The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

I have

pumped him and found out that he had somehow got to know Smerdyakov,

who was footman to your late father-it was before his death, of

course-and he taught the little fool a silly trick-that is, a

brutal, nasty trick. He told him to take a piece of bread, to stick

a pin in it, and throw it to one of those hungry dogs who snap up

anything without biting it, and then to watch and see what would

happen. So they prepared a piece of bread like that and threw it to

Zhutchka, that shaggy dog there’s been such a fuss about. The people

of the house it belonged to never fed it at all, though it barked

all day. (Do you like that stupid barking, Karamazov? I can’t stand

it.) So it rushed at the bread, swallowed it, and began to squeal;

it turned round and round and ran away, squealing as it ran out of

sight. That was Ilusha’s own account of it. He confessed it to me, and

cried bitterly. He hugged me, shaking all over. He kept on repeating

‘He ran away squealing’: the sight of that haunted him. He was

tormented by remorse, I could see that. I took it seriously. I

determined to give him a lesson for other things as well. So I must

confess I wasn’t quite straightforward, and pretended to be more

indignant perhaps than I was. ‘You’ve done a nasty thing,’ I said,

‘you are a scoundrel. I won’t tell of it, of course, but I shall

have nothing more to do with you for a time. I’ll think it over and

let you know through Smurov’- that’s the boy who’s just come with

me; he’s always ready to do anything for me- ‘whether I will have

anything to do with you in the future or whether I give you up for

good as a scoundrel.’ He was tremendously upset. I must own I felt I’d

gone too far as I spoke, but there was no help for it. I did what I

thought best at the time. A day or two after, I sent Smurov to tell

him that I would not speak to him again. That’s what we call it when

two schoolfellows refuse to have anything more to do with one another.

Secretly I only meant to send him to Coventry for a few days and then,

if I saw signs of repentance, to hold out my hand to him again. That

was my intention. But what do you think happened? He heard Smurov’s

message, his eyes flashed. ‘Tell Krassotkin for me,’ he cried, ‘that I

will throw bread with pins to all the dogs-all- all of them!’ ‘So

he’s going in for a little temper. We must smoke it out of him.’ And I

began to treat him with contempt; whenever I met him I turned away

or smiled sarcastically. And just then that affair with his father

happened. You remember? You must realise that he was fearfully

worked up by what had happened already. The boys, seeing I’d given him

up, set on him and taunted him, shouting, ‘Wisp of tow, wisp of

tow!’ And he had soon regular skirmishes with them, which I am very

sorry for. They seem to have given him one very bad beating. One day

he flew at them all as they were coming out of school. I stood a few

yards off, looking on. And, I swear, I don’t remember that I

laughed; it was quite the other way, I felt awfully sorry for him;

in another minute I would have run up to take his part. But he

suddenly met my eyes. I don’t know what he fancied; but he pulled

out a penknife, rushed at me, and struck at my thigh, here in my right

leg. I didn’t move. I don’t mind owning I am plucky sometimes,

Karamazov. I simply looked at him contemptuously, as though to say,

‘This is how you repay all my kindness! Do it again if you like, I’m

at your service.’ But he didn’t stab me again; he broke down; he was

frightened at what he had done; he threw away the knife, burst out

crying, and ran away. I did not sneak on him, of course, and I made

them all keep quiet, so it shouldn’t come to the ears of the

masters. I didn’t even tell my mother till it had healed up. And the

wound was a mere scratch. And then I heard that the same day he’d been

throwing stones and had bitten your finger-but you understand now

what a state he was in! Well, it can’t be helped: it was stupid of

me not to come and forgive him-that is, to make it up with him-when he was taken ill. I am sorry for it now. But I had a special

reason. So now I’ve told you all about it… but I’m afraid it was

stupid of me.”

 

“Oh, what a pity,” exclaimed Alyosha, with feeling, “that I didn’t

know before what terms you were on with him, or I’d have come to you

long ago to beg you to go to him with me. Would you believe it, when

he was feverish he talked about you in delirium. I didn’t know how

much you were to him! And you’ve really not succeeded in finding

that dog? His father and the boys have been hunting all over the

town for it. Would you believe it, since he’s been ill, I’ve three

times heard him repeat with tears, ‘It’s because I killed Zhutchka,

father, that I am ill now. God is punishing me for it.’ He can’t get

that idea out of his head. And if the dog were found and proved to

be alive, one might almost fancy the joy would cure him. We have all

rested our hopes on you.”

 

“Tell me, what made you hope that I should be the one to find

him?” Kolya asked, with great curiosity. “Why did you reckon on me

rather than anyone else?”

 

“There was a report that you were looking for the dog, and that

you would bring it when you’d found it. Smurov said something of the

sort. We’ve all been trying to persuade Ilusha that the dog is

alive, that it’s been seen. The boys brought him a live hare: he

just looked at it, with a faint smile, and asked them to set it free

in the fields. And so we did. His father has just this moment come

back, bringing him a mastiff pup, hoping to comfort him with that; but

I think it only makes it worse.”

 

“Tell me, Karamazov, what sort of man is the father? I know him,

but what do you make of him-a mountebank, a buffoon?”

 

“Oh no; there are people of deep feeling who have been somehow

crushed. Buffoonery in them is a form of resentful irony against those

to whom they daren’t speak the truth, from having been for years

humiliated and intimidated by them. Believe me, Krassotkin, that

sort of buffoonery is sometimes tragic in the extreme. His whole

life now is centred in Ilusha, and if Ilusha dies, he will either go

mad with grief or kill himself. I feel almost certain of that when I

look at him now.”

 

“I understand you, Karamazov. I see you understand human

nature,” Kolya added, with feeling.

 

“And as soon as I saw you with a dog, I thought it was Zhutchka

you were bringing.”

 

“Wait a bit, Karamazov, perhaps we shall find it yet; but this

is Perezvon. I’ll let him go in now and perhaps it will amuse Ilusha

more than the mastiff pup. Wait a bit, Karamazov, you will know

something in a minute. But, I say, I am keeping you here!” Kolya cried

suddenly. “You’ve no overcoat on in this bitter cold. You see what

an egoist I am. Oh, we are all egoists, Karamazov!”

 

“Don’t trouble; it is cold, but I don’t often catch cold. Let us

go in, though, and, by the way, what is your name? I know you are

called Kolya, but what else?”

 

“Nikolay-Nikolay Ivanovitch Krassotkin, or, as they say in

official documents, ‘Krassotkin son.’” Kolya laughed for some

reason, but added suddenly, “Of course I hate my name Nikolay.”

 

“Why so?”

 

“It’s so trivial, so ordinary.”

 

“You are thirteen?” asked Alyosha.

 

“No, fourteen-that is, I shall be fourteen very soon, in a

fortnight. I’ll confess one weakness of mine, Karamazov, just to

you, since it’s our first meeting, so that you may understand my

character at once. I hate being asked my age, more than that… and in

fact… there’s a libellous story going about me, that last week I

played robbers with the preparatory boys. It’s a fact that I did

play with them, but it’s a perfect libel to say I did it for my own

amusement. I have reasons for believing that you’ve heard the story;

but I wasn’t playing for my own amusement, it was for the sake of

the children, because they couldn’t think of anything to do by

themselves. But they’ve always got some silly tale. This is an awful

town for gossip, I can tell you.”

 

“But what if you had been playing for your own amusement, what’s

the harm?”

 

“Come, I say, for my own amusement! You don’t play horses, do

you?”

 

“But you must look at it like this,” said Alyosha, smiling.

“Grown-up people go to the theatre and there the adventures of all

sorts of heroes are represented-sometimes there are robbers and

battles, too-and isn’t that just the same thing, in a different form,

of course? And young people’s games of soldiers or robbers in their

playtime are also art in its first stage. You know, they spring from

the growing artistic instincts of the young. And sometimes these games

are much better than performances in the theatre; the only

difference is that people go there to look at the actors, while in

these games the young people are the actors themselves. But that’s

only natural.”

 

“You think so? Is that your idea?” Kolya looked at him intently.

“Oh, you know, that’s rather an interesting view. When I go home, I’ll

think it over. I’ll admit I thought I might learn something from

you. I’ve come to learn of you, Karamazov,” Kolya concluded, in a

voice full of spontaneous feeling.

 

“And I of you,” said Alyosha, smiling and pressing his hand.

 

Kolya was much pleased with Alyosha. What struck him most was that

he treated him exactly like an equal and that he talked to him just as

if he were “quite grown up.”

 

“I’ll show you something directly, Karamazov; it’s a theatrical

performance, too,” he said, laughing nervously. “That’s why I’ve

come.”

 

“Let us go first to the people of the house, on the left. All

the boys leave their coats in there, because the room is small and

hot.”

 

“Oh, I’m only coming in for a minute. I’ll keep on my overcoat.

Perezvon will stay here in the passage and be dead. Ici, Perezvon, lie

down and be dead! You see how he’s dead. I’ll go in first and explore,

then I’ll whistle to him when I think fit, and you’ll see, he’ll

dash in like mad. Only Smurov must not forget to open the door at

the moment. I’ll arrange it all and you’ll see something.”