And they chopped off his head in brotherly fashion, because he had found grace.Yes, that's characteristic.That pamphlet is translated into Russian by some Russian philanthropists of aristocratic rank and evangelical aspirations, and has been distributed gratis for the enlightenment of the people.The case of Richard is interesting because it's national.Though to us it's absurd to cut off a man's head, because he has become our brother and has found grace, yet we have our own speciality, which is all but worse.Our historical pastime is the direct satisfaction of inflicting pain.There are lines in Nekrassov describing how a peasant lashes a horse on the eyes, 'on its meek eyes,' everyone must have seen it.It's peculiarly Russian.He describes how a feeble little nag has foundered under too heavy a load and cannot move.The peasant beats it, beats it savagely, beats it at last not knowing what he is doing in the intoxication of cruelty, thrashes it mercilessly over and over again.'However weak you are, you must pull, if you die for it.' The nag strains, and then he begins lashing the poor defenceless creature on its weeping, on its 'meek eyes.' The frantic beast tugs and draws the load, trembling all over, gasping for breath, moving sideways, with a sort of unnatural spasmodic action- it's awful in Nekrassov.But that only a horse, and God has horses to be beaten.
So the Tatars have taught us, and they left us the knout as a remembrance of it.But men, too, can be beaten.A well-educated, cultured gentleman and his wife beat their own child with a birch-rod, a girl of seven.I have an exact account of it.The papa was glad that the birch was covered with twigs.'It stings more,' said he, and so be began stinging his daughter.I know for a fact there are people who at every blow are worked up to sensuality, to literal sensuality, which increases progressively at every blow they inflict.They beat for a minute, for five minutes, for ten minutes, more often and more savagely.The child screams.At last the child cannot scream, it gasps, 'Daddy daddy!' By some diabolical unseemly chance the case was brought into court.A counsel is engaged.The Russian people have long called a barrister 'a conscience for hire.' The counsel protests in his client's defence.'It's such a simple thing,' he says, 'an everyday domestic event.A father corrects his child.To our shame be it said, it is brought into court.' The jury, convinced by him, give a favourable verdict.The public roars with delight that the torturer is acquitted.Ah, pity I wasn't there! I would have proposed to raise a subscription in his honour! Charming pictures.
"But I've still better things about children.I've collected a great, great deal about Russian children, Alyosha.There was a little girl of five who was hated by her father and mother, 'most worthy and respectable people, of good education and breeding.' You see, I must repeat again, it is a peculiar characteristic of many people, this love of torturing children, and children only.To all other types of humanity these torturers behave mildly and benevolently, like cultivated and humane Europeans; but they are very fond of tormenting children, even fond of children themselves in that sense.it's just their defencelessness that tempts the tormentor, just the angelic confidence of the child who has no refuge and no appeal, that sets his vile blood on fire.In every man, of course, a demon lies hidden- the demon of rage, the demon of lustful heat at the screams of the tortured victim, the demon of lawlessness let off the chain, the demon of diseases that follow on vice, gout, kidney disease, and so on.
"This poor child of five was subjected to every possible torture by those cultivated parents.They beat her, thrashed her, kicked her for no reason till her body was one bruise.Then, they went to greater refinements of cruelty- shut her up all night in the cold and frost in a privy, and because she didn't ask to be taken up at night (as though a child of five sleeping its angelic, sound sleep could be trained to wake and ask), they smeared her face and filled her mouth with excrement, and it was her mother, her mother did this.And that mother could sleep, hearing the poor child's groans! Can you understand why a little creature, who can't even understand what's done to her, should beat her little aching heart with her tiny fist in the dark and the cold, and weep her meek unresentful tears to dear, kind God to protect her? Do you understand that, friend and brother, you pious and humble novice? Do you understand why this infamy must be and is permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil.Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs so much? Why, the whole world of knowledge is not worth that child's prayer to dear, kind God'! Isay nothing of the sufferings of grown-up people, they have eaten the apple, damn them, and the devil take them all! But these little ones! I am making you suffer, Alyosha, you are not yourself.I'll leave off if you like.""Nevermind.I want to suffer too," muttered Alyosha.
"One picture, only one more, because it's so curious, so characteristic, and I have only just read it in some collection of Russian antiquities.I've forgotten the name.I must look it up.It was in the darkest days of serfdom at the beginning of the century, and long live the Liberator of the People! There was in those days a general of aristocratic connections, the owner of great estates, one of those men- somewhat exceptional, I believe, even then- who, retiring from the service into a life of leisure, are convinced that they've earned absolute power over the lives of their subjects.
