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Updated: June 24, 2025
He wanted to know this so as to judge by it the task to set for the day. "It'll soon be one, and they're only beginning the third sheaf," thought Levin. He went up to the man that was feeding the machine, and shouting over the roar of the machine he told him to put it in more slowly. "You put in too much at a time, Fyodor. Do you see it gets choked, that's why it isn't getting on. Do it evenly."
And so I’m persuaded that though I may once have doubted I shall be forgiven if I shed tears of repentance.” “Stay!” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, in a transport of delight. “So you do suppose there are two who can move mountains? Ivan, make a note of it, write it down. There you have the Russian all over!”
I don’t offer you brandy, you’re keeping the fast. But would you like some? No; I’d better give you some of our famous liqueur. Smerdyakov, go to the cupboard, the second shelf on the right. Here are the keys. Look sharp!” Alyosha began refusing the liqueur. “Never mind. If you won’t have it, we will,” said Fyodor Pavlovitch, beaming. “But stay—have you dined?”
"Good-bye, good-bye, my friend, good-bye." "You'll see Fyodor Matveyevitch, sir..." "Yes, my friend, yes... Fyodor Petrovitch... only good-bye." "You see, my friend... you'll allow me to call myself your friend, n'est-ce pas?" Stepan Trofimovitch began hurriedly as soon as the trap started. "You see I... J'aime le peuple, c'est indispensable, mais il me semble que je ne m'avais jamais vu de pres.
Exactly three months after Sofya Ivanovna’s death the general’s widow suddenly appeared in our town, and went straight to Fyodor Pavlovitch’s house. She spent only half an hour in the town but she did a great deal. It was evening. Fyodor Pavlovitch, whom she had not seen for those eight years, came in to her drunk.
The lesson lasted three or four hours, so that sometimes Fyodor Timofeyitch was so tired that he staggered about like a drunken man, and Ivan Ivanitch opened his beak and breathed heavily, while their master became red in the face and could not mop the sweat from his brow fast enough. The lesson and the dinner made the day very interesting, but the evenings were tedious.
I fancy he loved no one but himself and had a strangely high opinion of himself. His conception of culture was limited to good clothes, clean shirt-fronts and polished boots. They had everything, he nothing. They had all the rights, they had the inheritance, while he was only the cook. He told me himself that he had helped Fyodor Pavlovitch to put the notes in the envelope.
"I'm going to the left; you'll go to the right. Here's the end of the bridge. Listen, Fyodor; I like people to understand what I say, once for all. I won't give you a farthing. Don't meet me in future on the bridge or anywhere. I've no need of you, and never shall have, and if you don't obey, I'll tie you and take you to the police. March!" "Eh-heh! Fling me something for my company, anyhow.
After dinner the director lay on the sofa in his study and began reading the letters and newspapers he had received. "Dear Fyodor Petrovitch," wrote the wife of the Mayor of the town. "You once said that I knew the human heart and understood people. Now you have an opportunity of verifying this in practice.
Auntie believed in his merriment, all at once felt all over her that those thousands of faces were looking at her, lifted up her fox-like head, and howled joyously. "You sit there, Auntie," her master said to her, "while Uncle and I will dance the Kamarinsky." Fyodor Timofeyitch stood looking about him indifferently, waiting to be made to do something silly.
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