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\Title[Chapter 1]{Chapter I. Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov and a bit
more text to force a multiline title.}

\Footnote{A first footnote.}
Office.  ſ õ Æ Alexey {Fyodorovitch \Emph{Karamazov} was} the third son of
%%% This is a comment
Fyodor {Pavlovitch \Bold{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.{ \Emph{For the {\Bold present} I}
will\Footnote{A second footnote with no leading space.} 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.
\Footnote{A longer footnote that will be broken into more than one paragraph.
Some more text. And a repeat of some of the text being noted upon:
I repeat, it was not stupidity—the
majority of these \Bold{fantastical} fellows are shrewd and intelligent\ 
enough—but just senselessness, and a peculiar national form of it.

Here is the second paragraph. I repeat, it was not stupidity—the
majority of these \Bold{fantastical} fellows are shrewd and intelligent\ 
enough—but just senselessness, and a peculiar national form of it.}
He was married {\Bold twice}, and had three sons, the eldest, Dmitri, by his
\Fix{fist}{first}{typo}% This comment will eliminate any white space.
wife, and two, Ivan and Alexey, by his second. Fyodor
Pavlovitch's first wife, Adelaïda Ivanovna, belonged to a fairly rich
and distinguished noble family, also landowners in our district, the
Miüsovs. How it came to pass that an heiress, who was also a beauty,
and moreover one of those vigorous, intelligent girls, so common in
this generation, but sometimes also to be found in the last, could
have married such a worthless, puny weakling, as we all called him, I
won't attempt to explain. {I knew a young lady} of the last “romantic”
generation who after some years of an enigmatic passion for a
gentleman, whom she might quite easily have married at any moment,
invented insuperable obstacles to their union, and ended by throwing
herself one stormy night into a rather deep and rapid river from a
high bank, almost a precipice, and so perished, entirely to satisfy
her own caprice, and to be like Shakespeare's Ophelia. Indeed, if this
precipice, a chosen and favorite spot of hers, had been less
picturesque, if there had been a prosaic flat bank in its place, most
likely the suicide would never have taken place. This is a fact, and
probably there have been not a few similar instances in the last two
or three generations. Adelaïda Ivanovna Miüsov's action was similarly,
no doubt, an echo of other people's ideas, and was due to the
irritation caused by lack of mental freedom. She wanted, perhaps, to
show her feminine independence, to override class distinctions and the
despotism of her family. And a pliable imagination persuaded her, we
must suppose, for a brief moment, that Fyodor Pavlovitch, in spite of
his parasitic position, was one of the bold and ironical spirits of
that progressive epoch, though he was, in fact, an ill-natured buffoon
and nothing more. What gave the marriage piquancy was that it was
preceded by an elopement, and this greatly captivated Adelaïda
Ivanovna's fancy. Fyodor Pavlovitch's position at the time made him
specially eager for any such enterprise, for he was passionately
anxious to make a career in one way or another. To attach himself to a
good family and obtain a dowry was an alluring prospect. As for mutual
love it did not exist apparently, either in the bride or in him, in
spite of Adelaïda Ivanovna's beauty. This was, perhaps, a unique case
of the kind in the life of Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was always of a
voluptuous temper, and ready to run after any petticoat on the
slightest encouragement. She seems to have been the only woman who
made no particular appeal {to his senses.}

Immediately after the elopement Adelaïda Ivanovna discerned in a flash
that she had no feeling for her husband but contempt. The marriage
accordingly showed itself in its true colors with extraordinary
rapidity. Although the family accepted the event pretty quickly and
apportioned the runaway bride her dowry, the husband and wife began to
lead a most disorderly life, and there were everlasting scenes between
them. It was said that the young wife showed incomparably more
generosity and dignity than Fyodor Pavlovitch, who, as is now known,
got hold of all her money up to twenty-five thousand roubles as soon
as she received it, so that those thousands were lost to her for
ever. The little village and the rather fine town house which formed
part of her dowry he did his utmost for a long time to transfer to his
name, by means of some deed of conveyance. He would probably have
succeeded, merely from her moral fatigue and desire to get rid of him,
and from the contempt and loathing he aroused by his persistent and
shameless importunity. But, fortunately, Adelaïda Ivanovna's family
intervened and circumvented his greediness. It is known for a fact
that frequent fights took place between the husband and wife, but
rumor had it that Fyodor Pavlovitch did not beat his wife but was
beaten by her, for she was a hot-tempered, bold, dark-browed,
impatient woman, possessed of remarkable physical strength. Finally,
she left the house and ran away from Fyodor Pavlovitch with a
destitute divinity student, leaving Mitya, a child of three years old,
in her husband's hands. Immediately Fyodor Pavlovitch introduced a
regular harem into the house, and abandoned himself to orgies of
drunkenness. In the intervals he used to drive all over the province,
complaining tearfully to each and all of Adelaïda Ivanovna's having
left him, going into details too disgraceful for a husband to mention
in regard to his own married life. What seemed to gratify him and
flatter his self-love most was to play the ridiculous part of the
injured husband, and to parade his woes with embellishments.

“One would think that you'd got a promotion, Fyodor Pavlovitch, you
seem so pleased in spite of your sorrow,” scoffers said to him. Many
even added that he was glad of a new comic part in which to play the
buffoon, and that it was simply to make it funnier that he pretended
to be unaware of his ludicrous position. But, who knows, it may have
been simplicity. At last he succeeded in getting on the track of his
runaway wife. The poor woman turned out to be in Petersburg, where she
had gone with her divinity student, and where she had thrown herself
into a life of complete emancipation. Fyodor Pavlovitch at once began
bustling about, making preparations to go to Petersburg, with what
object he could not himself have said. He would perhaps have really
gone; but having determined to do so he felt at once entitled to
fortify himself for the journey by another bout of reckless
drinking. And just at that time his wife's family received the news of
her death in Petersburg. She had died quite suddenly in a garret,
according to one story, of typhus, or as another version had it, of
starvation. Fyodor Pavlovitch was drunk when he heard of his wife's
death, and the story is that he ran out into the street and began
shouting with joy, raising his hands to Heaven: “Lord, now lettest
Thou Thy servant depart in peace,” but others say he wept without
restraint like a little child, so much so that people were sorry for
him, in spite of the repulsion he inspired. It is quite possible that
both versions were true, that he rejoiced at his release, and at the
same time wept for her who released him. As a general rule, people,
even the wicked, are much more naïve and simple-hearted than we
suppose. And we ourselves are, too.