The Karamazov Brothers

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  ‘Ignore him, Kolya, just walk past.’

  ‘Not on your life. I’m just starting to enjoy myself. Hey, hello there, peasant!’

  A well-built peasant with a round, simple face and a greying beard was ambling slowly by, and he had clearly had a drop to drink already; he raised his head and looked at the boy.

  ‘Well, hello, if you’re not joking,’ he replied unhurriedly.

  ‘And if I am joking?’ Kolya laughed.

  ‘If you are joking, then carry on joking, bless you. No harm in that, there’s no law against it. A bit of a joke never did anyone any harm.’

  ‘Sorry, old chap, I was joking.’

  ‘Well, God’ll forgive you.’

  ‘And you, do you forgive me?’

  ‘Certainly I forgive you. Off you go now.’

  ‘You know, you are maybe quite intelligent for a peasant.’

  ‘More so than you,’ the peasant replied unexpectedly and as seriously as ever.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Kolya, somewhat put out.

  ‘I’m telling you the truth.’

  ‘On second thoughts, perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘That’s better, young fellow.’

  ‘Goodbye, peasant.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘There are peasants and peasants,’ remarked Kolya to Smurov after a short silence. ‘How was I to know he’d turn out to be an intelligent one. I’m always ready to recognize intelligence in the population.’

  In the distance the cathedral clock chimed half past eleven. The boys began to hurry, and covered the remaining, not inconsiderable distance to the Staff Captain’s house quickly and almost in silence. At twenty paces from the house Kolya stopped and sent Smurov ahead to ask Karamazov to come out.

  ‘Have to sound him out first,’ he remarked.

  ‘Why do you have to ask him to come out?’ objected Smurov. ‘Just go in, they’ll be delighted to see you. What’s the good of meeting each other in the freezing cold?’

  ‘It’s for me to decide why I have to ask him to come out here in the cold,’ Kolya interrupted sharply, and Smurov ran off to carry out his orders. Kolya loved bossing ‘the little ones’ about.

  4

  ZHUCHKA

  KOLYA, affecting an air of self-importance, leaned against the fence and waited for Alyosha to appear. It was true, he had wanted to meet him for a long time. He had heard a lot about him from the boys, but until now he had maintained an attitude of seemingly disdainful indifference whenever Alyosha’s name was mentioned, even ‘criticizing’ him whenever there was any discussion about him. Privately, however, he very much wanted to get to know him.

  Everything he had heard about Alyosha was positive and attractive. So this moment was important: above all, he must not lose face, must try and be grown-up: ‘If not, he’ll think I’m only thirteen and take me for a kid like the others. And what are those boys to him? I’ll ask him when we get to know each other better. Still, it’s a pity I’m so short. Tuzikov is younger than me, but he’s half a head taller. Anyway, I’ve got an intelligent face, I’m not good-looking, I know I have a horrible face, but it’s an intelligent one. And I mustn’t seem too keen; if I’m too friendly straight away, he’ll think… Oh, that would be simply dreadful!…’

  Thus Kolya fretted, trying with all his might to maintain an air of the utmost insouciance. What troubled him most of all was his small stature, not his ‘ugly’ face, just his size. At home he had kept a record of his height since the previous year, with a pencil on a wall in the corner, and every two months he went there in a state of expectation and measured himself to see how much he had grown. But alas, he had grown very little, and this threw him into despair at times. As for his face, it was not at all ‘ugly’; on the contrary, it was quite nice-looking, pale with freckles. His grey eyes, small but lively, had a courageous look and often lit up with emotion. His cheekbones were fairly wide, his lips small, not very thick, but very red, his nose was small and decidedly upturned. ‘Snub nose, snub nose!’ Kolya would mutter to himself when he looked in the mirror, and he always turned away from the mirror in disgust. ‘Have I really got an intelligent face?’ he mused sometimes, doubting even this. However, one must not suppose that worrying about his face and his stature completely occupied his mind. On the contrary, no matter how painful those minutes in front of the mirror, he quickly forgot about them, even for long periods, and devoted himself wholeheartedly to ‘ideas and real life’, as he himself defined his activities.

  Alyosha soon appeared and hurried towards Kolya, who noticed, while Alyosha was still several paces away, that his expression was joyful. ‘Can he really be that pleased to see me?’ thought Kolya with gratification. Here we should note that Alyosha had changed considerably since we last met him; he had abandoned his cassock and was now wearing a beautifully cut frock-coat and a soft round hat, and his hair was cut short. All this greatly improved his appearance, and he looked quite a dandy. The expression on his pleasant face was cheerful, but this cheerfulness was quiet and reassuring somehow. Kolya was surprised that Alyosha came out to meet him dressed in his indoor clothes and without an overcoat; clearly, he had hurried out. He immediately extended his hand to Kolya.

  ‘Here you are at last, we’ve all been waiting for you impatiently.’

  ‘Something cropped up, which I’ll tell you all about in a moment. Anyway, I’m glad to meet you. I’ve been waiting for the chance for a long time, and I’ve heard a lot about you,’ stammered Kolya, rather out of breath.

  ‘Yes, we would have met anyway. I too have heard a lot about you, but you certainly took your time coming to see us.’

  ‘Tell me, how are things?’

  ‘Ilyusha’s very bad. He certainly can’t last much longer.’

  ‘Do you really think so? You have to agree that the medical profession’s a disgrace, Karamazov,’ exclaimed Kolya angrily.

  ‘Ilyusha often talks about you, very often, even in his sleep you know, when he’s delirious. Obviously he thought a great deal of you before… before the incident… with the penknife. And there’s another reason… Tell me, is that your dog?’

  ‘Yes. Perezvon.’

  ‘Not Zhuchka?’ Alyosha looked at Kolya, meeting his eye sadly. ‘Has Zhuchka really disappeared?’

  ‘I know you’ve all been hoping and praying that Zhuchka would turn up, I heard all about it,’ Kolya smiled enigmatically. ‘Listen, Karamazov, I’ll explain the whole thing to you—that’s the main reason I came and why I got them to ask you to come out here, so that I could explain everything to you before we went in,’ he began excitedly. ‘You see, Karamazov, in the spring Ilyusha entered the preparatory class. Well, it’s no secret what the preparatory class is like: little urchins, they gang up. They started picking on Ilyusha straight away. I’m two classes above him, so I saw it all from a distance of course, from the sidelines as it were. I saw he was a small boy, weak too, but he wouldn’t give in, he’d even fight them, he was proud, his eyes flashed. I love kids like that. But they bullied him all the more. The chief problem was that he was shabbily dressed, his trousers hitched up, and the soles coming away from his shoes. They teased him about that too. They humiliated him. No, I didn’t like that at all. I stepped in quickly and boxed their ears for them. You know, the more I beat them, the more they adore me, if you see what I mean, Karamazov,’ Kolya boasted chattily. ‘And, on the whole, I like kids. I’m looking after two little ones right now, at home, they even delayed me today. So they stopped bullying Ilyusha and I took him under my wing. I can see the kid’s proud, I’m telling you he’s proud, but in the end he became like a slave, carrying out my every wish, listening to me as if I were a god, and trying to imitate me. At break-times at school he’d come straight to me and we’d walk about together. On Sundays too. At the high school they laugh at any senior boy who strikes up such a friendship with a junior, but that’s prejudice. If I want to, so what, don’t you agree? I teach him, I widen his horizons—tell me, why sh
ouldn’t I widen his horizons if I like him? After all, Karamazov, you mix with all those kids, so you want to influence the younger generation, widen their horizons, be useful, don’t you? I admit that it was this trait in your character which I’d heard about that interested me most of all. But, to get back to the subject: I noticed that he was developing a kind of sensitivity and becoming sentimental and, as you know, I’ve always been decidedly against sloppy sentimentality, ever since I was so high. And on top of that there were contradictions: he was proud and yet slavishly devoted to me—slavishly devoted and yet suddenly his eyes would flash and he wouldn’t even be reasonable with me, he’d quarrel and get on his high horse. Sometimes I’d put forward various ideas; he was not really against the ideas, I could see quite clearly that he was rebelling against me personally because I had responded coolly to his affection. And so, in order to restrain him as he became increasingly affectionate, I responded increasingly coolly. I acted like that deliberately, out of conviction. I intended to discipline him, to straighten him out and make a man of him… so there you are… I don’t have to spell it out, do I? Suddenly I noticed that for a day—two or three days, in fact—he’d been embarrassed, upset, not because of his affection for me this time, but for some other reason, something stronger, deeper. What’s got into him, I wondered. I tackled him about it and found out what was up: somehow or other he’d got to know a servant of your father’s (he was still alive at that time) by the name of Smerdyakov, and he taught him, little idiot that he was, a stupid trick, that is a mean and beastly trick—to take a piece of bread, not the crust, stick a pin into it and throw it to some stray, one of those that’s so hungry it’ll swallow anything without chewing it, and then watch what happens. So they got a piece of bread and threw it to that shaggy Zhuchka, and now there’s all this fuss about a stray which ran loose in the yard, which they didn’t even feed, and which spent all day barking at the wind. (Do you like that stupid barking, Karamazov? I can’t stand it.) So the dog rushed up, swallowed the bread, and started to yelp, then it went sort of crazy and ran off, it ran and ran and disappeared—that’s how Ilyusha himself described it to me. He confessed to me, cried non-stop and clung to me, trembling. “He ran and ran, he went crazy”—he just kept repeating it, it haunted him. Well, I could see that remorse was gnawing at him. I took it seriously. Above all, I wanted to teach him a lesson for his past behaviour as well, I was devious, I admit, I maybe pretended to be more disgusted than I really was. “You’ve done a terrible thing,” I said, “you’re a swine. I shan’t tell on you, of course, but for now I’ll have nothing more to do with you. I’ll think the matter over, and when I’ve decided whether to resume our former relationship or to finish with you for ever, being the swine that you are, I’ll let you know through Smurov” (that’s the boy who came with me today, he’s always been devoted to me). That really struck home. I admit I felt at the time that perhaps I was being too harsh, but what of it, that was the line I took at the time. The next day I sent word by Smurov that I wouldn’t speak to him any more, that’s what we say when two friends fall out. I meant to send him to Coventry for only a day or two, and then to make it up with him after he’d repented. That was my firm intention. But guess what: he listened to what Smurov had to say and suddenly his eyes flashed, “Tell Krasotkin from me”, he shouted, “that I’ll throw bread with pins to all the dogs, all of them!” “Aha,” I said to myself, “now there’s a whiff of defiance in the air, I’ll have to stamp it out,” and I began to treat him with the utmost contempt; whenever we met I’d turn my head away or smile quite ironically. And then the incident with his father occurred: you remember Loofah? You can understand from that how inclined he was to lose his temper. Seeing that I had abandoned him, the boys ganged up against him and taunted him with “Loofah, Loofah”. That’s when their battles began, which I greatly deplored since it seems that they beat him up really badly one time. And then he set upon them in the playground on one occasion, when they came out of their classes, and I was standing just ten paces away and watching. And I swear I don’t remember laughing, on the contrary I started to feel extremely sorry for him; another moment and I’d have rushed to his defence. But suddenly he caught my eye. I don’t know what was on his mind, but he pulled out his penknife and lunged at me, stabbing me in the thigh, right here, in my right leg. I didn’t move; even if I say so myself, Karamazov, I’m quite brave sometimes, I just looked at him scornfully, as if to say, “Wouldn’t you like to stab me again for all the friendship I’ve shown you? If so, I’m all yours.” But he didn’t stab me again, he broke down instead, took fright, threw the knife away, began to cry out loud, and then ran off. It goes without saying that I didn’t split on him, and I made them all keep their mouths shut so that the teachers shouldn’t hear about it—I didn’t even tell my mother until it had healed; anyway, it was nothing, just a scratch. Later I heard that he’d been throwing stones the same day and had bitten your finger—but you understand what a state he was in! Well, what was I supposed to do? I was stupid; when he fell ill, I didn’t come to forgive him, that is, to make it up, and now I regret it. But I had my reasons at the time. Well, that’s the story… only, I think I’ve been stupid…”

  ‘Ah, what a pity’, exclaimed Alyosha with regret, ‘that I didn’t know about your relationship with him earlier, otherwise I’d have asked you long ago to come with me to see him. Believe me, when he was feverish and ill he was talking to you in his delirium. I really didn’t know how dear you were to him! And couldn’t you really find this Zhuchka? His father and all the boys have been looking for him all over town. Believe me, ill as he was and weeping, he repeated to his father three times in my presence, “That’s why I’m ill, papa, because I killed Zhuchka, God is punishing me.” It’s impossible to get the idea out of his head! And if only someone could find this Zhuchka and prove to him that he didn’t die, that he’s alive, I think he’d get better from sheer relief. We’ve all been counting on you.’

  ‘Tell me, why were you hoping that I’d find Zhuchka, why me in particular?’ asked Kolya with extreme curiosity. ‘Why were you counting on me rather than on anyone else?’

  ‘There was some rumour going round that you were looking for him and that when you found him, you’d bring him here. Smurov was saying something of the sort. Above all, we’ve been trying to convince him that Zhuchka’s alive, that he’s been seen somewhere. The boys got hold of a live hare for him from somewhere or other, but he just looked at it, gave a little smile, and asked us to release it in a field. So we did. His father’s just come back with a mastiff puppy for him, he got it somewhere, thinking it would comfort him, but it had just the opposite effect…’

  ‘And tell me this, Karamazov: what’s his father like? I know him, but what do you make of him: is he a buffoon, a clown?’

  ‘Oh, no, there are people who feel things deeply but who seem defeated somehow. With them, buffoonery is a kind of spiteful irony towards those to whom they daren’t tell the truth directly, because they’ve long felt a humiliating timidity in their presence. Believe me, Krasotkin, such buffoonery is truly tragic sometimes. For him, everything, everything on earth is now centred on Ilyusha, and if Ilyusha dies, he’ll either go out of his mind with grief or commit suicide. I’m almost convinced of that when I look at him now!’

  ‘I can see what you mean, Karamazov, you obviously understand people,’ added Kolya perceptively.

  ‘But when I saw you with the dog, I thought it was Zhuchka you were bringing.’

  ‘Don’t give up hope, Karamazov, perhaps we can still find him, but this—this is Perezvon. I’ll let him free in the room, and perhaps he can cheer Ilyusha up a bit more than the mastiff puppy did. Just you wait and see, Karamazov, we’ll sort something out soon. Oh, Good Lord, I’m sure you want to go back indoors!’ Kolya exclaimed hurriedly. ‘It’s so cold, and you haven’t got your coat on, and here I am keeping you talking; you see what an egoist I am! Oh, we’re all egoists, Karamazov!’

&nbs
p; ‘Don’t worry, it is cold, but I don’t catch cold easily. But let’s go in anyway. By the way, what’s your name? I know it’s Kolya, but Kolya what?’

  ‘Nikolai, Nikolai Ivanov Krasotkin, or as they say officially, “son of Krasotkin”,’ Kolya started to laugh for some reason, but then suddenly added, ‘Of course, I hate the name Nikolai.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s silly, pretentious…’

  ‘Twelve, aren’t you?’ asked Alyosha.

  ‘Well, thirteen actually. I’ll be fourteen very soon, in two weeks. I’ll confess to one weakness of mine in advance, Karamazov, I’ll admit this to you straight away, so that you can understand my whole character at once: I hate being asked about my age, hate’s not a strong enough word… and finally, by the way… there’s a malicious rumour going the rounds, that I played highwaymen with the preparatory class last week. It’s true that I played with them, but to say that I did so for fun is really slanderous. I’ve reason to believe that this has reached your ears, but I played not for my own pleasure, but for the kids’, because they couldn’t think up anything for themselves without me. That’s how rumours spread in this town. It’s a fine place for gossip, I assure you.’

  ‘And if you had played for fun, what of it?’

  ‘For fun?… Well, you wouldn’t start playing with a hobbyhorse, would you?’

  ‘Look here, think of it like this,’ smiled Alyosha, ‘adults go to the theatre, for example, and in the theatre they portray the adventures of all sorts of heroes, sometimes even with robbers and fighting—so isn’t that just the same, in its own way, of course? And children playing at war and highwaymen at playtime is also, you could say, a kind of rudimentary art, the incipient need for art in the young mind, and sometimes these games are organized even more strictly than stage performances, with one difference, namely that theatre-goers go to see actors, whereas the youngsters themselves are the actors. But that’s only natural.’