among us) for his tragic and fishy death, which occurred just thirteen years ago and which I shall report in its proper context. All I shall say now about this ‘land- owner’ (as he was called among us, though for most of his life he hardly ever lived on his estate at all) is that he was a strange type, one that is, however, rather often encountered, namely the type of man who is not only empty and depraved but also muddle-headed — belonging, though, to the class of muddle-headed men who are perfectly well able to handle their little property affairs, and, it would seem, these alone. Fyodor Pavlovich, for example, began with practically nothing, was a landowner of the very least important category, went trotting around other people’s dinner tables, aspired to the rank of sponge, but at the moment of his decease turned out to possess something to the tune of one hundred thousand roubles in ready money. And yet at the same time he had persisted all his life in being one of the most muddle-headed mad- caps in the whole of our district. I repeat: here there was no question of stupidity; the bulk of these madcaps are really quite sharp and clever — but plain muddle-headedness, and, moreover, of a peculiar, national variety.

Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov, a landowner in our district who became a celebrity (and is remembered to this day) because of the tragic and mysterious end he met exactly thirteen years ago, which will be described in its proper place. For the moment, I will only say of this “landowner” (as they referred to him here, although he spent hardly any time on his land) that he belonged to a peculiar though widespread human type, the sort of man who is not only wretched and depraved but also muddle-headed—muddle-headed in a way that allows him to pull off all sorts of shady little financial deals and not much else.

Fyodor Karamazov, for instance, started with next to nothing; he was just about the lowliest landowner among us, a man who would dash off to dine at other people’s tables whenever he was given a chance and who sponged off people as much as he could. Yet, at his death, they found that he had a hundred thousand rubles in hard cash. And with all that, throughout his life he remained one of the most muddle-headed eccentrics in our entire district. Let me repeat: it was not stupidity, for most such eccentrics are really quite intelligent and cunning, and their lack of common sense is of a special kind, a national variety.

Алексей Федорович Карамазов был третьим сыном помещика нашего уезда Федора Павловича Карамазова, столь известного в свое время (да и теперь еще у нас припоминаемого) по трагической и темной кончине своей, приключившейся ровно тринадцать лет назад и о которой сообщу в своем месте. Теперь же скажу об этом «помещике» (как его у нас называли, хотя он всю жизнь совсем почти не жил в своем поместье) лишь то, что это был странный тип, довольно часто, однако, встречающийся, именно тип человека не только дрянного и развратного, но вместе с тем и бестолкового, — но из таких, однако, бестолковых, которые умеют отлично обделывать свои имущественные делишки, и только, кажется, одни эти. Федор Павлович, например, начал почти что ни с чем, помещик он был самый маленький, бегал обедать по чужим столам, норовил в приживальщики, а между тем в момент кончины его у него оказалось до ста тысяч рублей чистыми деньгами. И в то же время он все-таки всю жизнь свою продолжал быть одним из бестолковейших сумасбродов по всему нашему уезду. Повторю еще: тут не глупость; большинство этих сумасбродов довольно умно и хитро, — а именно бестолковость, да еще какая-то особенная, национальная.