Fyodor Pavlovich needs Grigory’s protection, but from whom? Who is that “dreadful and dangerous” someone? There must be clues onward. Dostoevsky is too careful with his words for this to be unimportant.
Indeed! This raises an interesting question about Gregory's role as a protector. Given his age and physical limitations, it seems more likely that Dostoevsky intended to portray him as a moral guardian rather than a physical defender - someone who could maintain vigilance and provide timely warnings of danger.
Such protection was certainly needed, as Fyodor Pavlovich's behavior had earned him numerous enemies. The narrator explicitly mentions multiple instances where he suffered physical attacks.
Gregory's position as guardian of Fyodor's estate thus takes on deeper significance, representing both literal and symbolic protection.
It is interesting to me to see how Dost changes syntax and diction when he arrives at scenes in which intense personal suffering occurs. So, for example, as he approaches Grigory's grief at the loss of his son, he uses numerous subordinate clauses that contain and concentrate diction that conveys the protean and rambling inner states of mind of his characters. "Outwardly, Grigory was a cold and pompous man, taciturn, delivering himself of weighty, unfrivolous words. In the same way, it was impossible to tell at first glance whether he loved his meek, obedient wife, or not, and yet he really did love her, and she, of course, knew it." (p. 94, Pevear). This syntax and diction conveys a rich, but psychologically murky, inner life. These are the type of sentences that I think Freud and other 19th century and early 20th century readers found so compelling as depictions of the unruly forces of people's inner lives. Another example in the same passage: "This Marfa Ignatievna not only was not a stupid woman, but was even perhaps [what a delicate way to convey the uncertainly of psychological states!] more intelligent than her husband, at least more reasonable than he in everyday things, and yet she submitted to him without a murmur and without complaint from the very beginning of their married life, and unquestionably respected his spiritual authority." But when he comes to conveying Grigory's grief shortly thereafter (on page 95), the diction becomes descriptive of concrete objective, external reality. Gone is the uncertainty of an inner life, replaced with the harsh reality of external life. "At the font, Grigory prayed zealously, yet he did not change his opinion about the newborn. However, he did not interfere in any way, but for two weeks that the sickly boy lived, he scarcely ever looked at him, did not even want to notice him, and kept away from the house most of the time. WHEN THE CHILD DIED OF THRUSH TWO WEEKS LATER, HE HIMSELF PUT HIM INTO THE LITTLE COFFIN, LOOKED AT HIM WITH DEEP GRIEF, AND WHEN HIS SHALLOW LITTLE GRAVE WAS COVERED WITH EARTH, HE KNELT AND PROSTRATED BEFORE IT. FOR MANY YEARS AFTERWARDS HE NEVER ONCE MENTIONED HIS CHILD, AND MARFA IGNATIEVNA NEVER ONCE RECALLED HER CHILD IN HIS PRESENCE, AND WHENEVER SHE HAPPENED TO TALK WITH SOMEONE ABOUT HER "BABY," SHE SPOKE IN A WHISPER, EVEN IF GRIGORY VASILIEVICH WAS NOT PRESENT." To me, the considerable power of this scene comes from the sudden attachment of emotions that suffuse all of our conscious experience to an external reality. In this case of the reality of the death of one's child, no matter how conflicted one may feel about that child. In this way Dost draws us into Grigory's profound grief--like a thunderbolt. (Dost uses this technique again and again when he portrays suffering. This is the technique he uses to make suffering the human experience par excellence, via the imaginative suffering of the reader.)
Thanks, Dana. I watched the video with the sound turned on, just to try to get a feel for the sound and flow of the Rusdian language. It had a pleasing and warm sound to my ear. I can sort of imagine it lending itself well to poetry.
How wonderful, Glenys! Poetry in any language sounds magnificent to me, revealing both the musicality and full expressive potential of that language. Russian (like other Slavic languages) is especially flexible for poetry—words and sentences can be modified in numerous ways while maintaining grammatical correctness.
Fyodor Pavlovich needs Grigory’s protection, but from whom? Who is that “dreadful and dangerous” someone? There must be clues onward. Dostoevsky is too careful with his words for this to be unimportant.
Indeed! This raises an interesting question about Gregory's role as a protector. Given his age and physical limitations, it seems more likely that Dostoevsky intended to portray him as a moral guardian rather than a physical defender - someone who could maintain vigilance and provide timely warnings of danger.
Such protection was certainly needed, as Fyodor Pavlovich's behavior had earned him numerous enemies. The narrator explicitly mentions multiple instances where he suffered physical attacks.
Gregory's position as guardian of Fyodor's estate thus takes on deeper significance, representing both literal and symbolic protection.
It is interesting to me to see how Dost changes syntax and diction when he arrives at scenes in which intense personal suffering occurs. So, for example, as he approaches Grigory's grief at the loss of his son, he uses numerous subordinate clauses that contain and concentrate diction that conveys the protean and rambling inner states of mind of his characters. "Outwardly, Grigory was a cold and pompous man, taciturn, delivering himself of weighty, unfrivolous words. In the same way, it was impossible to tell at first glance whether he loved his meek, obedient wife, or not, and yet he really did love her, and she, of course, knew it." (p. 94, Pevear). This syntax and diction conveys a rich, but psychologically murky, inner life. These are the type of sentences that I think Freud and other 19th century and early 20th century readers found so compelling as depictions of the unruly forces of people's inner lives. Another example in the same passage: "This Marfa Ignatievna not only was not a stupid woman, but was even perhaps [what a delicate way to convey the uncertainly of psychological states!] more intelligent than her husband, at least more reasonable than he in everyday things, and yet she submitted to him without a murmur and without complaint from the very beginning of their married life, and unquestionably respected his spiritual authority." But when he comes to conveying Grigory's grief shortly thereafter (on page 95), the diction becomes descriptive of concrete objective, external reality. Gone is the uncertainty of an inner life, replaced with the harsh reality of external life. "At the font, Grigory prayed zealously, yet he did not change his opinion about the newborn. However, he did not interfere in any way, but for two weeks that the sickly boy lived, he scarcely ever looked at him, did not even want to notice him, and kept away from the house most of the time. WHEN THE CHILD DIED OF THRUSH TWO WEEKS LATER, HE HIMSELF PUT HIM INTO THE LITTLE COFFIN, LOOKED AT HIM WITH DEEP GRIEF, AND WHEN HIS SHALLOW LITTLE GRAVE WAS COVERED WITH EARTH, HE KNELT AND PROSTRATED BEFORE IT. FOR MANY YEARS AFTERWARDS HE NEVER ONCE MENTIONED HIS CHILD, AND MARFA IGNATIEVNA NEVER ONCE RECALLED HER CHILD IN HIS PRESENCE, AND WHENEVER SHE HAPPENED TO TALK WITH SOMEONE ABOUT HER "BABY," SHE SPOKE IN A WHISPER, EVEN IF GRIGORY VASILIEVICH WAS NOT PRESENT." To me, the considerable power of this scene comes from the sudden attachment of emotions that suffuse all of our conscious experience to an external reality. In this case of the reality of the death of one's child, no matter how conflicted one may feel about that child. In this way Dost draws us into Grigory's profound grief--like a thunderbolt. (Dost uses this technique again and again when he portrays suffering. This is the technique he uses to make suffering the human experience par excellence, via the imaginative suffering of the reader.)
Thanks for the introduction and the video - I enjoyed listening to the narrator ...
Thanks, Dana. I watched the video with the sound turned on, just to try to get a feel for the sound and flow of the Rusdian language. It had a pleasing and warm sound to my ear. I can sort of imagine it lending itself well to poetry.
How wonderful, Glenys! Poetry in any language sounds magnificent to me, revealing both the musicality and full expressive potential of that language. Russian (like other Slavic languages) is especially flexible for poetry—words and sentences can be modified in numerous ways while maintaining grammatical correctness.
Thank you so much! 🌐✍🏼🕰️📚
Grace and peace to you sister...
Thanks Dana ,loved listening to the video just now ,very informative and interesting,can’t wait for the next next chapter to start.
Great background info! I'm an entire book behind, but I plan to read and follow the discussions and chats.