Brody castle cronin summary. Archibald Cronin's novel "Castle Brody": plot, main characters, reviews

Open book LitLife. Tour number 16.

I must say right away that I fully appreciated the talent of the author, which, to my deep shame, I had not even heard of and I am very surprised that this work is not included in the general education program (for many years the program includes the same works, mused with all sides and very reluctantly gives way to other worthy things). Here and mastery of the literary language, figurative, apt. Knowledge of the behavioral psychology of people, harmoniously inscribed in the described era and the society living in it.
But my review is not aimed at analyzing the work, it is implicated in personal experiences and emotions. Despite all the merits of this creation, it was very difficult for me to read: because of the authenticity, because of the interweaving with personal memories, recognizing myself and my loved ones in some of the events described.

I was in prison, in darkness, she whispered to herself, and when I came out of it, I was so blinded that I lost my way.

... something deeply hidden, perverted, felt by everyone who gazed into the house as ugliness, as a violation of harmony embodied in stone.

From the very first pages of this work, readers are immersed in the dull and frightening atmosphere of a very strange house, which the protagonist of the novel, James Brody, decided to build for himself and his loved ones. He wanted to live in a real castle, because he claims to be of aristocratic origin, but the size of his dwelling does not correspond to real castles at all, so the house, standing on the outskirts of the whole city, looks extremely ridiculous and causes Brody's fellow citizens, who also live in a Scottish town called Leavenford , only ridicule.

But James himself is simply overwhelmed with pride for himself and for his name, he is sure that he is in a direct and fairly close relationship with the family of the duke himself. Brody looks down on all other people, both because of his really huge growth, and because of his contemptuous attitude towards them, he is firmly convinced that he belongs to the category of the elite and everyone else is simply unworthy of communicating with him and his family. Over his pride, bordering on obsession, they laugh in the city, but James does not want to notice this, not doubting his own exclusivity.

The way of the Brody family is also different from life in other families. Everything is subordinated exclusively to the will, desires and whims of the head of the family, all household members literally tremble before this person and tremble with fear, being in his presence. Suffice it to recall only the first tea party in this house, shown by the author. Tea in Brody's house is served at the same time every evening, all family members are required to be at the table, not a minute late.

James's wife Margaret is only busy serving her cruel husband as best as possible, he constantly mocks the woman and is even able to hit her, but Margaret meekly endures absolutely everything, silently bowing her head. She has long lost all ability to resist the domestic tyrant and only thinks about not making him angry again, the fear of James actually killed her self-esteem, she never even tries to express her own opinion, agreeing with her husband in everything. True, she secretly indulges her favorite, eldest son Matthew, but does it in such a way that Brody does not find out about anything. The woman is almost indifferent to her daughters, especially to the eldest of them, Mary.

As for Mary, this girl turns out to be the only person in the house who is able to object to her father, although she also has to overcome fear. Mary firmly insists that her lover Dennis Foyle is not at all a scoundrel and a slacker, as Mr. Brody claims. Even a terrible night, when James, in a terrible thunderstorm, kicks Mary's legs out of the house, who has already begun childbirth, and the death of a baby does not force the courageous girl to break down, only she leaves the family castle in the finale of the novel in order to continue to live on with the worthy and decent man, Dr. Renwick.

Matthew, the eldest of the children of James and Margaret, is weak-willed and weak-willed, the constant fear of a tyrannical father from childhood teaches him to lie and pretend, boundless maternal love also helps to form just such traits in him. The young man is afraid of his father, but is unable to give up those entertainments to which he was accustomed during his stay in India, where James himself sent him to serve. Matthew uses his already hopelessly ill mother to the very last limit, and after her death, he hastily runs away forever from his father's house, taking Brody's mistress Nancy with him.

The death of Mrs. Margaret Brody from a serious illness, which she hid from her husband for a long time out of fear of him, looks as pathetic as her life next to a despotic husband who completely broke and suppressed her. The fate of Brody's youngest daughter Nessie is just as tragic, the girl has been distinguished by outstanding abilities since childhood, teachers at school constantly praise her, and James firmly believes that it is Nessie who will surely glorify his name by becoming a famous scientist.

After Brody is completely disappointed in older children, he pins all his hopes only on his youngest daughter and forces the girl to study non-stop, intimidating her with cruel punishment if she fails to get the notorious Latta scholarship, which has never been handed over to the representatives of the weaker sex. Nessie, who has been in awe of her father since childhood, is in a state of constant nervous tension, the fear of failure haunts her day and night, and in the end everything ends in tears. A sixteen-year-old girl who did not pass the scholarship exam, tormented by the horror of the upcoming meeting with her father and thinking only about what he will do to her now, decides to commit suicide, believing that this will be the best way out for her.

The novel ends with the fact that James Brody loses all those close to him, except for his mother, who has long fallen into senile insanity and is not interested in anything other than food. The wife and the youngest daughter are no longer alive, the son is on the other side of the world, in South America, the eldest daughter Mary is also not going to maintain relations with her father in the future. At the end of reading this work, there is no doubt that it was James who became a real killer for his family members, it was his tyranny, boundless cruelty and faith in his own chosenness that led him to complete loneliness and life collapse.

Archibald Cronin's first novel "Castle Brody" will make readers feel very sharp and painful emotions. Despite the fact that it has a light style of narration, it is quite heavy for perception. This is one of those works, after which there is an oppressive feeling, although it is worth rejoicing that this is just the plot of the book, and not reality.

The protagonist of the novel causes irritation and anger, even contempt. It seems that he embodied everything negative. But then you watch the other characters and realize that even though they seem to be victims, they also have flaws. And perhaps it is because of them that they have to suffer. As you read, think about the mistakes we make. You understand that everything is good in moderation, there must be boundaries for both pride and humility.

This is a story about the tragic life of an English family. Terrible things were happening outside the doors of their house that they could not stop. Brody is the head of the family who sees no one but himself. All members of his family are not people for him. He is arrogant, disgustingly cruel and always makes sure that everything is as he decided. His mother is a mischievous, grumpy old woman who constantly demands food. The eldest daughter Mary is not very smart, which is why she finds herself in a terrible situation. Son Matt is a boy spoiled by his mother's love. The youngest daughter Nessie is a poor downtrodden child who is afraid to say the wrong word.

Brody's wife Margaret spent her whole life next to this cruel man. She devoted herself entirely to serving him. She fulfilled his every whim, without resisting, even when he was unfair and unnecessarily cruel. Of the three children, she chose one as her favorite, whom she spoiled greatly. And it is probably because she allowed Brody to be rude from the very beginning that the fates of all family members were so tragic.

On our site you can download the book "Brody's Castle" by Archibald Joseph Cronin for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy the book in the online store.

HATTER'S CASTLE

Copyright © A. J. Cronin, 1931

All rights reserved

© Edition in Russian, design. LLC Publishing Group Azbuka-Atticus, 2016

Inostranka ® Publishing House

Part one

I

The spring of 1879 was surprisingly early and warm. The fields of Low Scotland were covered with the green of the early crops, the candles on the chestnut trees had already blossomed in April, and the hawthorn bushes that lined the white ribbons of the country roads were in bloom a month earlier than usual. In the villages, farmers rejoiced with restraint, barefoot children rushed after the watering machines. In the cities situated along the banks of the wide river, the clang of iron in the shipyards no longer seemed so intrusive, and in the soft spring air, rising to the hills, merged with the buzz of the first bee and drowned in the jubilant bleating of lambs. In the offices, the clerks took off their jackets and lounged exhaustedly in their chairs, cursing the hot weather, indignant at the policy of Lord Beaconsfield, the news of the war with the Zulus and the high cost of beer.

Over the whole mouth of the river Clyde, from Glasgow to Portdoren, over Overton, Darroch, Erdfillen - cities located between the Winton and Doren hills and forming, as it were, three peaks of a triangle of fertile land on the right bank of the estuary - and over the ancient town of Leavenford, which lies at the base of this triangle, in the very place where the Liven flows into the Clyde - the sun shone dazzlingly over everything, and, warmed by its wonderful fertile warmth, people worked, idled, chatted, grumbled, cheated, prayed, loved - lived.

One morning in May, sparse wisps of clouds hung lazily over Leavenford in a heat-weary height. But by the end of the day, those web-thin clouds slowly stirred. A warm breeze rose and drove them across the sky, and when they were out of sight, the breeze blew over the city. The first thing he met on the way was a high historical rock, which stood like a beacon at the confluence of the Clyde River with its tributary, the Lieven, and was clearly drawn in the opal sky, resembling the motionless carcass of a huge elephant. The warm wind rounded the rock, quickly swept through the hot streets of the wretched suburb, the New City, and then between the high stocks, cranes and frames of unfinished ships at the Letta and Co. shipyards located along the sea arm, where work was in full swing; after that he walked along Church Street, walking slowly, as one should, along the main street, where the city hall, the city school and the parish church are located, and finally, passing this stately street, spun merrily into the hospitable open space of the main square. Then, hesitantly, as if in thought, he walked through the rows of shops of the High Street and reached Knoxhill, a high-lying block of residential buildings. Here he soon got tired of walking along the terraces of weathered red sandstone and rustling in the ivy on the walls of old stone houses, and, trying to get out into the fields as soon as possible, the breeze again swept through the city between the prim villas of the aristocratic quarter of Welhall, fanning in passing the round flower beds of purple geranium that adorned the front garden. in front of every house. Then, carelessly running along the wide, beautiful avenue that led out of the city from the aristocratic quarter, the breeze suddenly turned cold, blowing against the last house at the end of this street.

This house was a unique structure. Small, of such size that it could have no more than seven rooms, but massive, made of gray stone, striking in severe heaviness and completely extraordinary architecture.

At the bottom, the house had the shape of a narrow rectangle, with its long side facing the street. The walls did not rise directly from the ground, but stood on a stone plinth, which was a full foot longer and wider than their base, so that the whole building rested on it, like an animal on paws dug deep into the earth. The façade, rising with cold severity on this plinth, with one half turned into a steeply cut ridge, and the other half ended in a low parapet, which stretched horizontally until it connected with a second similar ridge above the side wall of the house.

These pointed protrusions had a very peculiar appearance: each of them passed by a series of steep rectangular steps into a top decorated with flutes, on which a large ball of polished gray granite flaunted proudly. They were interconnected by a parapet, which, with its regularly alternating sharp teeth, formed, as it were, a heavy chain of stone links, which fettered the entire building with shackles.

At the corner where the side and front walls of the house converged, rose a low round tower, also girded with a crenellated parapet, decorated in the middle with a deep diamond-shaped niche and crowned with a turret, on which a thin reed flagpole stuck out. The heavy proportions of its upper part made the tower squat and ugly, giving it a resemblance to a wide, frowning forehead disfigured by a deep scar, and from under this forehead two deep-set eyes looked sullenly and mysteriously - narrow windows cut into the tower. Just under the tower was the entrance - a nondescript narrow door, very inhospitable in appearance, like a hostilely compressed thin mouth; the side wings of the door converged steeply at the top into a pointed arch that surrounded a window of dark glass and ended in a point. The windows of the house, like the door, were narrow, without any decorations, they seemed to be just holes punched in the wall, which reluctantly let in light, but hid the interior of the dwelling from prying eyes.

The whole house as a whole had a kind of mysterious, gloomy and repulsive appearance, and it was not clear what thought guided those who built it. Its small size prevented it from achieving the arrogant grandeur of some baronial castle, if that was the purpose of its Gothic turret, bastions and steeply sloping corners. However, this building exuded such coldness, such harsh power, that it was impossible to see in it only a self-satisfied pretense of ostentatious splendor. Its battlements gave the impression of a coldly pompous, but not funny, and he, for all his absurdity, did not seem at all funny. There was something in its grandiose architecture that made laughter stop, something deeply hidden, perverted, felt by all who gazed into the house as ugliness, as a violation of harmony embodied in stone.

The people of Leavenford never laughed at this house—at least they didn't openly laugh at it. Such was the elusive atmosphere of power that surrounded him that no one would dare to smile.

There was not even a front garden in front of the house; instead of it, a gravel-strewn, bare, sun-scorched, but impeccably clean courtyard, in the middle of which stood a small copper cannon as the only decoration; This cannon had once been on board the frigate, participated in the last salvo from it, and now, having lain for many years in the port warehouse, it proudly showed off, polished to a shine, between two symmetrical piles of cannonballs, giving the final touch to the absurdity of this peculiar dwelling. Behind the house was a square patch of grass overgrown with four iron posts at the corners, surrounded by a high stone wall, under which grew several currant bushes - the only vegetation in this miserable semblance of a garden, except for the bleak lilac bush that peered through the kitchen window, which never bloomed. .

Through this window, although it was obscured by a lilac bush, one could see something inside. There was a spacious room, comfortably furnished but tasteless. There was a sofa and chairs with horsehair seats, a large table, a pot-bellied low chest of drawers against one wall, and a large mahogany sideboard against the other. The floor was covered with linoleum, the walls were covered with yellow wallpaper, and the fireplace was decorated with a heavy marble clock, with its important appearance, as if emphasizing that here was not just a kitchen, a place for cooking (they cooked mainly in the crockery, behind the kitchen), but rather a dining room, a common a room where the inhabitants of the house ate, spent their leisure time and discussed all family matters.

The hands on the clock that decorated the fireplace showed twenty minutes past five, and old Grandma Brody was already sitting in her chair in the corner by the fire, toasting toast for afternoon tea. She was a broad-boned, angular old woman, shriveled, but not decrepit, despite her seventy-two years, withered, like the gnarled trunk of an old tree, devoid of sap, but still strong and hardy, hardened by time and bad weather. This resemblance was especially emphasized by the gnarled hands with joints thickened by gout. Her face, the color of withered leaves, was all pitted with wrinkles; facial features - large, sharp, masculine, hair, still black, neatly parted in the middle with a straight parting, exposing the white line of the skull, and twisted in a tight knot at the back of the head. Rigid sparse hairs, like weeds, made their way on the chin and upper lip. Grandma Brody wore a black blouse and a long skirt of the same color dragging along the ground behind it, a small black cap and boots with elastic bands, which, despite being very large, did not hide the gouty knuckles and flat feet.

Leaning over the fire (at the same time, from her efforts, the cape slid a little to one side) and holding the fork with both shaking hands, she toasted two thick slices of rolls with endless precautions, browning them with loving diligence on top so that they remained soft inside, and when everything was done to her complete satisfaction, put them on the other end of the dish, where she can immediately reach out and quickly take them for herself as soon as the family sits down at the table. The rest of the slices she fried somehow, without showing any interest in them. While doing this, she thought displeasedly about something, now drawing in, now puffing out her cheeks and clanging with her false teeth, which always served as a sign of discontent with her. “This is just a disgrace,” she said to herself, “Mary forgot to buy cheese again! The girl is becoming more and more inattentive, and she, like some kind of fool, cannot be relied upon in such important matters. What's a dinner without cheese, fresh Denlop cheese?"

At the thought of him, the old woman's long upper lip trembled, and a trickle of saliva flowed from the corner of her mouth.

Thinking in this way, she cast quick accusatory glances from under her frowning brows at her granddaughter Mary, who sat opposite her in the chair in which her father usually sat and which was therefore sacred and forbidden to all others.

But Mary did not think about the cheese, or the chair, or the crimes she had committed by forgetting the first and sitting in the second. Her meek brown eyes were fixed on the window, staring into the distance with concentration, as if they saw something there that enchanted her radiant gaze.

From time to time, her expressive lips curled into a smile, then she gently unconsciously shook her head, shaking her curls, and at the same time, glare of light glided through her hair like ripples on water. Her little hands, smooth and delicate as magnolia petals, lay on her knees, palms up, in their passivity testifying to the fact that Mary was completely absorbed in thought. She sat upright like a stalk of reeds, beautiful with the thoughtful and serene beauty of a deep, calm lake where reeds sway.

She had all the untouched freshness of youth, but at the same time, despite her seventeen years, her pale face and slender, not yet formed figure breathed calm confidence and strength.

The old woman's growing indignation finally broke through. Her self-respect did not allow her to proceed directly to the question of cheese, and instead she said with suppressed and therefore even more intense anger:

Mary, you are sitting in your father's chair!

There was no answer.

You sat in your father's place! Hear what they say!

Still no answer.

Then the old hag screamed, trembling all over with suppressed rage:

- Oh, you sloven, what are you - not only stupid, but also deaf and dumb? Why did you forget to buy what you were punished today? There wasn't a day this week that you didn't do something stupid. Or are you crazy from the heat?

As if suddenly awakened from a dream, Mary raised her eyes, woke up from her reverie and smiled, as if the sun illuminated the quiet and sad lake of her beauty.

Did you say something, grandma?

- No! the old woman shouted hoarsely. “I didn't say anything, I just opened my mouth to catch flies. This is a wonderful activity for those who have nothing to do. That's right, that's what you did today when you went shopping in town. I would yawn less, so I would better remember what I need!

At that moment Margaret Brody came in from the crockery with a large metal teapot. She entered hurriedly, with small and quick steps, leaning forward and dragging her feet. Such was her usual gait - it seemed that she was always in a hurry somewhere and was afraid of being late. She had changed from the dressing gown in which she usually cooked and cleaned to a skirt and a black silk blouse, but the skirt was stained, some kind of sloppy knotted ribbon dangled from the waist, and her hair was disheveled and hung in strands along her cheeks. Margaret's head was constantly tilted to one side. Once this was done in order to express humility and true Christian humility in days of trials and tribulations, but time and the eternal need to depict self-denial have made this head tilt habitual. Her nose also seemed to be tilted off the vertical line, perhaps out of sympathy, but most likely due to a nervous tic that had developed in her later years and created a habit of running the back of her hand across her nose from right to left.

Margaret's face was exhausted, tired, and there was something touching in its expression. She had the appearance of a man falling from exhaustion, but constantly spurring the last energy in himself. She was forty-two years old, but she seemed ten years older.

Such was Mary's mother, and her daughter resembled her as little as a young doe resembles an old sheep.

"Mother" (for that was what everyone in the house called Mrs. Brody), accustomed by necessity to settle family troubles, at first glance noticed the anger of the old woman and the confusion of her daughter.

“Get up this minute, Mary!” - she exclaimed. “It’s almost half past six, and the tea hasn’t been brewed yet!” Go call your sister. And you, grandmother, have you fried everything? Oh, my God, yes, you have one piece burnt! Give it here, I'll have to eat it. Nothing in this house should go to waste!

She took a burnt slice and defiantly put it on her plate, then began without any need to rearrange the dishes on the table set for tea, as if showing that everything was done wrong, and would come in order only when the sin of careless serving will be smoothed over by her meek, selfless efforts.

- Who sets the table like that! she muttered disdainfully, as her daughter got up and went out into the hall.

- Nessie! Nessie! Mary called. - To drink a tea! To drink a tea!

- I'm going! Wait for me!

A minute later the two sisters entered the kitchen together. Not to mention the difference in age (Nessie was only twelve years old), they differed sharply from each other in appearance and character, and the contrast between them was immediately evident.

Nessie was the exact opposite of Mary. Her hair was light as linen, almost colorless, and braided into two neat pigtails; she inherited from her mother her meek, veiled eyes, pale blue, like veronica flowers, spotted with barely noticeable white specks - eyes with that invariably tender and touching expression, which made one think that she was constantly striving to appease everyone. Her face was narrow, with a high white forehead, wax-doll pink cheeks, a sharp chin, and a small mouth, always half-open, thanks to a somewhat drooping lower lip; all this, as well as the soft, indefinite smile with which she entered the kitchen at that moment, testified to the natural weakness of this as yet unformed character.

“Isn’t it too early for us to have tea today, mother?” she remarked lazily, going up to her mother for a routine examination.

Mrs. Brody, busy with final preparations, waved her off.

- Did you wash your hands? she asked in turn, without looking at Nessie. Then, without waiting for an answer, she looked at her watch and commanded: “Sit down, everyone!”

Four women sat down at the table - the first, as always, was the old grandmother. They sat waiting, and Mrs. Brody's hand hung uneasily at the ready over the quilted lid of the teapot. But now, into this expectant silence, the low and thick ringing of the old grandfather clock in the hall burst, striking once, and at the same moment the lock of the front door clicked, then it was slammed shut with force. The reed put in its place clattered; heavy footsteps sounded measuredly along the corridor; The kitchen door opened and James Brody entered. He went to a chair that was waiting for him, sat down, held out his hand for his own large cup filled to the brim with hot tea; then he was served straight from the stove a plate full of ham with eggs, a roll specially cut and buttered for him, and as soon as he sat down he began to eat. The strict punctuality with which the whole family gathered for evening tea, and their intense expectation, explained that the ritual of immediately serving the head of the house during meals, as in all other cases, was one of the unwritten laws that reigned in this house.

Brody ate greedily and with obvious pleasure. He was a man of enormous stature, over six feet, with the shoulders and neck of a bull. His head was massive, his eyes were small, gray, sunk deep under his forehead, and his jaws were so strong and muscular that when he chewed, large hard jaws swelled and fell rhythmically under his smooth, tanned cheeks. His face, broad and healthy, would have been beautiful if not for the too low forehead and narrow slit of the eyes. A thick dark mustache partly covered the mouth, but the lower lip protruded from under them with sullen and defiant arrogance.

The backs of his large hands, and even his thick, spatulate fingers, were covered with thick dark hair. The knife and fork held in that huge paw looked like a toy and ridiculously out of place in comparison.

After the head of the family began to eat, the rest were allowed to start, but their menu consisted, of course, only of tea with toast; the signal was given by the grandmother, greedily taking possession of her soft slices. Sometimes, if her son was in a particularly benevolent mood, he graciously gave her tidbits from his plate, but today she saw from his manner that she could not wait for this rare treat, and meekly contented herself with the modest pleasure that she could give her. food available to her. The rest of the family ate in their own way: Nessie with great appetite, Mary absent-mindedly, and Mrs. Brody, who had eaten quietly an hour ago, was picking a burnt piece on her plate with the air of a creature too fragile and too burdened with caring for others. to find pleasure in food.

There was complete silence, broken only by the champing of the father when he sucked his mustache, the clang of the false teeth of the grandmother, who tried to extract maximum pleasure and benefit from the process of saturation, and from time to time by the sniffing of the restless nose of the mother. The faces of the participants in this strange family tea party showed neither surprise nor regret at the lack of a common conversation at the table: they chewed, drank, swallowed without uttering a word, and over everything reigned the menacing eye of James Brody. When the owner was pleased to be silent, no one dared to utter a word, but today he was in a particularly angry mood and, frowning, in between sips cast gloomy glances at his mother, who, in a fit of greed, did not notice his displeasure and dipped crusts into tea.

Finally he said to her:

- After all, you are not a pig, so that So there is old!

She stared at him fearfully, blinking her eyes.

- A? What is it, James? How do I eat?

- Yes, just like a pig, which will certainly dump or smear its food all over the trough. Are you really not smart enough to understand what you are eating like a greedy pig? He will fit his feet into the trough - and he is happy and satisfied. Well, keep going! Behave like an animal if you've stooped that far! Is there no pride, no sense of decency left in your withered brain?

– I forgot... I completely forgot... I won't do it again. Yes, yes, I will remember! And she suddenly burped loudly from excitement.

- That's it! Brody snorted. "Behave yourself in the future, you old scarecrow!" His face darkened with anger. “It's a disgrace that a man like me has to endure this in his own house. He hit his chest with a huge fist, and his chest hummed like a drum. - Someone like me! he shouted. - Like me! - And suddenly he fell silent, looked around at everyone from under frowning bushy eyebrows and again began to eat.

The words spoken by him were angry, but since he spoke, then, according to the unwritten code of laws adopted in this house, it was possible to talk to others, the ban was lifted.

“Pass me Daddy’s cup, Nessie, I’ll pour him some more tea,” Mrs. Brody began in a conciliatory tone.

- Now, mom.

“Mary, honey, sit up straight and don't disturb your father. I'm sure he had a hard day today.

“All right, Mom,” answered Mary, who already sat straight and did not bother anyone.

- Pass the jam to your father.

The propitiation of the angry lion was begun, and it was necessary to continue it: after waiting a minute, mother began again, this time with a tried and reliable move.

- Well, how are you doing at school today, Nessie?

Nessie was startled.

- All right, Mom.

James's hand, which had raised the cup to his lips, lingered in the air.

- Good? Are you still first in class?

Nessie rolled her eyes.

“Not today, dad. Today I'm only in second place.

- What's happened?! Have you allowed yourself to be overtaken? But who is it? Who is first?

— John Grierson.

- Grierson! The spawn of that gossip-bread merchant! That vile beggar! Now he will brag everywhere for more than one day! What happened to you, tell me for God's sake? Or do you not understand how important it is for you to get an education?

The girl burst into tears.

“She was the first for almost a month and a half, dad,” Mary bravely stood up for her sister. - And then, others are older than her.

Brody gave her a devastating look.

- And you keep your mouth shut until you are addressed! he boomed. - With you, the conversation is ahead, my dear - then you will have the opportunity to use your long tongue!

“All that French,” sobbed Nessie. - I just can’t keep conjugations in my head ... And in arithmetic, and in history, and in geography, I have good marks, but nothing comes out with French. I feel like I'll never beat him.

- You won't win! And I tell you that you will overcome - you will be educated with me, my daughter! Although you are still small, everyone says that you have a head with brains (it was you who inherited them from me, because your mother was always a fool), and I will see to it that you use them to good use. Tonight you will do two exercises instead of one.

“Yes, yes, dad, I will do everything you tell me,” Nessie sighed, convulsively trying to suppress her sobs.

- That is great. - The hard features of James Brody for a moment suddenly lit up with a feeling in which there was a share of tenderness, but much more than immense vanity. It flashed like a sudden flickering ray of light on a gloomy rock.

“We'll show all Leavenford what my smart daughter can do. I'll take care of it. When we achieve that you will be the first student, you will know what your father wants to make of you. But you must study seriously, study with all your might.

- You my daughter, and you will bear the name of Brody with honor.

Then, when he turned his head, his eyes fell on the other daughter and immediately darkened, and the expression of his face changed.

- Yes, dad.

- Well, now let's talk to you. You after all for a word in a pocket will not get.

Lounging in his chair, he spoke without raising his voice, with a sarcastic grin, weighing every word with the cold calm of a judge.

“It's nice sometimes to hear from outsiders about what's going on in your own family. Of course, it is not too honorable for the head of the family that one has to find out in a roundabout way, but this, in essence, is nothing. And I was very flattered to hear the news about my daughter, from which my insides turned over ... - He spoke in an increasingly cold tone. “Today I learned from a conversation with one of the members of the city government that you were seen in Church Street chatting with a young man, yes, with a very pleasant-looking young man ...” He bared his teeth and continued caustically: “Whom I consider a suspicious person, a scoundrel and a bum!

Here Mrs. Brody broke in timidly, exclaiming almost in tears:

“No, no, Mary, it certainly wasn't you—a decent girl wouldn't act like that. Tell your father it wasn't you!

But Nessie, rejoicing that the general attention was diverted from her, thoughtlessly exclaimed:

- It was, right, Denis Foyle, yes, Mary?

Mary sat motionless, not taking her eyes off the plate, pale to the very lips. She swallowed the ball that rolled to her throat, and, obeying an unconscious impulse, said quietly but firmly:

“He is not a slacker or a scoundrel.

- What's happened?! Brody growled. “You dare to object to your father and stand up for some Irish tramp!” Let those Paddies come here from their swamps to dig potatoes for us, but we won't let them go any further. We won't let them get insolent. Even though old Foyle has the most famous inn in all of Darrock, that doesn't make his son a gentleman!

Mary felt herself shaking all over. Her lips were dry, her tongue stiff. Never before had she dared to argue with her father, but now something made her say:

- Denis has a profession, dad. It has nothing to do with the liquor trade. He works for Findley & Co. in Glasgow. This is a large company that imports tea and has nothing to do with ... other drinks.

– That's how! Brody said in a mockingly encouraging tone. - This is important news! Well, well, what else can you say to prove the nobility of this gentleman? He does not currently sell whiskey. He sells tea. What a pious occupation for the son of an innkeeper! Well, what next?

Mary understood that he was mocking her, but she had the courage to continue in a tone of gentle persuasion:

“He's not a common clerk, Dad. He is in very good standing and often travels on company business. And--and expects to move forward, maybe even become a partner in business after a while.

- Oh really?! Brody chuckled. “So that’s what nonsense he stuffed your stupid head with!” "Not an ordinary employee"! The most ordinary salesman - that's all. Didn't he tell you he'd be Lord Mayor of London someday, eh? It's just as plausible as anything else. Puppy!

Tears streamed down Mary's cheeks, but, ignoring her mother's protesting cry, she again objected:

“He's in very good standing, Dad, I assure you. Mr Findlay takes part in it. I know.

- Ba! Don't you think I'll believe his stories? All this is a lie, a complete lie! he yelled at her again. “This fellow belongs to the scum of society. What can be expected from people of this kind? One moral depravity! You shamed me already by talking to him. But this conversation was the last. Without taking his eyes off his daughter, he repeated fiercely: “You will never speak to him again, do you hear? I forbid you this!

“Oh, daddy…” Mary cried. - Oh, dad, I ... I ...

“Mary, Mary, don’t you dare contradict your father!” I'm even scared to listen to how you allow yourself to talk to him! Mom's voice came from the other end of the table. She tried to appease her husband in this way, but this time her intervention was a tactical error and only immediately directed Brody's anger at her own submissively bowed head. His eyes flashing, he turned to her.

- And what are you doing? Who's talking here - you or me? If you have something to say, so please! We will all shut up and listen to your wise speech. If you don't have it, then keep your mouth shut and don't interfere. You are as guilty as she is. It's up to you to keep track of who she's dating.

He snorted angrily and, as was his wont, paused for effect. There was an oppressive silence, but suddenly the old grandmother, who either did not follow the conversation, or did not catch the nature of the silence that followed, and understood only one thing - that Mary was in disfavor, could not withstand the influx of feelings and broke the silence, shouting in a voice hissing with anger:

“She forgot to do what she was instructed to do today, James!” She forgot to buy cheese for me, that slob!

And, having poured out her senseless irritation in this way, she immediately settled down and calmed down, muttering something under her breath. Her head was shaking like a paraplegic.

The son paid absolutely no attention to this speech and, looking at Mary, slowly repeated:

- I said. And may God have mercy on you if you dare to disobey! Yes, one more thing: tonight is the opening of the Levenford fair - I already saw all these stinking booths on the way home. So remember, none of my children will come within a hundred yards of the fair grounds. Let the whole city run there, let the rednecks come, let all the Foyles and their friends go, but none of the members of the James Brody family will stoop to that. I forbid it.

After uttering the last words, which sounded like a threat, he pushed back his chair, heavily raised his huge body and for a minute stood upright, towering over the group of weak people who surrounded him. Finally he went to his chair in the corner, sat down, felt for the pipe stand with a habitual, mechanical gesture, chose the pipe without looking, by touch, and, taking a square leather pouch with tobacco from a deep side pocket, opened it and slowly stuffed a well-smoked head. Then he took a paper pipe from a pile behind the stand, leaning forward with difficulty, lit it from the fire in the fireplace and brought it to the pipe. While doing all this, he did not for a moment take his menacing gaze away from the silent group of people around the table. He still slowly lit a cigarette, sticking out his wet lower lip and never ceasing to watch everyone, but more calmly, contemplatively, with an air of critical and arrogant. Although they should have gotten used to the tyranny of this cold surveillance, they had always been overwhelmed by it, and now they involuntarily lowered their voices when they spoke. Mom's face was still on fire. Mary's lips trembled. Nessie fiddled with a teaspoon in her hands and, dropping it, blushed in embarrassment, as if convicted of some bad deed. Only the old woman remained indifferent, immersed in a blissful feeling of satiety.

Reading the novel "Castle Brody" by the English writer Archibald Cronin, you involuntarily feel the atmosphere of despondency and hopelessness, you get the feeling that you live the whole history of the family's life together with them. Psychological contradictions in the family and the tragic consequences of the selfishness and pride of the protagonist of the story squeeze the reader into the grip of a bleak world. The plot of the novel is tense and at the same time dynamic. Archibald Cronin has become a real discovery for many readers.

About the novel

Brody's Castle was conceived by Archibald Cronin (1896-1981) as a tragic tale of selfishness and cruel pride. The original title of the novel is Hatter's Castle. The author rewrote it several times, destroying some pages entirely.

Cronin did not expect the novel to be a resounding success. The plot of "Castle Brody" includes many main and side lines that tell either about blood relationship or friendship. The novel frightens with its frankness and realism. Therefore, there is no doubt that the characters of the novel existed in real life. The action takes place in the fictional town of Leavenford in 1879. According to the plot of the work, the Brody family will have to go through many trials.

Cronin skillfully and very subtly showed the characters of his heroes, hopelessness, suffering. A living book literally from the first pages takes the strings of the soul and finally draws the reader into the world of storytelling. In the novel "Castle Brody" Cronin describes a small period of time in the life of the family, in which he explores the phenomenon of destruction.

Who is Brody

The central character of the novel, James Brody, is a complete egoist and tyrant. With him in the house live a mother who has lost her mind, wife Margaret, forty, adult son Matthew and two daughters: Mary, who is seventeen years old, and twelve-year-old Nessie.

James Brody is a hat shop owner who enjoys fame and influence in the city, mainly due to his wealthy clients. This is a cruel and domineering person who despises everyone he considers below himself. With family, he is strict, and sometimes even cruel.

The unbearable nature of the hatter turns the life of family members into hell. The inaction of the victims, members of his family, who are the main characters of "Castle Brody", is understandable. Neither the wife, nor, moreover, the children had any idea to run away from this despot somewhere. They considered such a life the norm. "I'll be home when I come" - sounds from the mouth of Brody as an undeniable power over the household.

father's cruelty

Without an ounce of regret, barely restraining his anger, Brody throws his eldest daughter Mary out into the street after learning about her pregnancy. He absolutely does not care about the fate of his daughter. About what happened to her, he learns from the city gossip. But Brody does not care about the health or life of his eldest daughter. He gloatingly thinks about the death of Mary's beloved - Denis Foyle.

Life punishes him, but he does not take the blows of fate as lessons. Archibald Cronin in "Castle Brody" very reliably shows that such people as the main character of the story - the hatter, are incorrigible.

Brody's attitude towards people

This is a vain and self-satisfied tyrant, and his vanity has no intellectual or material basis. Brody considered brute physical strength and rudeness to be a dignity, rejecting everything that he considered unworthy of his greatness.

He wants to become a famous person in the city. But the locals look at him as an eccentric, whom they do not want to argue with, because they do not have the desire to listen to his abuse and threats.

What I can't stand about this man is his devilish sullen pride that grows and grows no matter what. She's like an illness. And pride is stupid, meaningless. If he could look at himself from the outside, he would become more modest ...

(saying one of the residents of the town)

And the family for him was a handful of slaves who had to obey all his requirements. And not only family members were slaves. He behaves like a petty tyrant and with his clerk Peter Perry, who offers to introduce innovations in order to somehow compete with the haberdashery firm "Manjo and K" that has appeared in the city.

Soon all of Brody's clients move there (to the haberdashery firm). To top it all off, Perry does the same, disappointed by the boring and uninteresting job of the rude and ungrateful Brody. And although Brody's financial situation has been greatly shaken, he continues to be rude to clients. His affairs are getting worse and worse.

Summary of the Hatter's Life

Brody, having power over the fate of loved ones, seeks to turn their lives into hard labor, to fill them with his bile. He does not put his wife in anything, despises his son, who returned from work without earning anything. In the end, Brody goes bankrupt and is forced to go to work as a small clerk, which is called "from riches to the dirt", turning from a successful person into a drunkard, a reveler, a beggar.

Brought into the house mistress Nancy becomes the beloved of his son, they run away from his father to South America. Brody's hope is in his youngest daughter, whom he forces to sit at university textbooks 24/7 in order to get her a scholarship. But the girl was denied a scholarship, because of which she hanged herself. Thus collapses Brody's last hope to regain his position in society. The death of the younger daughter leads to Brody's realization of the horror of his situation, the understanding that he was left alone in the house with a woman who is afraid of him, with his half-mad mother. He crashes everywhere: both in the city and in his own house, which looks more like a prison than a castle.

Other characters in the novel

If we consider the actions of each of the Brody children, it becomes clear that each of them took servility from their mother, and selfishness from their father. In each of their children, these characteristic features vary in different proportions. The younger daughter Nessie is cowardly and selfish. The son is a spineless boor, spoiled by his mother, fulfilling all his whims. It was the love of the mother, closing her eyes to all the actions of her son, that made him cruel and demanding, no worse than his father, slavish obedience to his mother.

Mary was not given enough attention, and due to ignorance and inexperience, she got into an unpleasant situation. The pages of the novel describe the terrible story of Mary's eldest daughter - her love and loss of a child, her father's expulsion from home during a terrible hurricane cause heartache. Mary is presented to the reader as a naive child with such a bleak future. It cannot be said that the girl's past was sweet. It is overshadowed by her tyrant dad and weak-willed mother. She simply had to look for the society where she is needed, where she will be loved. She is separated from her family in the novel. It is not known how her life would have turned out if she had stayed with Brody. But she had broken out of that terrible prison, even under such terrible circumstances.

When you finish reading Cronin's Brody's Castle, there is a faint hope that at least Nessie, the smallest of the children, will change the state of her father's affairs by receiving the expected scholarship. But, having received a refusal to issue a scholarship, this fragile girl decided to die so as not to remain further in heavy bonds.

Brody's wife causes pity when reading, but sometimes her behavior provokes anger. How could a tyrant-husband tell about her daughter's pregnancy? Margaret is difficult to attribute to positive characters because of her spinelessness and servility to her husband, but as a human being she is somehow especially sorry.

The characters in the novel that evoke warm feelings are Mary and Dr. Ranwick, who saved her when she lost a child who sincerely loves her. Mary's beloved was charming and cheerful in the novel. Many are very sorry that he died. The positive characters include the farmer who helped Mary.