Part IV Book X. The Boys Chapter I. Kolya Krassotkin Chapter II. Children Chapter III. The Schoolboy Chapter IV. The Lost Dog Chapter V. By Ilusha’s Bedside Chapter VI. Precocity Chapter VII. Ilusha Book XI. Ivan Chapter I. At Grushenka’s Chapter II. The Injured Foot Chapter III. A Little Demon Chapter IV. A Hymn And A Secret Chapter V. Not You, Not You! Chapter VI. The First Interview With Smerdyakov Chapter VII. The Second Visit To Smerdyakov Chapter VIII. The Third And Last Interview With Smerdyakov Chapter IX. The Devil. Ivan’s Nightmare Chapter X. “It Was He Who Said That” Book XII. A Judicial Error Chapter I. The Fatal Day Chapter II. Dangerous Witnesses Chapter III. The Medical Experts And A Pound Of Nuts Chapter IV. Fortune Smiles On Mitya Chapter V. A Sudden Catastrophe Chapter VI. The Prosecutor’s Speech. Sketches Of Character Chapter VII. An Historical Survey Chapter VIII. A Treatise On Smerdyakov Chapter IX. The Galloping Troika. The End Of The Prosecutor’s Speech. Chapter X. The Speech For The Defense. An Argument That Cuts Both Ways Chapter XI. There Was No Money. There Was No Robbery Chapter XII. And There Was No Murder Either Chapter XIII. A Corrupter Of Thought Chapter XIV. The Peasants Stand Firm Epilogue Chapter I. Plans For Mitya’s Escape Chapter II. For A Moment The Lie Becomes Truth Chapter III. Ilusha’s Funeral. The Speech At The Stone Footnotes PART I Book I. The History Of A Family Chapter I. Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, a land owner well known in our district in his own day, and still remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic death, which happened thirteen years ago, and which I shall describe in its proper place. For the present I will only say that this “landowner”—for so we used to call him, although he hardly spent a day of his life on his own estate—was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to be met with, a type abject and vicious and at the same time senseless. But he was one of those senseless persons who are very well capable of looking after their worldly affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else. Fyodor Pavlovitch, for instance, began with next to nothing; his estate was of the smallest; he ran to dine at other men’s tables, and fastened on them as a toady, yet at his death it appeared that he had a hundred thousand roubles in hard cash. At the same time, he was all his life one of the most senseless, fantastical fellows in the whole district. I repeat, it was not stupidity—the majority of these fantastical fellows are shrewd and intelligent enough—but just senselessness, and a peculiar national form of it.