feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_13_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book x.chapter i-chapter vii
feat_summary_id: book x
feat_summary: {"name": "Book X", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201219142226/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/b/the-brothers-karamazov/summary-and-analysis/part-4-book-x", "summary": "Kolya Krassotkin, a widow's only child, is a mature and independent thirteen-year-old with a reputation for being exceptionally daring and imprudent. He is also the boy whom earlier Ilusha stabbed with a penknife; but, good-naturedly, Kolya has never held a grudge. He has been training a dog, Perezvon, to do complicated tricks. On the day before Dmitri's trial, young Kolya is staying with two children of his mother's tenant. He feels uneasy because he has an urgent errand to attend to and leaves as soon as the servant returns. His errand turns out to be a visit to Ilusha. Kolya knows that Alyosha has arranged for other boys to visit the dying Ilusha every day, but until today Kolya has never visited the boy. He arrives at Ilusha's with a friend, Smurov, and asks him to call Alyosha outside; he has a great curiosity to meet Alyosha. The two meet and immediately become good friends, especially because Alyosha treats Kolya as an equal. Kolya explains to his new friend about Ilusha's background and tells him that once they were fast friends, but when Kolya heard that Ilusha fed a dog a piece of bread with a pin in it, he tried to punish the boy. The punishment backfired, however, and Kolya was stabbed with the penknife. Since this happened, however, Ilusha has come to feel very bad about the dog, Zhutchka. Alyosha takes Kolya inside, and Ilusha is overjoyed to see his old friend again. Kolya, however, begins to tease Ilusha about the dog; then, before anyone can stop him, he calls in the dog he has been training. It turns out to be Zhutchka. Everyone is delighted, and the dying Ilusha sheds tears of happiness. Kolya explains that, until now, he has stayed away so that he could train the dog for Ilusha. A doctor from Moscow, whom Katerina has sent for, arrives to examine Ilusha, and the visitors reluctantly leave the room. As they wait outside, Kolya explains his views of life to Alyosha. Alyosha listens carefully, understanding the boy's real motives. He wants to impress Alyosha with his hodgepodge of other people's philosophies. Alyosha is sympathetic to him, though, and is especially drawn to the young boy when he confesses his weaknesses. As the doctor leaves, it is quite apparent that Ilusha has not long to live. Even Ilusha is aware that he is dying. He tries to comfort his father, and Kolya is deeply affected by this scene between father and son. He promises Alyosha that he will come often to visit the dying boy.", "analysis": "Some critics have complained that in a novel of such extreme complexity and length, Book X does not contribute to the novel's unity. The section has often been said to be superfluous and a flaw in construction. A reader, they say, is anxiously concerned about Dmitri at this point, not about Ilusha. But because of the heavy chapters of violence, passion, and murder, this section can be explained in terms of Dostoevsky's inserting a healthy bit of youthful fresh air. The reader is relieved from the strain of contemplating Dmitri's fate. This relief, however, does not explain all the charges leveled against this section of the novel. It does not, for example, explain an obvious change in tone. Here, Dostoevsky inserts the most overt sentimentality in the novel. He seems to play with the reader's emotions, and much of the pathetic background material of young Kolya's life is not central to the novel except in the very large perspective of establishing him as the person whom Alyosha will train and who will become one of Russia's future citizens, entrusted with the ideas of Father Zossima. Perhaps the real purpose of the section is this: Dostoevsky is showing Alyosha as he moves among Russian youth, quietly influencing their lives as a living example of Father Zossima's philosophy. The hope of Russia lies in the young and in the common people, and Alyosha teaches Kolya much in this section. He meets him as an equal and offers him understanding and trust; he teaches Kolya that one cannot judge Ilusha's father, saying that there are people of rare character who have been crushed by life. The buffoonery of Ilusha's father, he says, is only the man's way of being ironic toward those who have humiliated and intimidated him for years. Alyosha also instructs Kolya in what a man can learn from another. Because Alyosha accepts all as equals, even Kolya, he kindles a responsive chord of love. By his quiet examples, Alyosha corrects immature views without arousing animosity. He is, for example, careful not to denounce Kolya's potpourri of philosophy; instead, he simply explains that although he disagrees, he does not have contempt for Kolya's ideas. By the latter's response, it is obvious that he will become one of Alyosha's strongest disciples."}
text: PART IV Book X. The Boys Chapter I. Kolya Krassotkin
  
  
  It was the beginning of November. There had been a hard frost, eleven
  degrees Reaumur, without snow, but a little dry snow had fallen on the
  frozen ground during the night, and a keen dry wind was lifting and
  blowing it along the dreary streets of our town, especially about the
  market-place. It was a dull morning, but the snow had ceased.
  
  Not far from the market-place, close to Plotnikov's shop, there stood a
  small house, very clean both without and within. It belonged to Madame
  Krassotkin, the widow of a former provincial secretary, who had been dead
  for fourteen years. His widow, still a nice-looking woman of thirty-two,
  was living in her neat little house on her private means. She lived in
  respectable seclusion; she was of a soft but fairly cheerful disposition.
  She was about eighteen at the time of her husband's death; she had been
  married only a year and had just borne him a son. From the day of his
  death she had devoted herself heart and soul to the bringing up of her
  precious treasure, her boy Kolya. Though she had loved him passionately
  those fourteen years, he had caused her far more suffering than happiness.
  She had been trembling and fainting with terror almost every day, afraid
  he would fall ill, would catch cold, do something naughty, climb on a
  chair and fall off it, and so on and so on. When Kolya began going to
  school, the mother devoted herself to studying all the sciences with him
  so as to help him, and go through his lessons with him. She hastened to
  make the acquaintance of the teachers and their wives, even made up to
  Kolya's schoolfellows, and fawned upon them in the hope of thus saving
  Kolya from being teased, laughed at, or beaten by them. She went so far
  that the boys actually began to mock at him on her account and taunt him
  with being a "mother's darling."
  
  But the boy could take his own part. He was a resolute boy, "tremendously
  strong," as was rumored in his class, and soon proved to be the fact; he
  was agile, strong-willed, and of an audacious and enterprising temper. He
  was good at lessons, and there was a rumor in the school that he could
  beat the teacher, Dardanelov, at arithmetic and universal history. Though
  he looked down upon every one, he was a good comrade and not supercilious.
  He accepted his schoolfellows' respect as his due, but was friendly with
  them. Above all, he knew where to draw the line. He could restrain himself
  on occasion, and in his relations with the teachers he never overstepped
  that last mystic limit beyond which a prank becomes an unpardonable breach
  of discipline. But he was as fond of mischief on every possible occasion
  as the smallest boy in the school, and not so much for the sake of
  mischief as for creating a sensation, inventing something, something
  effective and conspicuous. He was extremely vain. He knew how to make even
  his mother give way to him; he was almost despotic in his control of her.
  She gave way to him, oh, she had given way to him for years. The one
  thought unendurable to her was that her boy had no great love for her. She
  was always fancying that Kolya was "unfeeling" to her, and at times,
  dissolving into hysterical tears, she used to reproach him with his
  coldness. The boy disliked this, and the more demonstrations of feeling
  were demanded of him the more he seemed intentionally to avoid them. Yet
  it was not intentional on his part but instinctive--it was his character.
  His mother was mistaken; he was very fond of her. He only disliked
  "sheepish sentimentality," as he expressed it in his schoolboy language.
  
  There was a bookcase in the house containing a few books that had been his
  father's. Kolya was fond of reading, and had read several of them by
  himself. His mother did not mind that and only wondered sometimes at
  seeing the boy stand for hours by the bookcase poring over a book instead
  of going to play. And in that way Kolya read some things unsuitable for
  his age.
  
  Though the boy, as a rule, knew where to draw the line in his mischief, he
  had of late begun to play pranks that caused his mother serious alarm. It
  is true there was nothing vicious in what he did, but a wild mad
  recklessness.
  
  It happened that July, during the summer holidays, that the mother and son
  went to another district, forty-five miles away, to spend a week with a
  distant relation, whose husband was an official at the railway station
  (the very station, the nearest one to our town, from which a month later
  Ivan Fyodorovitch Karamazov set off for Moscow). There Kolya began by
  carefully investigating every detail connected with the railways, knowing
  that he could impress his schoolfellows when he got home with his newly
  acquired knowledge. But there happened to be some other boys in the place
  with whom he soon made friends. Some of them were living at the station,
  others in the neighborhood; there were six or seven of them, all between
  twelve and fifteen, and two of them came from our town. The boys played
  together, and on the fourth or fifth day of Kolya's stay at the station, a
  mad bet was made by the foolish boys. Kolya, who was almost the youngest
  of the party and rather looked down upon by the others in consequence, was
  moved by vanity or by reckless bravado to bet them two roubles that he
  would lie down between the rails at night when the eleven o'clock train
  was due, and would lie there without moving while the train rolled over
  him at full speed. It is true they made a preliminary investigation, from
  which it appeared that it was possible to lie so flat between the rails
  that the train could pass over without touching, but to lie there was no
  joke! Kolya maintained stoutly that he would. At first they laughed at
  him, called him a little liar, a braggart, but that only egged him on.
  What piqued him most was that these boys of fifteen turned up their noses
  at him too superciliously, and were at first disposed to treat him as "a
  small boy," not fit to associate with them, and that was an unendurable
  insult.
  
  And so it was resolved to go in the evening, half a mile from the station,
  so that the train might have time to get up full speed after leaving the
  station. The boys assembled. It was a pitch-dark night without a moon. At
  the time fixed, Kolya lay down between the rails. The five others who had
  taken the bet waited among the bushes below the embankment, their hearts
  beating with suspense, which was followed by alarm and remorse. At last
  they heard in the distance the rumble of the train leaving the station.
  Two red lights gleamed out of the darkness; the monster roared as it
  approached.
  
  "Run, run away from the rails," the boys cried to Kolya from the bushes,
  breathless with terror. But it was too late: the train darted up and flew
  past. The boys rushed to Kolya. He lay without moving. They began pulling
  at him, lifting him up. He suddenly got up and walked away without a word.
  Then he explained that he had lain there as though he were insensible to
  frighten them, but the fact was that he really had lost consciousness, as
  he confessed long after to his mother. In this way his reputation as "a
  desperate character," was established for ever. He returned home to the
  station as white as a sheet. Next day he had a slight attack of nervous
  fever, but he was in high spirits and well pleased with himself. The
  incident did not become known at once, but when they came back to the town
  it penetrated to the school and even reached the ears of the masters. But
  then Kolya's mother hastened to entreat the masters on her boy's behalf,
  and in the end Dardanelov, a respected and influential teacher, exerted
  himself in his favor, and the affair was ignored.
  
  Dardanelov was a middle-aged bachelor, who had been passionately in love
  with Madame Krassotkin for many years past, and had once already, about a
  year previously, ventured, trembling with fear and the delicacy of his
  sentiments, to offer her most respectfully his hand in marriage. But she
  refused him resolutely, feeling that to accept him would be an act of
  treachery to her son, though Dardanelov had, to judge from certain
  mysterious symptoms, reason for believing that he was not an object of
  aversion to the charming but too chaste and tender-hearted widow. Kolya's
  mad prank seemed to have broken the ice, and Dardanelov was rewarded for
  his intercession by a suggestion of hope. The suggestion, it is true, was
  a faint one, but then Dardanelov was such a paragon of purity and delicacy
  that it was enough for the time being to make him perfectly happy. He was
  fond of the boy, though he would have felt it beneath him to try and win
  him over, and was severe and strict with him in class. Kolya, too, kept
  him at a respectful distance. He learned his lessons perfectly; he was
  second in his class, was reserved with Dardanelov, and the whole class
  firmly believed that Kolya was so good at universal history that he could
  "beat" even Dardanelov. Kolya did indeed ask him the question, "Who
  founded Troy?" to which Dardanelov had made a very vague reply, referring
  to the movements and migrations of races, to the remoteness of the period,
  to the mythical legends. But the question, "Who had founded Troy?" that
  is, what individuals, he could not answer, and even for some reason
  regarded the question as idle and frivolous. But the boys remained
  convinced that Dardanelov did not know who founded Troy. Kolya had read of
  the founders of Troy in Smaragdov, whose history was among the books in
  his father's bookcase. In the end all the boys became interested in the
  question, who it was that had founded Troy, but Krassotkin would not tell
  his secret, and his reputation for knowledge remained unshaken.
  
  After the incident on the railway a certain change came over Kolya's
  attitude to his mother. When Anna Fyodorovna (Madame Krassotkin) heard of
  her son's exploit, she almost went out of her mind with horror. She had
  such terrible attacks of hysterics, lasting with intervals for several
  days, that Kolya, seriously alarmed at last, promised on his honor that
  such pranks should never be repeated. He swore on his knees before the
  holy image, and swore by the memory of his father, at Madame Krassotkin's
  instance, and the "manly" Kolya burst into tears like a boy of six. And
  all that day the mother and son were constantly rushing into each other's
  arms sobbing. Next day Kolya woke up as "unfeeling" as before, but he had
  become more silent, more modest, sterner, and more thoughtful.
  
  Six weeks later, it is true, he got into another scrape, which even
  brought his name to the ears of our Justice of the Peace, but it was a
  scrape of quite another kind, amusing, foolish, and he did not, as it
  turned out, take the leading part in it, but was only implicated in it.
  But of this later. His mother still fretted and trembled, but the more
  uneasy she became, the greater were the hopes of Dardanelov. It must be
  noted that Kolya understood and divined what was in Dardanelov's heart
  and, of course, despised him profoundly for his "feelings"; he had in the
  past been so tactless as to show this contempt before his mother, hinting
  vaguely that he knew what Dardanelov was after. But from the time of the
  railway incident his behavior in this respect also was changed; he did not
  allow himself the remotest allusion to the subject and began to speak more
  respectfully of Dardanelov before his mother, which the sensitive woman at
  once appreciated with boundless gratitude. But at the slightest mention of
  Dardanelov by a visitor in Kolya's presence, she would flush as pink as a
  rose. At such moments Kolya would either stare out of the window scowling,
  or would investigate the state of his boots, or would shout angrily for
  "Perezvon," the big, shaggy, mangy dog, which he had picked up a month
  before, brought home, and kept for some reason secretly indoors, not
  showing him to any of his schoolfellows. He bullied him frightfully,
  teaching him all sorts of tricks, so that the poor dog howled for him
  whenever he was absent at school, and when he came in, whined with
  delight, rushed about as if he were crazy, begged, lay down on the ground
  pretending to be dead, and so on; in fact, showed all the tricks he had
  taught him, not at the word of command, but simply from the zeal of his
  excited and grateful heart.
  
  I have forgotten, by the way, to mention that Kolya Krassotkin was the boy
  stabbed with a penknife by the boy already known to the reader as the son
  of Captain Snegiryov. Ilusha had been defending his father when the
  schoolboys jeered at him, shouting the nickname "wisp of tow."
  
  
  
  
  Chapter II. Children
  
  
  And so on that frosty, snowy, and windy day in November, Kolya Krassotkin
  was sitting at home. It was Sunday and there was no school. It had just
  struck eleven, and he particularly wanted to go out "on very urgent
  business," but he was left alone in charge of the house, for it so
  happened that all its elder inmates were absent owing to a sudden and
  singular event. Madame Krassotkin had let two little rooms, separated from
  the rest of the house by a passage, to a doctor's wife with her two small
  children. This lady was the same age as Anna Fyodorovna, and a great
  friend of hers. Her husband, the doctor, had taken his departure twelve
  months before, going first to Orenburg and then to Tashkend, and for the
  last six months she had not heard a word from him. Had it not been for her
  friendship with Madame Krassotkin, which was some consolation to the
  forsaken lady, she would certainly have completely dissolved away in
  tears. And now, to add to her misfortunes, Katerina, her only servant, was
  suddenly moved the evening before to announce, to her mistress's
  amazement, that she proposed to bring a child into the world before
  morning. It seemed almost miraculous to every one that no one had noticed
  the probability of it before. The astounded doctor's wife decided to move
  Katerina while there was still time to an establishment in the town kept
  by a midwife for such emergencies. As she set great store by her servant,
  she promptly carried out this plan and remained there looking after her.
  By the morning all Madame Krassotkin's friendly sympathy and energy were
  called upon to render assistance and appeal to some one for help in the
  case.
  
  So both the ladies were absent from home, the Krassotkins' servant,
  Agafya, had gone out to the market, and Kolya was thus left for a time to
  protect and look after "the kids," that is, the son and daughter of the
  doctor's wife, who were left alone. Kolya was not afraid of taking care of
  the house, besides he had Perezvon, who had been told to lie flat, without
  moving, under the bench in the hall. Every time Kolya, walking to and fro
  through the rooms, came into the hall, the dog shook his head and gave two
  loud and insinuating taps on the floor with his tail, but alas! the
  whistle did not sound to release him. Kolya looked sternly at the luckless
  dog, who relapsed again into obedient rigidity. The one thing that
  troubled Kolya was "the kids." He looked, of course, with the utmost scorn
  on Katerina's unexpected adventure, but he was very fond of the bereaved
  "kiddies," and had already taken them a picture-book. Nastya, the elder, a
  girl of eight, could read, and Kostya, the boy, aged seven, was very fond
  of being read to by her. Krassotkin could, of course, have provided more
  diverting entertainment for them. He could have made them stand side by
  side and played soldiers with them, or sent them hiding all over the
  house. He had done so more than once before and was not above doing it, so
  much so that a report once spread at school that Krassotkin played horses
  with the little lodgers at home, prancing with his head on one side like a
  trace-horse. But Krassotkin haughtily parried this thrust, pointing out
  that to play horses with boys of one's own age, boys of thirteen, would
  certainly be disgraceful "at this date," but that he did it for the sake
  of "the kids" because he liked them, and no one had a right to call him to
  account for his feelings. The two "kids" adored him.
  
  But on this occasion he was in no mood for games. He had very important
  business of his own before him, something almost mysterious. Meanwhile
  time was passing and Agafya, with whom he could have left the children,
  would not come back from market. He had several times already crossed the
  passage, opened the door of the lodgers' room and looked anxiously at "the
  kids" who were sitting over the book, as he had bidden them. Every time he
  opened the door they grinned at him, hoping he would come in and would do
  something delightful and amusing. But Kolya was bothered and did not go
  in.
  
  At last it struck eleven and he made up his mind, once for all, that if
  that "damned" Agafya did not come back within ten minutes he should go out
  without waiting for her, making "the kids" promise, of course, to be brave
  when he was away, not to be naughty, not to cry from fright. With this
  idea he put on his wadded winter overcoat with its catskin fur collar,
  slung his satchel round his shoulder, and, regardless of his mother's
  constantly reiterated entreaties that he would always put on goloshes in
  such cold weather, he looked at them contemptuously as he crossed the hall
  and went out with only his boots on. Perezvon, seeing him in his outdoor
  clothes, began tapping nervously, yet vigorously, on the floor with his
  tail. Twitching all over, he even uttered a plaintive whine. But Kolya,
  seeing his dog's passionate excitement, decided that it was a breach of
  discipline, kept him for another minute under the bench, and only when he
  had opened the door into the passage, whistled for him. The dog leapt up
  like a mad creature and rushed bounding before him rapturously.
  
  Kolya opened the door to peep at "the kids." They were both sitting as
  before at the table, not reading but warmly disputing about something. The
  children often argued together about various exciting problems of life,
  and Nastya, being the elder, always got the best of it. If Kostya did not
  agree with her, he almost always appealed to Kolya Krassotkin, and his
  verdict was regarded as infallible by both of them. This time the "kids'"
  discussion rather interested Krassotkin, and he stood still in the passage
  to listen. The children saw he was listening and that made them dispute
  with even greater energy.
  
  "I shall never, never believe," Nastya prattled, "that the old women find
  babies among the cabbages in the kitchen-garden. It's winter now and there
  are no cabbages, and so the old woman couldn't have taken Katerina a
  daughter."
  
  Kolya whistled to himself.
  
  "Or perhaps they do bring babies from somewhere, but only to those who are
  married."
  
  Kostya stared at Nastya and listened, pondering profoundly.
  
  "Nastya, how silly you are!" he said at last, firmly and calmly. "How can
  Katerina have a baby when she isn't married?"
  
  Nastya was exasperated.
  
  "You know nothing about it," she snapped irritably. "Perhaps she has a
  husband, only he is in prison, so now she's got a baby."
  
  "But is her husband in prison?" the matter-of-fact Kostya inquired
  gravely.
  
  "Or, I tell you what," Nastya interrupted impulsively, completely
  rejecting and forgetting her first hypothesis. "She hasn't a husband, you
  are right there, but she wants to be married, and so she's been thinking
  of getting married, and thinking and thinking of it till now she's got it,
  that is, not a husband but a baby."
  
  "Well, perhaps so," Kostya agreed, entirely vanquished. "But you didn't
  say so before. So how could I tell?"
  
  "Come, kiddies," said Kolya, stepping into the room. "You're terrible
  people, I see."
  
  "And Perezvon with you!" grinned Kostya, and began snapping his fingers
  and calling Perezvon.
  
  "I am in a difficulty, kids," Krassotkin began solemnly, "and you must
  help me. Agafya must have broken her leg, since she has not turned up till
  now, that's certain. I must go out. Will you let me go?"
  
  The children looked anxiously at one another. Their smiling faces showed
  signs of uneasiness, but they did not yet fully grasp what was expected of
  them.
  
  "You won't be naughty while I am gone? You won't climb on the cupboard and
  break your legs? You won't be frightened alone and cry?"
  
  A look of profound despondency came into the children's faces.
  
  "And I could show you something as a reward, a little copper cannon which
  can be fired with real gunpowder."
  
  The children's faces instantly brightened. "Show us the cannon," said
  Kostya, beaming all over.
  
  Krassotkin put his hand in his satchel, and pulling out a little bronze
  cannon stood it on the table.
  
  "Ah, you are bound to ask that! Look, it's on wheels." He rolled the toy
  on along the table. "And it can be fired off, too. It can be loaded with
  shot and fired off."
  
  "And it could kill any one?"
  
  "It can kill any one; you've only got to aim at anybody," and Krassotkin
  explained where the powder had to be put, where the shot should be rolled
  in, showing a tiny hole like a touch-hole, and told them that it kicked
  when it was fired.
  
  The children listened with intense interest. What particularly struck
  their imagination was that the cannon kicked.
  
  "And have you got any powder?" Nastya inquired.
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Show us the powder, too," she drawled with a smile of entreaty.
  
  Krassotkin dived again into his satchel and pulled out a small flask
  containing a little real gunpowder. He had some shot, too, in a screw of
  paper. He even uncorked the flask and shook a little powder into the palm
  of his hand.
  
  "One has to be careful there's no fire about, or it would blow up and kill
  us all," Krassotkin warned them sensationally.
  
  The children gazed at the powder with an awe-stricken alarm that only
  intensified their enjoyment. But Kostya liked the shot better.
  
  "And does the shot burn?" he inquired.
  
  "No, it doesn't."
  
  "Give me a little shot," he asked in an imploring voice.
  
  "I'll give you a little shot; here, take it, but don't show it to your
  mother till I come back, or she'll be sure to think it's gunpowder, and
  will die of fright and give you a thrashing."
  
  "Mother never does whip us," Nastya observed at once.
  
  "I know, I only said it to finish the sentence. And don't you ever deceive
  your mother except just this once, until I come back. And so, kiddies, can
  I go out? You won't be frightened and cry when I'm gone?"
  
  "We sha--all cry," drawled Kostya, on the verge of tears already.
  
  "We shall cry, we shall be sure to cry," Nastya chimed in with timid
  haste.
  
  "Oh, children, children, how fraught with peril are your years! There's no
  help for it, chickens, I shall have to stay with you I don't know how
  long. And time is passing, time is passing, oogh!"
  
  "Tell Perezvon to pretend to be dead!" Kostya begged.
  
  "There's no help for it, we must have recourse to Perezvon. _Ici_,
  Perezvon." And Kolya began giving orders to the dog, who performed all his
  tricks.
  
  He was a rough-haired dog, of medium size, with a coat of a sort of lilac-
  gray color. He was blind in his right eye, and his left ear was torn. He
  whined and jumped, stood and walked on his hind legs, lay on his back with
  his paws in the air, rigid as though he were dead. While this last
  performance was going on, the door opened and Agafya, Madame Krassotkin's
  servant, a stout woman of forty, marked with small-pox, appeared in the
  doorway. She had come back from market and had a bag full of provisions in
  her hand. Holding up the bag of provisions in her left hand she stood
  still to watch the dog. Though Kolya had been so anxious for her return,
  he did not cut short the performance, and after keeping Perezvon dead for
  the usual time, at last he whistled to him. The dog jumped up and began
  bounding about in his joy at having done his duty.
  
  "Only think, a dog!" Agafya observed sententiously.
  
  "Why are you late, female?" asked Krassotkin sternly.
  
  "Female, indeed! Go on with you, you brat."
  
  "Brat?"
  
  "Yes, a brat. What is it to you if I'm late; if I'm late, you may be sure
  I have good reason," muttered Agafya, busying herself about the stove,
  without a trace of anger or displeasure in her voice. She seemed quite
  pleased, in fact, to enjoy a skirmish with her merry young master.
  
  "Listen, you frivolous young woman," Krassotkin began, getting up from the
  sofa, "can you swear by all you hold sacred in the world and something
  else besides, that you will watch vigilantly over the kids in my absence?
  I am going out."
  
  "And what am I going to swear for?" laughed Agafya. "I shall look after
  them without that."
  
  "No, you must swear on your eternal salvation. Else I shan't go."
  
  "Well, don't then. What does it matter to me? It's cold out; stay at
  home."
  
  "Kids," Kolya turned to the children, "this woman will stay with you till
  I come back or till your mother comes, for she ought to have been back
  long ago. She will give you some lunch, too. You'll give them something,
  Agafya, won't you?"
  
  "That I can do."
  
  "Good-by, chickens, I go with my heart at rest. And you, granny," he added
  gravely, in an undertone, as he passed Agafya, "I hope you'll spare their
  tender years and not tell them any of your old woman's nonsense about
  Katerina. _Ici_, Perezvon!"
  
  "Get along with you!" retorted Agafya, really angry this time. "Ridiculous
  boy! You want a whipping for saying such things, that's what you want!"
  
  
  
  
  Chapter III. The Schoolboy
  
  
  But Kolya did not hear her. At last he could go out. As he went out at the
  gate he looked round him, shrugged up his shoulders, and saying "It is
  freezing," went straight along the street and turned off to the right
  towards the market-place. When he reached the last house but one before
  the market-place he stopped at the gate, pulled a whistle out of his
  pocket, and whistled with all his might as though giving a signal. He had
  not to wait more than a minute before a rosy-cheeked boy of about eleven,
  wearing a warm, neat and even stylish coat, darted out to meet him. This
  was Smurov, a boy in the preparatory class (two classes below Kolya
  Krassotkin), son of a well-to-do official. Apparently he was forbidden by
  his parents to associate with Krassotkin, who was well known to be a
  desperately naughty boy, so Smurov was obviously slipping out on the sly.
  He was--if the reader has not forgotten--one of the group of boys who two
  months before had thrown stones at Ilusha. He was the one who told Alyosha
  Karamazov about Ilusha.
  
  "I've been waiting for you for the last hour, Krassotkin," said Smurov
  stolidly, and the boys strode towards the market-place.
  
  "I am late," answered Krassotkin. "I was detained by circumstances. You
  won't be thrashed for coming with me?"
  
  "Come, I say, I'm never thrashed! And you've got Perezvon with you?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "You're taking him, too?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Ah! if it were only Zhutchka!"
  
  "That's impossible. Zhutchka's non-existent. Zhutchka is lost in the mists
  of obscurity."
  
  "Ah! couldn't we do this?" Smurov suddenly stood still. "You see Ilusha
  says that Zhutchka was a shaggy, grayish, smoky-looking dog like Perezvon.
  Couldn't you tell him this is Zhutchka, and he might believe you?"
  
  "Boy, shun a lie, that's one thing; even with a good object--that's
  another. Above all, I hope you've not told them anything about my coming."
  
  "Heaven forbid! I know what I am about. But you won't comfort him with
  Perezvon," said Smurov, with a sigh. "You know his father, the captain,
  'the wisp of tow,' told us that he was going to bring him a real mastiff
  pup, with a black nose, to-day. He thinks that would comfort Ilusha; but I
  doubt it."
  
  "And how is Ilusha?"
  
  "Ah, he is bad, very bad! I believe he's in consumption: he is quite
  conscious, but his breathing! His breathing's gone wrong. The other day he
  asked to have his boots on to be led round the room. He tried to walk, but
  he couldn't stand. 'Ah, I told you before, father,' he said, 'that those
  boots were no good. I could never walk properly in them.' He fancied it
  was his boots that made him stagger, but it was simply weakness, really.
  He won't live another week. Herzenstube is looking after him. Now they are
  rich again--they've got heaps of money."
  
  "They are rogues."
  
  "Who are rogues?"
  
  "Doctors and the whole crew of quacks collectively, and also, of course,
  individually. I don't believe in medicine. It's a useless institution. I
  mean to go into all that. But what's that sentimentality you've got up
  there? The whole class seems to be there every day."
  
  "Not the whole class: it's only ten of our fellows who go to see him every
  day. There's nothing in that."
  
  "What I don't understand in all this is the part that Alexey Karamazov is
  taking in it. His brother's going to be tried to-morrow or next day for
  such a crime, and yet he has so much time to spend on sentimentality with
  boys."
  
  "There's no sentimentality about it. You are going yourself now to make it
  up with Ilusha."
  
  "Make it up with him? What an absurd expression! But I allow no one to
  analyze my actions."
  
  "And how pleased Ilusha will be to see you! He has no idea that you are
  coming. Why was it, why was it you wouldn't come all this time?" Smurov
  cried with sudden warmth.
  
  "My dear boy, that's my business, not yours. I am going of myself because
  I choose to, but you've all been hauled there by Alexey Karamazov--there's
  a difference, you know. And how do you know? I may not be going to make it
  up at all. It's a stupid expression."
  
  "It's not Karamazov at all; it's not his doing. Our fellows began going
  there of themselves. Of course, they went with Karamazov at first. And
  there's been nothing of that sort--no silliness. First one went, and then
  another. His father was awfully pleased to see us. You know he will simply
  go out of his mind if Ilusha dies. He sees that Ilusha's dying. And he
  seems so glad we've made it up with Ilusha. Ilusha asked after you, that
  was all. He just asks and says no more. His father will go out of his mind
  or hang himself. He behaved like a madman before. You know he is a very
  decent man. We made a mistake then. It's all the fault of that murderer
  who beat him then."
  
  "Karamazov's a riddle to me all the same. I might have made his
  acquaintance long ago, but I like to have a proper pride in some cases.
  Besides, I have a theory about him which I must work out and verify."
  
  Kolya subsided into dignified silence. Smurov, too, was silent. Smurov, of
  course, worshiped Krassotkin and never dreamed of putting himself on a
  level with him. Now he was tremendously interested at Kolya's saying that
  he was "going of himself" to see Ilusha. He felt that there must be some
  mystery in Kolya's suddenly taking it into his head to go to him that day.
  They crossed the market-place, in which at that hour were many loaded
  wagons from the country and a great number of live fowls. The market women
  were selling rolls, cottons and threads, etc., in their booths. These
  Sunday markets were naively called "fairs" in the town, and there were
  many such fairs in the year.
  
  Perezvon ran about in the wildest spirits, sniffing about first one side,
  then the other. When he met other dogs they zealously smelt each other
  over according to the rules of canine etiquette.
  
  "I like to watch such realistic scenes, Smurov," said Kolya suddenly.
  "Have you noticed how dogs sniff at one another when they meet? It seems
  to be a law of their nature."
  
  "Yes; it's a funny habit."
  
  "No, it's not funny; you are wrong there. There's nothing funny in nature,
  however funny it may seem to man with his prejudices. If dogs could reason
  and criticize us they'd be sure to find just as much that would be funny
  to them, if not far more, in the social relations of men, their
  masters--far more, indeed. I repeat that, because I am convinced that there
  is far more foolishness among us. That's Rakitin's idea--a remarkable idea.
  I am a Socialist, Smurov."
  
  "And what is a Socialist?" asked Smurov.
  
  "That's when all are equal and all have property in common, there are no
  marriages, and every one has any religion and laws he likes best, and all
  the rest of it. You are not old enough to understand that yet. It's cold,
  though."
  
  "Yes, twelve degrees of frost. Father looked at the thermometer just now."
  
  "Have you noticed, Smurov, that in the middle of winter we don't feel so
  cold even when there are fifteen or eighteen degrees of frost as we do
  now, in the beginning of winter, when there is a sudden frost of twelve
  degrees, especially when there is not much snow. It's because people are
  not used to it. Everything is habit with men, everything even in their
  social and political relations. Habit is the great motive-power. What a
  funny-looking peasant!"
  
  Kolya pointed to a tall peasant, with a good-natured countenance in a long
  sheepskin coat, who was standing by his wagon, clapping together his
  hands, in their shapeless leather gloves, to warm them. His long fair
  beard was all white with frost.
  
  "That peasant's beard's frozen," Kolya cried in a loud provocative voice
  as he passed him.
  
  "Lots of people's beards are frozen," the peasant replied, calmly and
  sententiously.
  
  "Don't provoke him," observed Smurov.
  
  "It's all right; he won't be cross; he's a nice fellow. Good-by, Matvey."
  
  "Good-by."
  
  "Is your name Matvey?"
  
  "Yes. Didn't you know?"
  
  "No, I didn't. It was a guess."
  
  "You don't say so! You are a schoolboy, I suppose?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "You get whipped, I expect?"
  
  "Nothing to speak of--sometimes."
  
  "Does it hurt?"
  
  "Well, yes, it does."
  
  "Ech, what a life!" The peasant heaved a sigh from the bottom of his
  heart.
  
  "Good-by, Matvey."
  
  "Good-by. You are a nice chap, that you are."
  
  The boys went on.
  
  "That was a nice peasant," Kolya observed to Smurov. "I like talking to
  the peasants, and am always glad to do them justice."
  
  "Why did you tell a lie, pretending we are thrashed?" asked Smurov.
  
  "I had to say that to please him."
  
  "How do you mean?"
  
  "You know, Smurov, I don't like being asked the same thing twice. I like
  people to understand at the first word. Some things can't be explained.
  According to a peasant's notions, schoolboys are whipped, and must be
  whipped. What would a schoolboy be if he were not whipped? And if I were
  to tell him we are not, he'd be disappointed. But you don't understand
  that. One has to know how to talk to the peasants."
  
  "Only don't tease them, please, or you'll get into another scrape as you
  did about that goose."
  
  "So you're afraid?"
  
  "Don't laugh, Kolya. Of course I'm afraid. My father would be awfully
  cross. I am strictly forbidden to go out with you."
  
  "Don't be uneasy, nothing will happen this time. Hallo, Natasha!" he
  shouted to a market woman in one of the booths.
  
  "Call me Natasha! What next! My name is Marya," the middle-aged market
  woman shouted at him.
  
  "I am so glad it's Marya. Good-by!"
  
  "Ah, you young rascal! A brat like you to carry on so!"
  
  "I'm in a hurry. I can't stay now. You shall tell me next Sunday." Kolya
  waved his hand at her, as though she had attacked him and not he her.
  
  "I've nothing to tell you next Sunday. You set upon me, you impudent young
  monkey. I didn't say anything," bawled Marya. "You want a whipping, that's
  what you want, you saucy jackanapes!"
  
  There was a roar of laughter among the other market women round her.
  Suddenly a man in a violent rage darted out from the arcade of shops close
  by. He was a young man, not a native of the town, with dark, curly hair
  and a long, pale face, marked with smallpox. He wore a long blue coat and
  a peaked cap, and looked like a merchant's clerk. He was in a state of
  stupid excitement and brandished his fist at Kolya.
  
  "I know you!" he cried angrily, "I know you!"
  
  Kolya stared at him. He could not recall when he could have had a row with
  the man. But he had been in so many rows in the street that he could
  hardly remember them all.
  
  "Do you?" he asked sarcastically.
  
  "I know you! I know you!" the man repeated idiotically.
  
  "So much the better for you. Well, it's time I was going. Good-by!"
  
  "You are at your saucy pranks again?" cried the man. "You are at your
  saucy pranks again? I know, you are at it again!"
  
  "It's not your business, brother, if I am at my saucy pranks again," said
  Kolya, standing still and scanning him.
  
  "Not my business?"
  
  "No; it's not your business."
  
  "Whose then? Whose then? Whose then?"
  
  "It's Trifon Nikititch's business, not yours."
  
  "What Trifon Nikititch?" asked the youth, staring with loutish amazement
  at Kolya, but still as angry as ever.
  
  Kolya scanned him gravely.
  
  "Have you been to the Church of the Ascension?" he suddenly asked him,
  with stern emphasis.
  
  "What Church of Ascension? What for? No, I haven't," said the young man,
  somewhat taken aback.
  
  "Do you know Sabaneyev?" Kolya went on even more emphatically and even
  more severely.
  
  "What Sabaneyev? No, I don't know him."
  
  "Well then you can go to the devil," said Kolya, cutting short the
  conversation; and turning sharply to the right he strode quickly on his
  way as though he disdained further conversation with a dolt who did not
  even know Sabaneyev.
  
  "Stop, heigh! What Sabaneyev?" the young man recovered from his momentary
  stupefaction and was as excited as before. "What did he say?" He turned to
  the market women with a silly stare.
  
  The women laughed.
  
  "You can never tell what he's after," said one of them.
  
  "What Sabaneyev is it he's talking about?" the young man repeated, still
  furious and brandishing his right arm.
  
  "It must be a Sabaneyev who worked for the Kuzmitchovs, that's who it must
  be," one of the women suggested.
  
  The young man stared at her wildly.
  
  "For the Kuzmitchovs?" repeated another woman. "But his name wasn't
  Trifon. His name's Kuzma, not Trifon; but the boy said Trifon Nikititch,
  so it can't be the same."
  
  "His name is not Trifon and not Sabaneyev, it's Tchizhov," put in suddenly
  a third woman, who had hitherto been silent, listening gravely. "Alexey
  Ivanitch is his name. Tchizhov, Alexey Ivanitch."
  
  "Not a doubt about it, it's Tchizhov," a fourth woman emphatically
  confirmed the statement.
  
  The bewildered youth gazed from one to another.
  
  "But what did he ask for, what did he ask for, good people?" he cried
  almost in desperation. " 'Do you know Sabaneyev?' says he. And who the
  devil's to know who is Sabaneyev?"
  
  "You're a senseless fellow. I tell you it's not Sabaneyev, but Tchizhov,
  Alexey Ivanitch Tchizhov, that's who it is!" one of the women shouted at
  him impressively.
  
  "What Tchizhov? Who is he? Tell me, if you know."
  
  "That tall, sniveling fellow who used to sit in the market in the summer."
  
  "And what's your Tchizhov to do with me, good people, eh?"
  
  "How can I tell what he's to do with you?" put in another. "You ought to
  know yourself what you want with him, if you make such a clamor about him.
  He spoke to you, he did not speak to us, you stupid. Don't you really know
  him?"
  
  "Know whom?"
  
  "Tchizhov."
  
  "The devil take Tchizhov and you with him. I'll give him a hiding, that I
  will. He was laughing at me!"
  
  "Will give Tchizhov a hiding! More likely he will give you one. You are a
  fool, that's what you are!"
  
  "Not Tchizhov, not Tchizhov, you spiteful, mischievous woman. I'll give
  the boy a hiding. Catch him, catch him, he was laughing at me!"
  
  The woman guffawed. But Kolya was by now a long way off, marching along
  with a triumphant air. Smurov walked beside him, looking round at the
  shouting group far behind. He too was in high spirits, though he was still
  afraid of getting into some scrape in Kolya's company.
  
  "What Sabaneyev did you mean?" he asked Kolya, foreseeing what his answer
  would be.
  
  "How do I know? Now there'll be a hubbub among them all day. I like to
  stir up fools in every class of society. There's another blockhead, that
  peasant there. You know, they say 'there's no one stupider than a stupid
  Frenchman,' but a stupid Russian shows it in his face just as much. Can't
  you see it all over his face that he is a fool, that peasant, eh?"
  
  "Let him alone, Kolya. Let's go on."
  
  "Nothing could stop me, now I am once off. Hey, good morning, peasant!"
  
  A sturdy-looking peasant, with a round, simple face and grizzled beard,
  who was walking by, raised his head and looked at the boy. He seemed not
  quite sober.
  
  "Good morning, if you are not laughing at me," he said deliberately in
  reply.
  
  "And if I am?" laughed Kolya.
  
  "Well, a joke's a joke. Laugh away. I don't mind. There's no harm in a
  joke."
  
  "I beg your pardon, brother, it was a joke."
  
  "Well, God forgive you!"
  
  "Do you forgive me, too?"
  
  "I quite forgive you. Go along."
  
  "I say, you seem a clever peasant."
  
  "Cleverer than you," the peasant answered unexpectedly, with the same
  gravity.
  
  "I doubt it," said Kolya, somewhat taken aback.
  
  "It's true, though."
  
  "Perhaps it is."
  
  "It is, brother."
  
  "Good-by, peasant!"
  
  "Good-by!"
  
  "There are all sorts of peasants," Kolya observed to Smurov after a brief
  silence. "How could I tell I had hit on a clever one? I am always ready to
  recognize intelligence in the peasantry."
  
  In the distance the cathedral clock struck half-past eleven. The boys made
  haste and they walked as far as Captain Snegiryov's lodging, a
  considerable distance, quickly and almost in silence. Twenty paces from
  the house Kolya stopped and told Smurov to go on ahead and ask Karamazov
  to come out to him.
  
  "One must sniff round a bit first," he observed to Smurov.
  
  "Why ask him to come out?" Smurov protested. "You go in; they will be
  awfully glad to see you. What's the sense of making friends in the frost
  out here?"
  
  "I know why I want to see him out here in the frost," Kolya cut him short
  in the despotic tone he was fond of adopting with "small boys," and Smurov
  ran to do his bidding.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter IV. The Lost Dog
  
  
  Kolya leaned against the fence with an air of dignity, waiting for Alyosha
  to appear. Yes, he had long wanted to meet him. He had heard a great deal
  about him from the boys, but hitherto he had always maintained an
  appearance of disdainful indifference when he was mentioned, and he had
  even "criticized" what he heard about Alyosha. But secretly he had a great
  longing to make his acquaintance; there was something sympathetic and
  attractive in all he was told about Alyosha. So the present moment was
  important: to begin with, he had to show himself at his best, to show his
  independence, "Or he'll think of me as thirteen and take me for a boy,
  like the rest of them. And what are these boys to him? I shall ask him
  when I get to know him. It's a pity I am so short, though. Tuzikov is
  younger than I am, yet he is half a head taller. But I have a clever face.
  I am not good-looking. I know I'm hideous, but I've a clever face. I
  mustn't talk too freely; if I fall into his arms all at once, he may
  think--Tfoo! how horrible if he should think--!"
  
  Such were the thoughts that excited Kolya while he was doing his utmost to
  assume the most independent air. What distressed him most was his being so
  short; he did not mind so much his "hideous" face, as being so short. On
  the wall in a corner at home he had the year before made a pencil-mark to
  show his height, and every two months since he anxiously measured himself
  against it to see how much he had gained. But alas! he grew very slowly,
  and this sometimes reduced him almost to despair. His face was in reality
  by no means "hideous"; on the contrary, it was rather attractive, with a
  fair, pale skin, freckled. His small, lively gray eyes had a fearless
  look, and often glowed with feeling. He had rather high cheekbones; small,
  very red, but not very thick, lips; his nose was small and unmistakably
  turned up. "I've a regular pug nose, a regular pug nose," Kolya used to
  mutter to himself when he looked in the looking-glass, and he always left
  it with indignation. "But perhaps I haven't got a clever face?" he
  sometimes thought, doubtful even of that. But it must not be supposed that
  his mind was preoccupied with his face and his height. On the contrary,
  however bitter the moments before the looking-glass were to him, he
  quickly forgot them, and forgot them for a long time, "abandoning himself
  entirely to ideas and to real life," as he formulated it to himself.
  
  Alyosha came out quickly and hastened up to Kolya. Before he reached him,
  Kolya could see that he looked delighted. "Can he be so glad to see me?"
  Kolya wondered, feeling pleased. We may note here, in passing, that
  Alyosha's appearance had undergone a complete change since we saw him
  last. He had abandoned his cassock and was wearing now a well-cut coat, a
  soft, round hat, and his hair had been cropped short. All this was very
  becoming to him, and he looked quite handsome. His charming face always
  had a good-humored expression; but there was a gentleness and serenity in
  his good-humor. To Kolya's surprise, Alyosha came out to him just as he
  was, without an overcoat. He had evidently come in haste. He held out his
  hand to Kolya at once.
  
  "Here you are at last! How anxious we've been to see you!"
  
  "There were reasons which you shall know directly. Anyway, I am glad to
  make your acquaintance. I've long been hoping for an opportunity, and have
  heard a great deal about you," Kolya muttered, a little breathless.
  
  "We should have met anyway. I've heard a great deal about you, too; but
  you've been a long time coming here."
  
  "Tell me, how are things going?"
  
  "Ilusha is very ill. He is certainly dying."
  
  "How awful! You must admit that medicine is a fraud, Karamazov," cried
  Kolya warmly.
  
  "Ilusha has mentioned you often, very often, even in his sleep, in
  delirium, you know. One can see that you used to be very, very dear to him
  ... before the incident ... with the knife.... Then there's another
  reason.... Tell me, is that your dog?"
  
  "Yes, Perezvon."
  
  "Not Zhutchka?" Alyosha looked at Kolya with eyes full of pity. "Is she
  lost for ever?"
  
  "I know you would all like it to be Zhutchka. I've heard all about it."
  Kolya smiled mysteriously. "Listen, Karamazov, I'll tell you all about it.
  That's what I came for; that's what I asked you to come out here for, to
  explain the whole episode to you before we go in," he began with
  animation. "You see, Karamazov, Ilusha came into the preparatory class
  last spring. Well, you know what our preparatory class is--a lot of small
  boys. They began teasing Ilusha at once. I am two classes higher up, and,
  of course, I only look on at them from a distance. I saw the boy was weak
  and small, but he wouldn't give in to them; he fought with them. I saw he
  was proud, and his eyes were full of fire. I like children like that. And
  they teased him all the more. The worst of it was he was horribly dressed
  at the time, his breeches were too small for him, and there were holes in
  his boots. They worried him about it; they jeered at him. That I can't
  stand. I stood up for him at once, and gave it to them hot. I beat them,
  but they adore me, do you know, Karamazov?" Kolya boasted impulsively;
  "but I am always fond of children. I've two chickens in my hands at home
  now--that's what detained me to-day. So they left off beating Ilusha and I
  took him under my protection. I saw the boy was proud. I tell you that,
  the boy was proud; but in the end he became slavishly devoted to me: he
  did my slightest bidding, obeyed me as though I were God, tried to copy
  me. In the intervals between the classes he used to run to me at once, and
  I'd go about with him. On Sundays, too. They always laugh when an older
  boy makes friends with a younger one like that; but that's a prejudice. If
  it's my fancy, that's enough. I am teaching him, developing him. Why
  shouldn't I develop him if I like him? Here you, Karamazov, have taken up
  with all these nestlings. I see you want to influence the younger
  generation--to develop them, to be of use to them, and I assure you this
  trait in your character, which I knew by hearsay, attracted me more than
  anything. Let us get to the point, though. I noticed that there was a sort
  of softness and sentimentality coming over the boy, and you know I have a
  positive hatred of this sheepish sentimentality, and I have had it from a
  baby. There were contradictions in him, too: he was proud, but he was
  slavishly devoted to me, and yet all at once his eyes would flash and he'd
  refuse to agree with me; he'd argue, fly into a rage. I used sometimes to
  propound certain ideas; I could see that it was not so much that he
  disagreed with the ideas, but that he was simply rebelling against me,
  because I was cool in responding to his endearments. And so, in order to
  train him properly, the tenderer he was, the colder I became. I did it on
  purpose: that was my idea. My object was to form his character, to lick
  him into shape, to make a man of him ... and besides ... no doubt, you
  understand me at a word. Suddenly I noticed for three days in succession
  he was downcast and dejected, not because of my coldness, but for
  something else, something more important. I wondered what the tragedy was.
  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 from 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
  realize 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 any one
  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 centered 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 libelous 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 theater 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 theater, 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."
  
  
  
  
  Chapter V. By Ilusha's Bedside
  
  
  The room inhabited by the family of the retired captain Snegiryov is
  already familiar to the reader. It was close and crowded at that moment
  with a number of visitors. Several boys were sitting with Ilusha, and
  though all of them, like Smurov, were prepared to deny that it was Alyosha
  who had brought them and reconciled them with Ilusha, it was really the
  fact. All the art he had used had been to take them, one by one, to
  Ilusha, without "sheepish sentimentality," appearing to do so casually and
  without design. It was a great consolation to Ilusha in his suffering. He
  was greatly touched by seeing the almost tender affection and sympathy
  shown him by these boys, who had been his enemies. Krassotkin was the only
  one missing and his absence was a heavy load on Ilusha's heart. Perhaps
  the bitterest of all his bitter memories was his stabbing Krassotkin, who
  had been his one friend and protector. Clever little Smurov, who was the
  first to make it up with Ilusha, thought it was so. But when Smurov hinted
  to Krassotkin that Alyosha wanted to come and see him about something, the
  latter cut him short, bidding Smurov tell "Karamazov" at once that he knew
  best what to do, that he wanted no one's advice, and that, if he went to
  see Ilusha, he would choose his own time for he had "his own reasons."
  
  That was a fortnight before this Sunday. That was why Alyosha had not been
  to see him, as he had meant to. But though he waited, he sent Smurov to
  him twice again. Both times Krassotkin met him with a curt, impatient
  refusal, sending Alyosha a message not to bother him any more, that if he
  came himself, he, Krassotkin, would not go to Ilusha at all. Up to the
  very last day, Smurov did not know that Kolya meant to go to Ilusha that
  morning, and only the evening before, as he parted from Smurov, Kolya
  abruptly told him to wait at home for him next morning, for he would go
  with him to the Snegiryovs', but warned him on no account to say he was
  coming, as he wanted to drop in casually. Smurov obeyed. Smurov's fancy
  that Kolya would bring back the lost dog was based on the words Kolya had
  dropped that "they must be asses not to find the dog, if it was alive."
  When Smurov, waiting for an opportunity, timidly hinted at his guess about
  the dog, Krassotkin flew into a violent rage. "I'm not such an ass as to
  go hunting about the town for other people's dogs when I've got a dog of
  my own! And how can you imagine a dog could be alive after swallowing a
  pin? Sheepish sentimentality, that's what it is!"
  
  For the last fortnight Ilusha had not left his little bed under the ikons
  in the corner. He had not been to school since the day he met Alyosha and
  bit his finger. He was taken ill the same day, though for a month
  afterwards he was sometimes able to get up and walk about the room and
  passage. But latterly he had become so weak that he could not move without
  help from his father. His father was terribly concerned about him. He even
  gave up drinking and was almost crazy with terror that his boy would die.
  And often, especially after leading him round the room on his arm and
  putting him back to bed, he would run to a dark corner in the passage and,
  leaning his head against the wall, he would break into paroxysms of
  violent weeping, stifling his sobs that they might not be heard by Ilusha.
  
  Returning to the room, he would usually begin doing something to amuse and
  comfort his precious boy; he would tell him stories, funny anecdotes, or
  would mimic comic people he had happened to meet, even imitate the howls
  and cries of animals. But Ilusha could not bear to see his father fooling
  and playing the buffoon. Though the boy tried not to show how he disliked
  it, he saw with an aching heart that his father was an object of contempt,
  and he was continually haunted by the memory of the "wisp of tow" and that
  "terrible day."
  
  Nina, Ilusha's gentle, crippled sister, did not like her father's
  buffoonery either (Varvara had been gone for some time past to Petersburg
  to study at the university). But the half-imbecile mother was greatly
  diverted and laughed heartily when her husband began capering about or
  performing something. It was the only way she could be amused; all the
  rest of the time she was grumbling and complaining that now every one had
  forgotten her, that no one treated her with respect, that she was
  slighted, and so on. But during the last few days she had completely
  changed. She began looking constantly at Ilusha's bed in the corner and
  seemed lost in thought. She was more silent, quieter, and, if she cried,
  she cried quietly so as not to be heard. The captain noticed the change in
  her with mournful perplexity. The boys' visits at first only angered her,
  but later on their merry shouts and stories began to divert her, and at
  last she liked them so much that, if the boys had given up coming, she
  would have felt dreary without them. When the children told some story or
  played a game, she laughed and clapped her hands. She called some of them
  to her and kissed them. She was particularly fond of Smurov.
  
  As for the captain, the presence in his room of the children, who came to
  cheer up Ilusha, filled his heart from the first with ecstatic joy. He
  even hoped that Ilusha would now get over his depression, and that that
  would hasten his recovery. In spite of his alarm about Ilusha, he had not,
  till lately, felt one minute's doubt of his boy's ultimate recovery.
  
  He met his little visitors with homage, waited upon them hand and foot; he
  was ready to be their horse and even began letting them ride on his back,
  but Ilusha did not like the game and it was given up. He began buying
  little things for them, gingerbread and nuts, gave them tea and cut them
  sandwiches. It must be noted that all this time he had plenty of money. He
  had taken the two hundred roubles from Katerina Ivanovna just as Alyosha
  had predicted he would. And afterwards Katerina Ivanovna, learning more
  about their circumstances and Ilusha's illness, visited them herself, made
  the acquaintance of the family, and succeeded in fascinating the half-
  imbecile mother. Since then she had been lavish in helping them, and the
  captain, terror-stricken at the thought that his boy might be dying,
  forgot his pride and humbly accepted her assistance.
  
  All this time Doctor Herzenstube, who was called in by Katerina Ivanovna,
  came punctually every other day, but little was gained by his visits and
  he dosed the invalid mercilessly. But on that Sunday morning a new doctor
  was expected, who had come from Moscow, where he had a great reputation.
  Katerina Ivanovna had sent for him from Moscow at great expense, not
  expressly for Ilusha, but for another object of which more will be said in
  its place hereafter. But, as he had come, she had asked him to see Ilusha
  as well, and the captain had been told to expect him. He hadn't the
  slightest idea that Kolya Krassotkin was coming, though he had long wished
  for a visit from the boy for whom Ilusha was fretting.
  
  At the moment when Krassotkin opened the door and came into the room, the
  captain and all the boys were round Ilusha's bed, looking at a tiny
  mastiff pup, which had only been born the day before, though the captain
  had bespoken it a week ago to comfort and amuse Ilusha, who was still
  fretting over the lost and probably dead Zhutchka. Ilusha, who had heard
  three days before that he was to be presented with a puppy, not an
  ordinary puppy, but a pedigree mastiff (a very important point, of
  course), tried from delicacy of feeling to pretend that he was pleased.
  But his father and the boys could not help seeing that the puppy only
  served to recall to his little heart the thought of the unhappy dog he had
  killed. The puppy lay beside him feebly moving and he, smiling sadly,
  stroked it with his thin, pale, wasted hand. Clearly he liked the puppy,
  but ... it wasn't Zhutchka; if he could have had Zhutchka and the puppy,
  too, then he would have been completely happy.
  
  "Krassotkin!" cried one of the boys suddenly. He was the first to see him
  come in.
  
  Krassotkin's entrance made a general sensation; the boys moved away and
  stood on each side of the bed, so that he could get a full view of Ilusha.
  The captain ran eagerly to meet Kolya.
  
  "Please come in ... you are welcome!" he said hurriedly. "Ilusha, Mr.
  Krassotkin has come to see you!"
  
  But Krassotkin, shaking hands with him hurriedly, instantly showed his
  complete knowledge of the manners of good society. He turned first to the
  captain's wife sitting in her arm-chair, who was very ill-humored at the
  moment, and was grumbling that the boys stood between her and Ilusha's bed
  and did not let her see the new puppy. With the greatest courtesy he made
  her a bow, scraping his foot, and turning to Nina, he made her, as the
  only other lady present, a similar bow. This polite behavior made an
  extremely favorable impression on the deranged lady.
  
  "There, you can see at once he is a young man that has been well brought
  up," she commented aloud, throwing up her hands; "but as for our other
  visitors they come in one on the top of another."
  
  "How do you mean, mamma, one on the top of another, how is that?" muttered
  the captain affectionately, though a little anxious on her account.
  
  "That's how they ride in. They get on each other's shoulders in the
  passage and prance in like that on a respectable family. Strange sort of
  visitors!"
  
  "But who's come in like that, mamma?"
  
  "Why, that boy came in riding on that one's back and this one on that
  one's."
  
  Kolya was already by Ilusha's bedside. The sick boy turned visibly paler.
  He raised himself in the bed and looked intently at Kolya. Kolya had not
  seen his little friend for two months, and he was overwhelmed at the sight
  of him. He had never imagined that he would see such a wasted, yellow
  face, such enormous, feverishly glowing eyes and such thin little hands.
  He saw, with grieved surprise, Ilusha's rapid, hard breathing and dry
  lips. He stepped close to him, held out his hand, and almost overwhelmed,
  he said:
  
  "Well, old man ... how are you?" But his voice failed him, he couldn't
  achieve an appearance of ease; his face suddenly twitched and the corners
  of his mouth quivered. Ilusha smiled a pitiful little smile, still unable
  to utter a word. Something moved Kolya to raise his hand and pass it over
  Ilusha's hair.
  
  "Never mind!" he murmured softly to him to cheer him up, or perhaps not
  knowing why he said it. For a minute they were silent again.
  
  "Hallo, so you've got a new puppy?" Kolya said suddenly, in a most callous
  voice.
  
  "Ye--es," answered Ilusha in a long whisper, gasping for breath.
  
  "A black nose, that means he'll be fierce, a good house-dog," Kolya
  observed gravely and stolidly, as if the only thing he cared about was the
  puppy and its black nose. But in reality he still had to do his utmost to
  control his feelings not to burst out crying like a child, and do what he
  would he could not control it. "When it grows up, you'll have to keep it
  on the chain, I'm sure."
  
  "He'll be a huge dog!" cried one of the boys.
  
  "Of course he will," "a mastiff," "large," "like this," "as big as a
  calf," shouted several voices.
  
  "As big as a calf, as a real calf," chimed in the captain. "I got one like
  that on purpose, one of the fiercest breed, and his parents are huge and
  very fierce, they stand as high as this from the floor.... Sit down here,
  on Ilusha's bed, or here on the bench. You are welcome, we've been hoping
  to see you a long time.... You were so kind as to come with Alexey
  Fyodorovitch?"
  
  Krassotkin sat on the edge of the bed, at Ilusha's feet. Though he had
  perhaps prepared a free-and-easy opening for the conversation on his way,
  now he completely lost the thread of it.
  
  "No ... I came with Perezvon. I've got a dog now, called Perezvon. A
  Slavonic name. He's out there ... if I whistle, he'll run in. I've brought
  a dog, too," he said, addressing Ilusha all at once. "Do you remember
  Zhutchka, old man?" he suddenly fired the question at him.
  
  Ilusha's little face quivered. He looked with an agonized expression at
  Kolya. Alyosha, standing at the door, frowned and signed to Kolya not to
  speak of Zhutchka, but he did not or would not notice.
  
  "Where ... is Zhutchka?" Ilusha asked in a broken voice.
  
  "Oh, well, my boy, your Zhutchka's lost and done for!"
  
  Ilusha did not speak, but he fixed an intent gaze once more on Kolya.
  Alyosha, catching Kolya's eye, signed to him vigorously again, but he
  turned away his eyes pretending not to have noticed.
  
  "It must have run away and died somewhere. It must have died after a meal
  like that," Kolya pronounced pitilessly, though he seemed a little
  breathless. "But I've got a dog, Perezvon ... A Slavonic name.... I've
  brought him to show you."
  
  "I don't want him!" said Ilusha suddenly.
  
  "No, no, you really must see him ... it will amuse you. I brought him on
  purpose.... He's the same sort of shaggy dog.... You allow me to call in
  my dog, madam?" He suddenly addressed Madame Snegiryov, with inexplicable
  excitement in his manner.
  
  "I don't want him, I don't want him!" cried Ilusha, with a mournful break
  in his voice. There was a reproachful light in his eyes.
  
  "You'd better," the captain started up from the chest by the wall on which
  he had just sat down, "you'd better ... another time," he muttered, but
  Kolya could not be restrained. He hurriedly shouted to Smurov, "Open the
  door," and as soon as it was open, he blew his whistle. Perezvon dashed
  headlong into the room.
  
  "Jump, Perezvon, beg! Beg!" shouted Kolya, jumping up, and the dog stood
  erect on its hind-legs by Ilusha's bedside. What followed was a surprise
  to every one: Ilusha started, lurched violently forward, bent over
  Perezvon and gazed at him, faint with suspense.
  
  "It's ... Zhutchka!" he cried suddenly, in a voice breaking with joy and
  suffering.
  
  "And who did you think it was?" Krassotkin shouted with all his might, in
  a ringing, happy voice, and bending down he seized the dog and lifted him
  up to Ilusha.
  
  "Look, old man, you see, blind of one eye and the left ear is torn, just
  the marks you described to me. It was by that I found him. I found him
  directly. He did not belong to any one!" he explained, turning quickly to
  the captain, to his wife, to Alyosha and then again to Ilusha. "He used to
  live in the Fedotovs' back-yard. Though he made his home there, they did
  not feed him. He was a stray dog that had run away from the village ... I
  found him.... You see, old man, he couldn't have swallowed what you gave
  him. If he had, he must have died, he must have! So he must have spat it
  out, since he is alive. You did not see him do it. But the pin pricked his
  tongue, that is why he squealed. He ran away squealing and you thought
  he'd swallowed it. He might well squeal, because the skin of dogs' mouths
  is so tender ... tenderer than in men, much tenderer!" Kolya cried
  impetuously, his face glowing and radiant with delight. Ilusha could not
  speak. White as a sheet, he gazed open-mouthed at Kolya, with his great
  eyes almost starting out of his head. And if Krassotkin, who had no
  suspicion of it, had known what a disastrous and fatal effect such a
  moment might have on the sick child's health, nothing would have induced
  him to play such a trick on him. But Alyosha was perhaps the only person
  in the room who realized it. As for the captain he behaved like a small
  child.
  
  "Zhutchka! It's Zhutchka!" he cried in a blissful voice, "Ilusha, this is
  Zhutchka, your Zhutchka! Mamma, this is Zhutchka!" He was almost weeping.
  
  "And I never guessed!" cried Smurov regretfully. "Bravo, Krassotkin! I
  said he'd find the dog and here he's found him."
  
  "Here he's found him!" another boy repeated gleefully.
  
  "Krassotkin's a brick!" cried a third voice.
  
  "He's a brick, he's a brick!" cried the other boys, and they began
  clapping.
  
  "Wait, wait," Krassotkin did his utmost to shout above them all. "I'll
  tell you how it happened, that's the whole point. I found him, I took him
  home and hid him at once. I kept him locked up at home and did not show
  him to any one till to-day. Only Smurov has known for the last fortnight,
  but I assured him this dog was called Perezvon and he did not guess. And
  meanwhile I taught the dog all sorts of tricks. You should only see all
  the things he can do! I trained him so as to bring you a well-trained dog,
  in good condition, old man, so as to be able to say to you, 'See, old man,
  what a fine dog your Zhutchka is now!' Haven't you a bit of meat? He'll
  show you a trick that will make you die with laughing. A piece of meat,
  haven't you got any?"
  
  The captain ran across the passage to the landlady, where their cooking
  was done. Not to lose precious time, Kolya, in desperate haste, shouted to
  Perezvon, "Dead!" And the dog immediately turned round and lay on his back
  with its four paws in the air. The boys laughed. Ilusha looked on with the
  same suffering smile, but the person most delighted with the dog's
  performance was "mamma." She laughed at the dog and began snapping her
  fingers and calling it, "Perezvon, Perezvon!"
  
  "Nothing will make him get up, nothing!" Kolya cried triumphantly, proud
  of his success. "He won't move for all the shouting in the world, but if I
  call to him, he'll jump up in a minute. Ici, Perezvon!" The dog leapt up
  and bounded about, whining with delight. The captain ran back with a piece
  of cooked beef.
  
  "Is it hot?" Kolya inquired hurriedly, with a business-like air, taking
  the meat. "Dogs don't like hot things. No, it's all right. Look,
  everybody, look, Ilusha, look, old man; why aren't you looking? He does
  not look at him, now I've brought him."
  
  The new trick consisted in making the dog stand motionless with his nose
  out and putting a tempting morsel of meat just on his nose. The luckless
  dog had to stand without moving, with the meat on his nose, as long as his
  master chose to keep him, without a movement, perhaps for half an hour.
  But he kept Perezvon only for a brief moment.
  
  "Paid for!" cried Kolya, and the meat passed in a flash from the dog's
  nose to his mouth. The audience, of course, expressed enthusiasm and
  surprise.
  
  "Can you really have put off coming all this time simply to train the
  dog?" exclaimed Alyosha, with an involuntary note of reproach in his
  voice.
  
  "Simply for that!" answered Kolya, with perfect simplicity. "I wanted to
  show him in all his glory."
  
  "Perezvon! Perezvon," called Ilusha suddenly, snapping his thin fingers
  and beckoning to the dog.
  
  "What is it? Let him jump up on the bed! _Ici_, Perezvon!" Kolya slapped
  the bed and Perezvon darted up by Ilusha. The boy threw both arms round
  his head and Perezvon instantly licked his cheek. Ilusha crept close to
  him, stretched himself out in bed and hid his face in the dog's shaggy
  coat.
  
  "Dear, dear!" kept exclaiming the captain. Kolya sat down again on the
  edge of the bed.
  
  "Ilusha, I can show you another trick. I've brought you a little cannon.
  You remember, I told you about it before and you said how much you'd like
  to see it. Well, here, I've brought it to you."
  
  And Kolya hurriedly pulled out of his satchel the little bronze cannon. He
  hurried, because he was happy himself. Another time he would have waited
  till the sensation made by Perezvon had passed off, now he hurried on
  regardless of all consideration. "You are all happy now," he felt, "so
  here's something to make you happier!" He was perfectly enchanted himself.
  
  "I've been coveting this thing for a long while; it's for you, old man,
  it's for you. It belonged to Morozov, it was no use to him, he had it from
  his brother. I swopped a book from father's book-case for it, _A Kinsman
  of Mahomet or Salutary Folly_, a scandalous book published in Moscow a
  hundred years ago, before they had any censorship. And Morozov has a taste
  for such things. He was grateful to me, too...."
  
  Kolya held the cannon in his hand so that all could see and admire it.
  Ilusha raised himself, and, with his right arm still round the dog, he
  gazed enchanted at the toy. The sensation was even greater when Kolya
  announced that he had gunpowder too, and that it could be fired off at
  once "if it won't alarm the ladies." "Mamma" immediately asked to look at
  the toy closer and her request was granted. She was much pleased with the
  little bronze cannon on wheels and began rolling it to and fro on her lap.
  She readily gave permission for the cannon to be fired, without any idea
  of what she had been asked. Kolya showed the powder and the shot. The
  captain, as a military man, undertook to load it, putting in a minute
  quantity of powder. He asked that the shot might be put off till another
  time. The cannon was put on the floor, aiming towards an empty part of the
  room, three grains of powder were thrust into the touch-hole and a match
  was put to it. A magnificent explosion followed. Mamma was startled, but
  at once laughed with delight. The boys gazed in speechless triumph. But
  the captain, looking at Ilusha, was more enchanted than any of them. Kolya
  picked up the cannon and immediately presented it to Ilusha, together with
  the powder and the shot.
  
  "I got it for you, for you! I've been keeping it for you a long time," he
  repeated once more in his delight.
  
  "Oh, give it to me! No, give me the cannon!" mamma began begging like a
  little child. Her face showed a piteous fear that she would not get it.
  Kolya was disconcerted. The captain fidgeted uneasily.
  
  "Mamma, mamma," he ran to her, "the cannon's yours, of course, but let
  Ilusha have it, because it's a present to him, but it's just as good as
  yours. Ilusha will always let you play with it; it shall belong to both of
  you, both of you."
  
  "No, I don't want it to belong to both of us, I want it to be mine
  altogether, not Ilusha's," persisted mamma, on the point of tears.
  
  "Take it, mother, here, keep it!" Ilusha cried. "Krassotkin, may I give it
  to my mother?" he turned to Krassotkin with an imploring face, as though
  he were afraid he might be offended at his giving his present to some one
  else.
  
  "Of course you may," Krassotkin assented heartily, and, taking the cannon
  from Ilusha, he handed it himself to mamma with a polite bow. She was so
  touched that she cried.
  
  "Ilusha, darling, he's the one who loves his mamma!" she said tenderly,
  and at once began wheeling the cannon to and fro on her lap again.
  
  "Mamma, let me kiss your hand." The captain darted up to her at once and
  did so.
  
  "And I never saw such a charming fellow as this nice boy," said the
  grateful lady, pointing to Krassotkin.
  
  "And I'll bring you as much powder as you like, Ilusha. We make the powder
  ourselves now. Borovikov found out how it's made--twenty-four parts of
  saltpeter, ten of sulphur and six of birchwood charcoal. It's all pounded
  together, mixed into a paste with water and rubbed through a tammy
  sieve--that's how it's done."
  
  "Smurov told me about your powder, only father says it's not real
  gunpowder," responded Ilusha.
  
  "Not real?" Kolya flushed. "It burns. I don't know, of course."
  
  "No, I didn't mean that," put in the captain with a guilty face. "I only
  said that real powder is not made like that, but that's nothing, it can be
  made so."
  
  "I don't know, you know best. We lighted some in a pomatum pot, it burned
  splendidly, it all burnt away leaving only a tiny ash. But that was only
  the paste, and if you rub it through ... but of course you know best, I
  don't know.... And Bulkin's father thrashed him on account of our powder,
  did you hear?" he turned to Ilusha.
  
  "Yes," answered Ilusha. He listened to Kolya with immense interest and
  enjoyment.
  
  "We had prepared a whole bottle of it and he used to keep it under his
  bed. His father saw it. He said it might explode, and thrashed him on the
  spot. He was going to make a complaint against me to the masters. He is
  not allowed to go about with me now, no one is allowed to go about with me
  now. Smurov is not allowed to either, I've got a bad name with every one.
  They say I'm a 'desperate character,' " Kolya smiled scornfully. "It all
  began from what happened on the railway."
  
  "Ah, we've heard of that exploit of yours, too," cried the captain. "How
  could you lie still on the line? Is it possible you weren't the least
  afraid, lying there under the train? Weren't you frightened?"
  
  The captain was abject in his flattery of Kolya.
  
  "N--not particularly," answered Kolya carelessly. "What's blasted my
  reputation more than anything here was that cursed goose," he said,
  turning again to Ilusha. But though he assumed an unconcerned air as he
  talked, he still could not control himself and was continually missing the
  note he tried to keep up.
  
  "Ah! I heard about the goose!" Ilusha laughed, beaming all over. "They
  told me, but I didn't understand. Did they really take you to the court?"
  
  "The most stupid, trivial affair, they made a mountain of a molehill as
  they always do," Kolya began carelessly. "I was walking through the
  market-place here one day, just when they'd driven in the geese. I stopped
  and looked at them. All at once a fellow, who is an errand-boy at
  Plotnikov's now, looked at me and said, 'What are you looking at the geese
  for?' I looked at him; he was a stupid, moon-faced fellow of twenty. I am
  always on the side of the peasantry, you know. I like talking to the
  peasants.... We've dropped behind the peasants--that's an axiom. I believe
  you are laughing, Karamazov?"
  
  "No, Heaven forbid, I am listening," said Alyosha with a most good-natured
  air, and the sensitive Kolya was immediately reassured.
  
  "My theory, Karamazov, is clear and simple," he hurried on again, looking
  pleased. "I believe in the people and am always glad to give them their
  due, but I am not for spoiling them, that is a _sine qua non_ ... But I
  was telling you about the goose. So I turned to the fool and answered, 'I
  am wondering what the goose thinks about.' He looked at me quite stupidly,
  'And what does the goose think about?' he asked. 'Do you see that cart
  full of oats?' I said. 'The oats are dropping out of the sack, and the
  goose has put its neck right under the wheel to gobble them up--do you
  see?' 'I see that quite well,' he said. 'Well,' said I, 'if that cart were
  to move on a little, would it break the goose's neck or not?' 'It'd be
  sure to break it,' and he grinned all over his face, highly delighted.
  'Come on, then,' said I, 'let's try.' 'Let's,' he said. And it did not
  take us long to arrange: he stood at the bridle without being noticed, and
  I stood on one side to direct the goose. And the owner wasn't looking, he
  was talking to some one, so I had nothing to do, the goose thrust its head
  in after the oats of itself, under the cart, just under the wheel. I
  winked at the lad, he tugged at the bridle, and crack. The goose's neck
  was broken in half. And, as luck would have it, all the peasants saw us at
  that moment and they kicked up a shindy at once. 'You did that on
  purpose!' 'No, not on purpose.' 'Yes, you did, on purpose!' Well, they
  shouted, 'Take him to the justice of the peace!' They took me, too. 'You
  were there, too,' they said, 'you helped, you're known all over the
  market!' And, for some reason, I really am known all over the market,"
  Kolya added conceitedly. "We all went off to the justice's, they brought
  the goose, too. The fellow was crying in a great funk, simply blubbering
  like a woman. And the farmer kept shouting that you could kill any number
  of geese like that. Well, of course, there were witnesses. The justice of
  the peace settled it in a minute, that the farmer was to be paid a rouble
  for the goose, and the fellow to have the goose. And he was warned not to
  play such pranks again. And the fellow kept blubbering like a woman. 'It
  wasn't me,' he said, 'it was he egged me on,' and he pointed to me. I
  answered with the utmost composure that I hadn't egged him on, that I
  simply stated the general proposition, had spoken hypothetically. The
  justice of the peace smiled and was vexed with himself at once for having
  smiled. 'I'll complain to your masters of you, so that for the future you
  mayn't waste your time on such general propositions, instead of sitting at
  your books and learning your lessons.' He didn't complain to the masters,
  that was a joke, but the matter was noised abroad and came to the ears of
  the masters. Their ears are long, you know! The classical master,
  Kolbasnikov, was particularly shocked about it, but Dardanelov got me off
  again. But Kolbasnikov is savage with every one now like a green ass. Did
  you know, Ilusha, he is just married, got a dowry of a thousand roubles,
  and his bride's a regular fright of the first rank and the last degree.
  The third-class fellows wrote an epigram on it:
  
  
      Astounding news has reached the class,
      Kolbasnikov has been an ass.
  
  
  And so on, awfully funny, I'll bring it to you later on. I say nothing
  against Dardanelov, he is a learned man, there's no doubt about it. I
  respect men like that and it's not because he stood up for me."
  
  "But you took him down about the founders of Troy!" Smurov put in
  suddenly, unmistakably proud of Krassotkin at such a moment. He was
  particularly pleased with the story of the goose.
  
  "Did you really take him down?" the captain inquired, in a flattering way.
  "On the question who founded Troy? We heard of it, Ilusha told me about it
  at the time."
  
  "He knows everything, father, he knows more than any of us!" put in
  Ilusha; "he only pretends to be like that, but really he is top in every
  subject...."
  
  Ilusha looked at Kolya with infinite happiness.
  
  "Oh, that's all nonsense about Troy, a trivial matter. I consider this an
  unimportant question," said Kolya with haughty humility. He had by now
  completely recovered his dignity, though he was still a little uneasy. He
  felt that he was greatly excited and that he had talked about the goose,
  for instance, with too little reserve, while Alyosha had looked serious
  and had not said a word all the time. And the vain boy began by degrees to
  have a rankling fear that Alyosha was silent because he despised him, and
  thought he was showing off before him. If he dared to think anything like
  that Kolya would--
  
  "I regard the question as quite a trivial one," he rapped out again,
  proudly.
  
  "And I know who founded Troy," a boy, who had not spoken before, said
  suddenly, to the surprise of every one. He was silent and seemed to be
  shy. He was a pretty boy of about eleven, called Kartashov. He was sitting
  near the door. Kolya looked at him with dignified amazement.
  
  The fact was that the identity of the founders of Troy had become a secret
  for the whole school, a secret which could only be discovered by reading
  Smaragdov, and no one had Smaragdov but Kolya. One day, when Kolya's back
  was turned, Kartashov hastily opened Smaragdov, which lay among Kolya's
  books, and immediately lighted on the passage relating to the foundation
  of Troy. This was a good time ago, but he felt uneasy and could not bring
  himself to announce publicly that he too knew who had founded Troy, afraid
  of what might happen and of Krassotkin's somehow putting him to shame over
  it. But now he couldn't resist saying it. For weeks he had been longing
  to.
  
  "Well, who did found it?" asked Kolya, turning to him with haughty
  superciliousness. He saw from his face that he really did know and at once
  made up his mind how to take it. There was, so to speak, a discordant note
  in the general harmony.
  
  "Troy was founded by Teucer, Dardanus, Ilius and Tros," the boy rapped out
  at once, and in the same instant he blushed, blushed so, that it was
  painful to look at him. But the boys stared at him, stared at him for a
  whole minute, and then all the staring eyes turned at once and were
  fastened upon Kolya, who was still scanning the audacious boy with
  disdainful composure.
  
  "In what sense did they found it?" he deigned to comment at last. "And
  what is meant by founding a city or a state? What do they do? Did they go
  and each lay a brick, do you suppose?"
  
  There was laughter. The offending boy turned from pink to crimson. He was
  silent and on the point of tears. Kolya held him so for a minute.
  
  "Before you talk of a historical event like the foundation of a
  nationality, you must first understand what you mean by it," he admonished
  him in stern, incisive tones. "But I attach no consequence to these old
  wives' tales and I don't think much of universal history in general," he
  added carelessly, addressing the company generally.
  
  "Universal history?" the captain inquired, looking almost scared.
  
  "Yes, universal history! It's the study of the successive follies of
  mankind and nothing more. The only subjects I respect are mathematics and
  natural science," said Kolya. He was showing off and he stole a glance at
  Alyosha; his was the only opinion he was afraid of there. But Alyosha was
  still silent and still serious as before. If Alyosha had said a word it
  would have stopped him, but Alyosha was silent and "it might be the
  silence of contempt," and that finally irritated Kolya.
  
  "The classical languages, too ... they are simply madness, nothing more.
  You seem to disagree with me again, Karamazov?"
  
  "I don't agree," said Alyosha, with a faint smile.
  
  "The study of the classics, if you ask my opinion, is simply a police
  measure, that's simply why it has been introduced into our schools." By
  degrees Kolya began to get breathless again. "Latin and Greek were
  introduced because they are a bore and because they stupefy the intellect.
  It was dull before, so what could they do to make things duller? It was
  senseless enough before, so what could they do to make it more senseless?
  So they thought of Greek and Latin. That's my opinion, I hope I shall
  never change it," Kolya finished abruptly. His cheeks were flushed.
  
  "That's true," assented Smurov suddenly, in a ringing tone of conviction.
  He had listened attentively.
  
  "And yet he is first in Latin himself," cried one of the group of boys
  suddenly.
  
  "Yes, father, he says that and yet he is first in Latin," echoed Ilusha.
  
  "What of it?" Kolya thought fit to defend himself, though the praise was
  very sweet to him. "I am fagging away at Latin because I have to, because
  I promised my mother to pass my examination, and I think that whatever you
  do, it's worth doing it well. But in my soul I have a profound contempt
  for the classics and all that fraud.... You don't agree, Karamazov?"
  
  "Why 'fraud'?" Alyosha smiled again.
  
  "Well, all the classical authors have been translated into all languages,
  so it was not for the sake of studying the classics they introduced Latin,
  but solely as a police measure, to stupefy the intelligence. So what can
  one call it but a fraud?"
  
  "Why, who taught you all this?" cried Alyosha, surprised at last.
  
  "In the first place I am capable of thinking for myself without being
  taught. Besides, what I said just now about the classics being translated
  our teacher Kolbasnikov has said to the whole of the third class."
  
  "The doctor has come!" cried Nina, who had been silent till then.
  
  A carriage belonging to Madame Hohlakov drove up to the gate. The captain,
  who had been expecting the doctor all the morning, rushed headlong out to
  meet him. "Mamma" pulled herself together and assumed a dignified air.
  Alyosha went up to Ilusha and began setting his pillows straight. Nina,
  from her invalid chair, anxiously watched him putting the bed tidy. The
  boys hurriedly took leave. Some of them promised to come again in the
  evening. Kolya called Perezvon and the dog jumped off the bed.
  
  "I won't go away, I won't go away," Kolya said hastily to Ilusha. "I'll
  wait in the passage and come back when the doctor's gone, I'll come back
  with Perezvon."
  
  But by now the doctor had entered, an important-looking person with long,
  dark whiskers and a shiny, shaven chin, wearing a bearskin coat. As he
  crossed the threshold he stopped, taken aback; he probably fancied he had
  come to the wrong place. "How is this? Where am I?" he muttered, not
  removing his coat nor his peaked sealskin cap. The crowd, the poverty of
  the room, the washing hanging on a line in the corner, puzzled him. The
  captain, bent double, was bowing low before him.
  
  "It's here, sir, here, sir," he muttered cringingly; "it's here, you've
  come right, you were coming to us..."
  
  "Sne-gi-ryov?" the doctor said loudly and pompously. "Mr. Snegiryov--is
  that you?"
  
  "That's me, sir!"
  
  "Ah!"
  
  The doctor looked round the room with a squeamish air once more and threw
  off his coat, displaying to all eyes the grand decoration at his neck. The
  captain caught the fur coat in the air, and the doctor took off his cap.
  
  "Where is the patient?" he asked emphatically.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter VI. Precocity
  
  
  "What do you think the doctor will say to him?" Kolya asked quickly. "What
  a repulsive mug, though, hasn't he? I can't endure medicine!"
  
  "Ilusha is dying. I think that's certain," answered Alyosha, mournfully.
  
  "They are rogues! Medicine's a fraud! I am glad to have made your
  acquaintance, though, Karamazov. I wanted to know you for a long time. I
  am only sorry we meet in such sad circumstances."
  
  Kolya had a great inclination to say something even warmer and more
  demonstrative, but he felt ill at ease. Alyosha noticed this, smiled, and
  pressed his hand.
  
  "I've long learned to respect you as a rare person," Kolya muttered again,
  faltering and uncertain. "I have heard you are a mystic and have been in
  the monastery. I know you are a mystic, but ... that hasn't put me off.
  Contact with real life will cure you.... It's always so with characters
  like yours."
  
  "What do you mean by mystic? Cure me of what?" Alyosha was rather
  astonished.
  
  "Oh, God and all the rest of it."
  
  "What, don't you believe in God?"
  
  "Oh, I've nothing against God. Of course, God is only a hypothesis, but
  ... I admit that He is needed ... for the order of the universe and all
  that ... and that if there were no God He would have to be invented,"
  added Kolya, beginning to blush. He suddenly fancied that Alyosha might
  think he was trying to show off his knowledge and to prove that he was
  "grown up." "I haven't the slightest desire to show off my knowledge to
  him," Kolya thought indignantly. And all of a sudden he felt horribly
  annoyed.
  
  "I must confess I can't endure entering on such discussions," he said with
  a final air. "It's possible for one who doesn't believe in God to love
  mankind, don't you think so? Voltaire didn't believe in God and loved
  mankind?" ("I am at it again," he thought to himself.)
  
  "Voltaire believed in God, though not very much, I think, and I don't
  think he loved mankind very much either," said Alyosha quietly, gently,
  and quite naturally, as though he were talking to some one of his own age,
  or even older. Kolya was particularly struck by Alyosha's apparent
  diffidence about his opinion of Voltaire. He seemed to be leaving the
  question for him, little Kolya, to settle.
  
  "Have you read Voltaire?" Alyosha finished.
  
  "No, not to say read.... But I've read _Candide_ in the Russian
  translation ... in an absurd, grotesque, old translation ... (At it again!
  again!)"
  
  "And did you understand it?"
  
  "Oh, yes, everything.... That is ... Why do you suppose I shouldn't
  understand it? There's a lot of nastiness in it, of course.... Of course I
  can understand that it's a philosophical novel and written to advocate an
  idea...." Kolya was getting mixed by now. "I am a Socialist, Karamazov, I
  am an incurable Socialist," he announced suddenly, apropos of nothing.
  
  "A Socialist?" laughed Alyosha. "But when have you had time to become one?
  Why, I thought you were only thirteen?"
  
  Kolya winced.
  
  "In the first place I am not thirteen, but fourteen, fourteen in a
  fortnight," he flushed angrily, "and in the second place I am at a
  complete loss to understand what my age has to do with it? The question is
  what are my convictions, not what is my age, isn't it?"
  
  "When you are older, you'll understand for yourself the influence of age
  on convictions. I fancied, too, that you were not expressing your own
  ideas," Alyosha answered serenely and modestly, but Kolya interrupted him
  hotly:
  
  "Come, you want obedience and mysticism. You must admit that the Christian
  religion, for instance, has only been of use to the rich and the powerful
  to keep the lower classes in slavery. That's so, isn't it?"
  
  "Ah, I know where you read that, and I am sure some one told you so!"
  cried Alyosha.
  
  "I say, what makes you think I read it? And certainly no one told me so. I
  can think for myself.... I am not opposed to Christ, if you like. He was a
  most humane person, and if He were alive to-day, He would be found in the
  ranks of the revolutionists, and would perhaps play a conspicuous part....
  There's no doubt about that."
  
  "Oh, where, where did you get that from? What fool have you made friends
  with?" exclaimed Alyosha.
  
  "Come, the truth will out! It has so chanced that I have often talked to
  Mr. Rakitin, of course, but ... old Byelinsky said that, too, so they
  say."
  
  "Byelinsky? I don't remember. He hasn't written that anywhere."
  
  "If he didn't write it, they say he said it. I heard that from a ... but
  never mind."
  
  "And have you read Byelinsky?"
  
  "Well, no ... I haven't read all of him, but ... I read the passage about
  Tatyana, why she didn't go off with Onyegin."
  
  "Didn't go off with Onyegin? Surely you don't ... understand that
  already?"
  
  "Why, you seem to take me for little Smurov," said Kolya, with a grin of
  irritation. "But please don't suppose I am such a revolutionist. I often
  disagree with Mr. Rakitin. Though I mention Tatyana, I am not at all for
  the emancipation of women. I acknowledge that women are a subject race and
  must obey. _Les femmes tricottent_, as Napoleon said." Kolya, for some
  reason, smiled, "And on that question at least I am quite of one mind with
  that pseudo-great man. I think, too, that to leave one's own country and
  fly to America is mean, worse than mean--silly. Why go to America when one
  may be of great service to humanity here? Now especially. There's a
  perfect mass of fruitful activity open to us. That's what I answered."
  
  "What do you mean? Answered whom? Has some one suggested your going to
  America already?"
  
  "I must own, they've been at me to go, but I declined. That's between
  ourselves, of course, Karamazov; do you hear, not a word to any one. I say
  this only to you. I am not at all anxious to fall into the clutches of the
  secret police and take lessons at the Chain bridge.
  
  
      _Long will you remember_
      _The house at the Chain bridge._
  
  
  Do you remember? It's splendid. Why are you laughing? You don't suppose I
  am fibbing, do you?" ("What if he should find out that I've only that one
  number of _The Bell_ in father's bookcase, and haven't read any more of
  it?" Kolya thought with a shudder.)
  
  "Oh, no, I am not laughing and don't suppose for a moment that you are
  lying. No, indeed, I can't suppose so, for all this, alas! is perfectly
  true. But tell me, have you read Pushkin--_Onyegin_, for instance?... You
  spoke just now of Tatyana."
  
  "No, I haven't read it yet, but I want to read it. I have no prejudices,
  Karamazov; I want to hear both sides. What makes you ask?"
  
  "Oh, nothing."
  
  "Tell me, Karamazov, have you an awful contempt for me?" Kolya rapped out
  suddenly and drew himself up before Alyosha, as though he were on drill.
  "Be so kind as to tell me, without beating about the bush."
  
  "I have a contempt for you?" Alyosha looked at him wondering. "What for? I
  am only sad that a charming nature such as yours should be perverted by
  all this crude nonsense before you have begun life."
  
  "Don't be anxious about my nature," Kolya interrupted, not without
  complacency. "But it's true that I am stupidly sensitive, crudely
  sensitive. You smiled just now, and I fancied you seemed to--"
  
  "Oh, my smile meant something quite different. I'll tell you why I smiled.
  Not long ago I read the criticism made by a German who had lived in
  Russia, on our students and schoolboys of to-day. 'Show a Russian
  schoolboy,' he writes, 'a map of the stars, which he knows nothing about,
  and he will give you back the map next day with corrections on it.' No
  knowledge and unbounded conceit--that's what the German meant to say about
  the Russian schoolboy."
  
  "Yes, that's perfectly right," Kolya laughed suddenly, "exactly so! Bravo
  the German! But he did not see the good side, what do you think? Conceit
  may be, that comes from youth, that will be corrected if need be, but, on
  the other hand, there is an independent spirit almost from childhood,
  boldness of thought and conviction, and not the spirit of these sausage
  makers, groveling before authority.... But the German was right all the
  same. Bravo the German! But Germans want strangling all the same. Though
  they are so good at science and learning they must be strangled."
  
  "Strangled, what for?" smiled Alyosha.
  
  "Well, perhaps I am talking nonsense, I agree. I am awfully childish
  sometimes, and when I am pleased about anything I can't restrain myself
  and am ready to talk any stuff. But, I say, we are chattering away here
  about nothing, and that doctor has been a long time in there. But perhaps
  he's examining the mamma and that poor crippled Nina. I liked that Nina,
  you know. She whispered to me suddenly as I was coming away, 'Why didn't
  you come before?' And in such a voice, so reproachfully! I think she is
  awfully nice and pathetic."
  
  "Yes, yes! Well, you'll be coming often, you will see what she is like. It
  would do you a great deal of good to know people like that, to learn to
  value a great deal which you will find out from knowing these people,"
  Alyosha observed warmly. "That would have more effect on you than
  anything."
  
  "Oh, how I regret and blame myself for not having come sooner!" Kolya
  exclaimed, with bitter feeling.
  
  "Yes, it's a great pity. You saw for yourself how delighted the poor child
  was to see you. And how he fretted for you to come!"
  
  "Don't tell me! You make it worse! But it serves me right. What kept me
  from coming was my conceit, my egoistic vanity, and the beastly
  wilfullness, which I never can get rid of, though I've been struggling
  with it all my life. I see that now. I am a beast in lots of ways,
  Karamazov!"
  
  "No, you have a charming nature, though it's been distorted, and I quite
  understand why you have had such an influence on this generous, morbidly
  sensitive boy," Alyosha answered warmly.
  
  "And you say that to me!" cried Kolya; "and would you believe it, I
  thought--I've thought several times since I've been here--that you despised
  me! If only you knew how I prize your opinion!"
  
  "But are you really so sensitive? At your age! Would you believe it, just
  now, when you were telling your story, I thought, as I watched you, that
  you must be very sensitive!"
  
  "You thought so? What an eye you've got, I say! I bet that was when I was
  talking about the goose. That was just when I was fancying you had a great
  contempt for me for being in such a hurry to show off, and for a moment I
  quite hated you for it, and began talking like a fool. Then I fancied--just
  now, here--when I said that if there were no God He would have to be
  invented, that I was in too great a hurry to display my knowledge,
  especially as I got that phrase out of a book. But I swear I wasn't
  showing off out of vanity, though I really don't know why. Because I was
  so pleased? Yes, I believe it was because I was so pleased ... though it's
  perfectly disgraceful for any one to be gushing directly they are pleased,
  I know that. But I am convinced now that you don't despise me; it was all
  my imagination. Oh, Karamazov, I am profoundly unhappy. I sometimes fancy
  all sorts of things, that every one is laughing at me, the whole world,
  and then I feel ready to overturn the whole order of things."
  
  "And you worry every one about you," smiled Alyosha.
  
  "Yes, I worry every one about me, especially my mother. Karamazov, tell
  me, am I very ridiculous now?"
  
  "Don't think about that, don't think of it at all!" cried Alyosha. "And
  what does ridiculous mean? Isn't every one constantly being or seeming
  ridiculous? Besides, nearly all clever people now are fearfully afraid of
  being ridiculous, and that makes them unhappy. All I am surprised at is
  that you should be feeling that so early, though I've observed it for some
  time past, and not only in you. Nowadays the very children have begun to
  suffer from it. It's almost a sort of insanity. The devil has taken the
  form of that vanity and entered into the whole generation; it's simply the
  devil," added Alyosha, without a trace of the smile that Kolya, staring at
  him, expected to see. "You are like every one else," said Alyosha, in
  conclusion, "that is, like very many others. Only you must not be like
  everybody else, that's all."
  
  "Even if every one is like that?"
  
  "Yes, even if every one is like that. You be the only one not like it. You
  really are not like every one else, here you are not ashamed to confess to
  something bad and even ridiculous. And who will admit so much in these
  days? No one. And people have even ceased to feel the impulse to self-
  criticism. Don't be like every one else, even if you are the only one."
  
  "Splendid! I was not mistaken in you. You know how to console one. Oh, how
  I have longed to know you, Karamazov! I've long been eager for this
  meeting. Can you really have thought about me, too? You said just now that
  you thought of me, too?"
  
  "Yes, I'd heard of you and had thought of you, too ... and if it's partly
  vanity that makes you ask, it doesn't matter."
  
  "Do you know, Karamazov, our talk has been like a declaration of love,"
  said Kolya, in a bashful and melting voice. "That's not ridiculous, is
  it?"
  
  "Not at all ridiculous, and if it were, it wouldn't matter, because it's
  been a good thing." Alyosha smiled brightly.
  
  "But do you know, Karamazov, you must admit that you are a little ashamed
  yourself, now.... I see it by your eyes." Kolya smiled with a sort of sly
  happiness.
  
  "Why ashamed?"
  
  "Well, why are you blushing?"
  
  "It was you made me blush," laughed Alyosha, and he really did blush. "Oh,
  well, I am a little, goodness knows why, I don't know..." he muttered,
  almost embarrassed.
  
  "Oh, how I love you and admire you at this moment just because you are
  rather ashamed! Because you are just like me," cried Kolya, in positive
  ecstasy. His cheeks glowed, his eyes beamed.
  
  "You know, Kolya, you will be very unhappy in your life," something made
  Alyosha say suddenly.
  
  "I know, I know. How you know it all beforehand!" Kolya agreed at once.
  
  "But you will bless life on the whole, all the same."
  
  "Just so, hurrah! You are a prophet. Oh, we shall get on together,
  Karamazov! Do you know, what delights me most, is that you treat me quite
  like an equal. But we are not equals, no, we are not, you are better! But
  we shall get on. Do you know, all this last month, I've been saying to
  myself, 'Either we shall be friends at once, for ever, or we shall part
  enemies to the grave!' "
  
  "And saying that, of course, you loved me," Alyosha laughed gayly.
  
  "I did. I loved you awfully. I've been loving and dreaming of you. And how
  do you know it all beforehand? Ah, here's the doctor. Goodness! What will
  he tell us? Look at his face!"
  
  
  
  
  Chapter VII. Ilusha
  
  
  The doctor came out of the room again, muffled in his fur coat and with
  his cap on his head. His face looked almost angry and disgusted, as though
  he were afraid of getting dirty. He cast a cursory glance round the
  passage, looking sternly at Alyosha and Kolya as he did so. Alyosha waved
  from the door to the coachman, and the carriage that had brought the
  doctor drove up. The captain darted out after the doctor, and, bowing
  apologetically, stopped him to get the last word. The poor fellow looked
  utterly crushed; there was a scared look in his eyes.
  
  "Your Excellency, your Excellency ... is it possible?" he began, but could
  not go on and clasped his hands in despair. Yet he still gazed imploringly
  at the doctor, as though a word from him might still change the poor boy's
  fate.
  
  "I can't help it, I am not God!" the doctor answered offhand, though with
  the customary impressiveness.
  
  "Doctor ... your Excellency ... and will it be soon, soon?"
  
  "You must be prepared for anything," said the doctor in emphatic and
  incisive tones, and dropping his eyes, he was about to step out to the
  coach.
  
  "Your Excellency, for Christ's sake!" the terror-stricken captain stopped
  him again. "Your Excellency! but can nothing, absolutely nothing save him
  now?"
  
  "It's not in my hands now," said the doctor impatiently, "but h'm!..." he
  stopped suddenly. "If you could, for instance ... send ... your patient
  ... at once, without delay" (the words "at once, without delay," the
  doctor uttered with an almost wrathful sternness that made the captain
  start) "to Syracuse, the change to the new be-ne-ficial climatic
  conditions might possibly effect--"
  
  "To Syracuse!" cried the captain, unable to grasp what was said.
  
  "Syracuse is in Sicily," Kolya jerked out suddenly in explanation. The
  doctor looked at him.
  
  "Sicily! your Excellency," faltered the captain, "but you've seen"--he
  spread out his hands, indicating his surroundings--"mamma and my family?"
  
  "N--no, Sicily is not the place for the family, the family should go to
  Caucasus in the early spring ... your daughter must go to the Caucasus,
  and your wife ... after a course of the waters in the Caucasus for her
  rheumatism ... must be sent straight to Paris to the mental specialist
  Lepelletier; I could give you a note to him, and then ... there might be a
  change--"
  
  "Doctor, doctor! But you see!" The captain flung wide his hands again
  despairingly, indicating the bare wooden walls of the passage.
  
  "Well, that's not my business," grinned the doctor. "I have only told you
  the answer of medical science to your question as to possible treatment.
  As for the rest, to my regret--"
  
  "Don't be afraid, apothecary, my dog won't bite you," Kolya rapped out
  loudly, noticing the doctor's rather uneasy glance at Perezvon, who was
  standing in the doorway. There was a wrathful note in Kolya's voice. He
  used the word apothecary instead of doctor on purpose, and, as he
  explained afterwards, used it "to insult him."
  
  "What's that?" The doctor flung up his head, staring with surprise at
  Kolya. "Who's this?" he addressed Alyosha, as though asking him to
  explain.
  
  "It's Perezvon's master, don't worry about me," Kolya said incisively
  again.
  
  "Perezvon?"(7) repeated the doctor, perplexed.
  
  "He hears the bell, but where it is he cannot tell. Good-by, we shall meet
  in Syracuse."
  
  "Who's this? Who's this?" The doctor flew into a terrible rage.
  
  "He is a schoolboy, doctor, he is a mischievous boy; take no notice of
  him," said Alyosha, frowning and speaking quickly. "Kolya, hold your
  tongue!" he cried to Krassotkin. "Take no notice of him, doctor," he
  repeated, rather impatiently.
  
  "He wants a thrashing, a good thrashing!" The doctor stamped in a perfect
  fury.
  
  "And you know, apothecary, my Perezvon might bite!" said Kolya, turning
  pale, with quivering voice and flashing eyes. "_Ici_, Perezvon!"
  
  "Kolya, if you say another word, I'll have nothing more to do with you,"
  Alyosha cried peremptorily.
  
  "There is only one man in the world who can command Nikolay
  Krassotkin--this is the man"; Kolya pointed to Alyosha. "I obey him, good-
  by!"
  
  He stepped forward, opened the door, and quickly went into the inner room.
  Perezvon flew after him. The doctor stood still for five seconds in
  amazement, looking at Alyosha; then, with a curse, he went out quickly to
  the carriage, repeating aloud, "This is ... this is ... I don't know what
  it is!" The captain darted forward to help him into the carriage. Alyosha
  followed Kolya into the room. He was already by Ilusha's bedside. The sick
  boy was holding his hand and calling for his father. A minute later the
  captain, too, came back.
  
  "Father, father, come ... we ..." Ilusha faltered in violent excitement,
  but apparently unable to go on, he flung his wasted arms round his father
  and Kolya, uniting them in one embrace, and hugging them as tightly as he
  could. The captain suddenly began to shake with dumb sobs, and Kolya's
  lips and chin twitched.
  
  "Father, father! How sorry I am for you!" Ilusha moaned bitterly.
  
  "Ilusha ... darling ... the doctor said ... you would be all right ... we
  shall be happy ... the doctor ..." the captain began.
  
  "Ah, father! I know what the new doctor said to you about me.... I saw!"
  cried Ilusha, and again he hugged them both with all his strength, hiding
  his face on his father's shoulder.
  
  "Father, don't cry, and when I die get a good boy, another one ... choose
  one of them all, a good one, call him Ilusha and love him instead of
  me...."
  
  "Hush, old man, you'll get well," Krassotkin cried suddenly, in a voice
  that sounded angry.
  
  "But don't ever forget me, father," Ilusha went on, "come to my grave ...
  and, father, bury me by our big stone, where we used to go for our walk,
  and come to me there with Krassotkin in the evening ... and Perezvon ... I
  shall expect you.... Father, father!"
  
  His voice broke. They were all three silent, still embracing. Nina was
  crying quietly in her chair, and at last seeing them all crying, "mamma,"
  too, burst into tears.
  
  "Ilusha! Ilusha!" she exclaimed.
  
  Krassotkin suddenly released himself from Ilusha's embrace.
  
  "Good-by, old man, mother expects me back to dinner," he said quickly.
  "What a pity I did not tell her! She will be dreadfully anxious.... But
  after dinner I'll come back to you for the whole day, for the whole
  evening, and I'll tell you all sorts of things, all sorts of things. And
  I'll bring Perezvon, but now I will take him with me, because he will
  begin to howl when I am away and bother you. Good-by!"
  
  And he ran out into the passage. He didn't want to cry, but in the passage
  he burst into tears. Alyosha found him crying.
  
  "Kolya, you must be sure to keep your word and come, or he will be
  terribly disappointed," Alyosha said emphatically.
  
  "I will! Oh, how I curse myself for not having come before!" muttered
  Kolya, crying, and no longer ashamed of it.
  
  At that moment the captain flew out of the room, and at once closed the
  door behind him. His face looked frenzied, his lips were trembling. He
  stood before the two and flung up his arms.
  
  "I don't want a good boy! I don't want another boy!" he muttered in a wild
  whisper, clenching his teeth. "If I forget thee, Jerusalem, may my
  tongue--" He broke off with a sob and sank on his knees before the wooden
  bench. Pressing his fists against his head, he began sobbing with absurd
  whimpering cries, doing his utmost that his cries should not be heard in
  the room.
  
  Kolya ran out into the street.
  
  "Good-by, Karamazov? Will you come yourself?" he cried sharply and angrily
  to Alyosha.
  
  "I will certainly come in the evening."
  
  "What was that he said about Jerusalem?... What did he mean by that?"
  
  "It's from the Bible. 'If I forget thee, Jerusalem,' that is, if I forget
  all that is most precious to me, if I let anything take its place, then
  may--"
  
  "I understand, that's enough! Mind you come! _Ici_, Perezvon!" he cried
  with positive ferocity to the dog, and with rapid strides he went home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Book X
target: Kolya Krassotkin, a widow's only child, is a mature and independent thirteen-year-old with a reputation for being exceptionally daring and imprudent. He is also the boy whom earlier Ilusha stabbed with a penknife; but, good-naturedly, Kolya has never held a grudge. He has been training a dog, Perezvon, to do complicated tricks. On the day before Dmitri's trial, young Kolya is staying with two children of his mother's tenant. He feels uneasy because he has an urgent errand to attend to and leaves as soon as the servant returns. His errand turns out to be a visit to Ilusha. Kolya knows that Alyosha has arranged for other boys to visit the dying Ilusha every day, but until today Kolya has never visited the boy. He arrives at Ilusha's with a friend, Smurov, and asks him to call Alyosha outside; he has a great curiosity to meet Alyosha. The two meet and immediately become good friends, especially because Alyosha treats Kolya as an equal. Kolya explains to his new friend about Ilusha's background and tells him that once they were fast friends, but when Kolya heard that Ilusha fed a dog a piece of bread with a pin in it, he tried to punish the boy. The punishment backfired, however, and Kolya was stabbed with the penknife. Since this happened, however, Ilusha has come to feel very bad about the dog, Zhutchka. Alyosha takes Kolya inside, and Ilusha is overjoyed to see his old friend again. Kolya, however, begins to tease Ilusha about the dog; then, before anyone can stop him, he calls in the dog he has been training. It turns out to be Zhutchka. Everyone is delighted, and the dying Ilusha sheds tears of happiness. Kolya explains that, until now, he has stayed away so that he could train the dog for Ilusha. A doctor from Moscow, whom Katerina has sent for, arrives to examine Ilusha, and the visitors reluctantly leave the room. As they wait outside, Kolya explains his views of life to Alyosha. Alyosha listens carefully, understanding the boy's real motives. He wants to impress Alyosha with his hodgepodge of other people's philosophies. Alyosha is sympathetic to him, though, and is especially drawn to the young boy when he confesses his weaknesses. As the doctor leaves, it is quite apparent that Ilusha has not long to live. Even Ilusha is aware that he is dying. He tries to comfort his father, and Kolya is deeply affected by this scene between father and son. He promises Alyosha that he will come often to visit the dying boy.
feat_summary_analysis: Some critics have complained that in a novel of such extreme complexity and length, Book X does not contribute to the novel's unity. The section has often been said to be superfluous and a flaw in construction. A reader, they say, is anxiously concerned about Dmitri at this point, not about Ilusha. But because of the heavy chapters of violence, passion, and murder, this section can be explained in terms of Dostoevsky's inserting a healthy bit of youthful fresh air. The reader is relieved from the strain of contemplating Dmitri's fate. This relief, however, does not explain all the charges leveled against this section of the novel. It does not, for example, explain an obvious change in tone. Here, Dostoevsky inserts the most overt sentimentality in the novel. He seems to play with the reader's emotions, and much of the pathetic background material of young Kolya's life is not central to the novel except in the very large perspective of establishing him as the person whom Alyosha will train and who will become one of Russia's future citizens, entrusted with the ideas of Father Zossima. Perhaps the real purpose of the section is this: Dostoevsky is showing Alyosha as he moves among Russian youth, quietly influencing their lives as a living example of Father Zossima's philosophy. The hope of Russia lies in the young and in the common people, and Alyosha teaches Kolya much in this section. He meets him as an equal and offers him understanding and trust; he teaches Kolya that one cannot judge Ilusha's father, saying that there are people of rare character who have been crushed by life. The buffoonery of Ilusha's father, he says, is only the man's way of being ironic toward those who have humiliated and intimidated him for years. Alyosha also instructs Kolya in what a man can learn from another. Because Alyosha accepts all as equals, even Kolya, he kindles a responsive chord of love. By his quiet examples, Alyosha corrects immature views without arousing animosity. He is, for example, careful not to denounce Kolya's potpourri of philosophy; instead, he simply explains that although he disagrees, he does not have contempt for Kolya's ideas. By the latter's response, it is obvious that he will become one of Alyosha's strongest disciples.