 Section 66 of the Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnet. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Bruce Peary. Book X. 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 to 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'm not good-looking, I know I'm hideous, but I have a clever face. I mustn't talk too freely. If I fall into his arms all at once he may think, how horrible if he should think! Such were the thoughts that excited Koya while he was doing his utmost to assume the most independent heir. 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 in reality was 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 have a regular pug nose, a regular pug nose, Koya 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. Anyasha came out quickly and hastened up to Koya. Before he reached him, Koya could see that he looked delighted. Can he be so glad to see me? Koya wondered, feeling pleased. We may note here, in passing, that Alyasha'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-humoured expression, but there was a gentleness and serenity in his good humour. To Koya's surprise, Alyasha came out to him just as he was, without an overcoat. He had evidently come in haste. He held out his hand to Koya 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. Koya 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? Alyasha is very ill. He is certainly dying. How awful! He must admit that medicine is a fraud, Karamazov, quite Koya, warmly. Alyasha 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, Peresvon. Not Zhichka. Alyasha looked at Koya with eyes full of pity. Is she lost forever? I know you would all like it to be Zhichka. I've heard all about it. Koya 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, Alyasha came into the preparatory class last spring. Well, you know what our preparatory class is. A lot of small boys. They began teasing Alyasha 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? Koya boosted impulsively. But I am always fond of children. I have two chickens in my hands at home now. That's what detained me today. So they left off beating Alyasha, 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 Smirjakov, 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 Zhuchka, 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 Ilyusha'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 Smiroff. 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 Smiroff to tell him that I would not speak to him again. That's what we call it when two school fellows 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 Smiroff's message, his eyes flashed. Tell Cressotkin 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 toe, wisp of toe, and he had soon regular skirmishes with them, which I am very sorry for. They seemed 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 pen-knife, 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 match 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 Al-Yasha, 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 Yuchka, 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 who 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? Kulia asked, with great curiosity. Why did you reckon on me rather than anyone else? There was a report that you were looking for the dog, and that you would bring it when you'd found it. Smiroff said something of the sort. We've all been trying to persuade Al-Yasha that the dog is alive, that it's been seen. The boys brought him alive hair. 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 Montabank? A buffoon? Oh, no. There are people of deep feeling who have been somehow crushed. Bafoonery in them is a form of resentful irony against those to whom they dare not speak the truth, from having been for years humiliated and intimidated by them. Believe me, Krasotkin, that sort of buffoonery is sometimes tragic in the extreme. His whole life now is centred in Al-Yasha, and if Al-Yasha 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, Kulia added, with feeling. And as soon as I saw you with a dog, I thought it was Zhichka you were bringing. Wait a bit, Karamazov. Perhaps we shall find it yet, but this is Peruzvan. I'll let him go in now, and perhaps it will amuse Al-Yasha more than the Mastiff pup. Wait a bit, Karamazov. You will know something in a minute. But I say I am keeping you here, Kulia cried suddenly. You've no overcoat on in this bitter cold. You see what an egoist I am. 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 Kulia, but what else? Nikolai, Nikolai Ivanovich Krasotkin, or as they say in official documents Krasotkin's son. Kulia laughed, for some reason, but added suddenly, of course I hate my name, Nikolai. Why so? It's so trivial, so ordinary. You are thirteen, asked Al-Yasha. 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, the last week I played robbers with the preparatory boys. It's a fact that I did play with them, but it's a perfect libel to say I did it for my own amusement. I have reasons for believing that you've heard the story. But I wasn't playing for my own amusement. It was for the sake of the children, because they couldn't think of anything to do by themselves. But they've always got some silly tale. This is an awful town for gossip, I can tell you. But what if you had been playing for your own amusement? What's the harm? Come, I say, for my own amusement, you don't play horses, do you? But you must look at it like this, said Alyosha, smiling. Grown-up people go to the theatre, and there the adventures of all sorts of heroes are represented. Sometimes there are robbers and battles, too, and isn't that just the same thing in a different form, of course? And young people's games of soldiers, or robbers, in their playtime, are also art in its first stage. You know, they spring from the growing artistic instincts of the young. And sometimes these games are much better than performances in the theatre. The only difference is that people go there to look at the actors, while in these games the young people are the actors themselves. But that's only natural. You think so? Is that your idea? Kolja 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 a view, Karamazov. Kolja concluded, in a voice full of spontaneous feeling. And I, a view, said Alyosha, smiling and pressing his hand. Kolja 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. Peresvon will stay here in the passage and be dead. You see, Peresvon, 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 Smirov must not forget to open the door at the moment. I'll arrange it all, and you'll see something. The room inhabited by the family of the retired Captain Snigiriov is already familiar to the reader. It was close and crowded at that moment with a number of visitors. Several boys were sitting with Ilyusha, and though all of them, like Smirov, were prepared to deny that it was Alyosha who had brought them and reconciled them with Ilyusha, it was really the fact. All the art he had used had been to take them one by one to Ilyusha without sheepish sentimentality, appearing to do so casually and without design. It was a great consolation to Ilyusha 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. Krasotkin was the only one missing, and his absence was a heavy load on Ilyusha's heart. Perhaps the bitterest of all his bitter memories was his stabbing Krasotkin, who had been his one friend and protector. Clever little Smirov, who was the first to make it up with Ilyusha, thought it was so. But when Smirov hinted to Krasotkin that Alyosha wanted to come and see him about something, the latter cut him short, bidding Smirov 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 Ilyusha 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 Smirov to him twice again. Both times Krasotkin met him with a curt, impatient refusal, sending Alyosha a message not to bother him any more, that if he came himself he Krasotkin would not go to Ilyusha at all. Up to the very last day Smirov did not know that Kulia meant to go to Ilyusha that morning, and only the evening before, as he parted from Smirov, Kulia abruptly told him to wait at home for him next morning, for he would go with him to the Snagirios, but warned him on no account to say he was coming, as he wanted to drop in casually. Smirov's fancy that Kulia would bring back the lost dog was based on the words Kulia had dropped that they must be asses not to find the dog if it was alive. When Smirov, waiting for an opportunity, timidly hinted at his guess about the dog, Krasotkin flew into a violent rage. I'm not such an assess 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 Ilyusha had not left his little bed under the icons in the corner. He had not been to school since the day he met Alyusha 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 laterally 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 Ilyusha. 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 Ilyusha 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, Ilyusha'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-Imbissile 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 everyone 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 Ilyusha'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 boy's 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 upcoming 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 Smirov. As for the captain, the presence in his room of the children who came to cheer up Ilyusha filled his heart from the first with ecstatic joy. He even hoped that Ilyusha would now get over his depression and that that would hasten his recovery. Despite of his alarm about Ilyusha 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 Ilyusha 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 rubles from Katarina Ivanovna just as Alyusha had predicted he would. And afterwards, Katarina Ivanovna, learning more about their circumstances and Ilyusha'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 Dr. Herzenstuba, who was called in by Katarina 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. Katarina Ivanovna had sent for him from Moscow at great expense, not expressly for Alyusha, 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 Alyusha as well, and the captain had been told to expect him. He hadn't the slightest idea that Kolya Krasatkin was coming, though he had long wished for a visit from the boy for whom Alyusha was fretting. At the moment when Krasatkin opened the door and came into the room, the captain and all the boys were round Alyusha'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 Alyusha, who was still fretting over the lost and probably dead Zhichka. Alyusha, who had heard three days before that he was to be presented with the 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 Zhichka. If he could have had Zhichka and the puppy, too, then he would have been completely happy. Krasatkin cried one of the boys suddenly. He was the first to see him come in. Krasatkin'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 Alyusha. The captain ran eagerly to meet Koya. Please, come in. You are welcome, he said hurriedly. Alyusha, Mr. Krasatkin has come to see you. But Krasatkin, 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-humoured at the moment, and was crumbling that the boys stood between her and Alyusha'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 behaviour made an extremely favourable impression on the deranged lady. There, you can see it 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, Mama, 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 on the passage, and prance in, like that, on a respectable family, strange sort of visitors. But who's come in like that, Mama? Why, that boy came in riding on that one's back, and this one on that one's. Kolia was already by Alyusha's bedside. The sick boy turned visibly paler. He raised himself in the bed and looked intently at Kolia. Kolia 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 Alyusha'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. Alyusha smiled a pitiful little smile, still unable to utter a word. Something moved Kolia to raise his hand and pass it over Alyusha'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. Hello, so you've got a new puppy, Kolia said suddenly, in a most callous voice. Yes, answered Alyusha, in a long whisper, gasping for breath. A black nose, that means he'll be fierce, a good host dog, Kolia 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 could, 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 Alyusha'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 Alexei Fyodorovich? Krasotkin sat on the edge of the bed at Alyusha'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 Peresvon. I've got a dog now called Peresvon, a Slavonic name. He's out there. If I whistle he'll run in. I've brought a dog too," he said, addressing Alyusha all at once. Do you remember Zhichka, old man? He suddenly fired the question at him. Alyusha's little face quivered. He looked with an agonized expression at Kulia, Alyusha standing at the door frowned and signed to Kulia not to speak of Zhichka, but he did not or would not notice. Where is Zhichka? Alyusha asked, in a broken voice. Oh, well, my boy, your Zhichka's lost and done for. Alyusha did not speak, but he fixed an intent gaze once more on Kulia. Alyusha, catching Kulia'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, Kulia pronounced pitilessly, though he seemed a little breathless. But I've got a dog, Peresvon, a Slavonic name. I've brought him to show you. I don't want him," said Alyusha 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 Snagirioff with inexplicable excitement in his manner. I don't want him, I don't want him," cried Alyusha, 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 Kulia could not be restrained. He hurriedly shouted to Smurroff, open the door, and as soon as it was open he blew his whistle. Peresvon dashed headlong into the room. Jump, Peresvon, beg, beg! shouted Kulia, jumping up, and the dog stood erect on its hind legs by Alyusha's bedside. What followed was a surprise to everyone. Alyusha started, lurched violently forward, bent over Peresvon, and gazed at him faint with suspense. "'It's jusque!' he cried suddenly, in a voice breaking with joy and suffering. And who did you think it was?' Krasotkin shouted with all his might, in a ringing happy voice, and bending down he seized the dog, and lifted him up to Alyusha. "'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, looking quickly to the captain, to his wife, to Alyusha, and then again to Alyusha. He used to live in the Fedotov's backyard. 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 dog's mouths is so tender, tenderer than in man, much tenderer. Kolja cried impetuously, his face glowing and radiant with delight. Alyusha could not speak. White as a sheet, he gazed open-mouthed at Kolja, with his great eyes almost starting out of his head. And if Krasotkin, 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 Alyusha was perhaps the only person in the room who realized it. As for the captain, he behaved like a small child. Jutka! It's Jutka! he cried in a blissful voice. Alyusha, this is Jutka! You're Jutka! Mama, this is Jutka! He was almost weeping. And I never guessed, cried Smirov regretfully. Bravo, Krasotkin! I said he'd find the dog, and here he's found him. Here he's found him! another boy repeated gleefully. Krasotkin'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! Krasotkin 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 anyone till to-day. Only Smirov has known for the last fortnight, that I assured him this dog was called Peresvon, 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 Jutka 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, Koliya in desperate haste shouted to Peresvon. Dead! And the dog immediately turned round and lay on his back with its four paws in the air. The boys laughed. Illusia looked on with the same suffering smile, but the person most delighted with the dog's performance was Mama. She laughed at the dog and began snapping her fingers and calling it. Peresvon! Peresvon! Nothing will make him get up. Nothing! Koliya 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. E.C. Peresvon! The dog leapt up and bounded about, whining with delight. The captain ran back with the piece of cooked beef. Is it hot? Koliya inquired hurriedly, with a business-like air, taking the meat. Dogs don't like hot things. No, it's all right. Look, everybody. Look, Illusia. 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 Peresvon only for a brief moment. Paid for, cried Koliya, 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 Al-Yasha, with an involuntary note of reproach in his voice? Simply for that, answered Koliya, with perfect simplicity, I wanted to show him in all his glory. Peresvon, Peresvon, called Illusia suddenly, snapping his thin fingers and beckoning to the dog. What is it? Let him jump up on the bed. He see, Peresvon. Koliya snapped the bed, and Peresvon darted up by Illusia. The boy threw both arms round his head, and Peresvon instantly licked his cheek. Illusia 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, Koliya sat down again on the edge of the bed. Illusia, 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 Koliya 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 Peresvon 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 swapped a book from Father's bookcase for it, a kinsman of Mohammed or salutary folly, a scandalous book published in Moscow a hundred years ago before they had any censorship. And Morozov hesitated for such things. He was grateful to me, too. Koliya held the cannon in his hand so the tall could see and admire it. Ilyusha raised himself and, with his right arm still round the dog, he gazed, enchanted at the toy. The sensation was even greater when Koliya announced that he had gunpowder too, and that it could be fired off at once if it won't alarm the ladies. Mama 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. Koliya 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 greens of powder were thrust into the touch-hole and a match was put to it. A magnificent explosion followed. Mama was startled but at once laughed with delight. The boys gazed in speechless triumph. But the captain, looking at Ilyusha, was more enchanted than any of them. Koliya picked up the cannon and immediately presented it to Ilyusha, 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. Mama began begging like a little child. Her face showed a piteous fear that she would not get it. Koliya was disconcerted. The captain fidgeted uneasily. Mama, Mama, he ran to her. The cannon's yours, of course, but let Ilyusha have it, because it's a present to him, but it's just as good as yours. Ilyusha 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 Ilyusha's, persisted Mama, on the point of tears. Take it, mother. Here, keep it, Ilyusha cried. Crisotkin, may I give it to my mother? He turned to Crisotkin with an imploring face, as though he were afraid he might be offended at his giving his present to someone else. Of course you may, Crisotkin assented heartily, and, taking the cannon from Ilyusha, he handed it himself to Mama with a polite bow. She was so touched that she cried. Ilyusha, darling, he's the one who loves his Mama, she said tenderly, and at once began wheeling the cannon to and fro on her lap again. Mama, 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 Crisotkin. And I'll bring you as much powder as you like, Ilyusha. We make the powder ourselves now, but Ovekov found out how it's made. Twenty-four parts of salt-peeter, ten of sulfur, and six of birch wood charcoal. It's all pounded together, mixed into a paste with water, and rubbed through a tammy sieve. That's how it's done. Smunov told me about your powder, only Father says it's not real, gunpowder, responded Ilyusha. Not real, Kulia 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, that 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 Ilyusha. Yes, answered Ilyusha. He listened to Kulia 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's not allowed to go about with me now. No one is allowed to go about with me now. Smiroth is not allowed to either. I've got a bad name with everyone. They say I'm a desperate character. Kulia 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 Kulia. Not particularly, answered Kulia carelessly. What's blasted my reputation more than anything here was that cursed goose, he said, turning again to Ilyusha. 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, Ilyusha 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. Kulia began carelessly. I was walking through the marketplace here one day, just when they'd driven in the geese. I stopped and looked at them. All at once a fellow, who was an errant 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. Beeth dropped behind the peasants. That's an axiom. I believe you are laughing, Karamazov? No, heaven forbid, I am listening, said Alyusha, with the most good-natured air, and the sensitive Kulia 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 known. 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 would 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 someone, 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. Kulia added conceitably. We all went off to the justices. 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 ruble 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 may end to 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, Kulbashnikov, was particularly shocked about it, but Dardanolov got me off again. But Kulbashnikov is savage with everyone now, like a green ass. Did you know, Ellusha, he is just married, got a dowry of a thousand rubles, and his brides, 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. Kulbashnikov has been an ass, and so on, awfully funny. I'll bring it to you later on. I say nothing against Dardanolov. He is a learned man, there's no doubt about it. I respect men like that, and is not because he stood up for me. But you took him down about the founders of Troy. Smirov put him suddenly, unmistakably proud of Krasotkin 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, Ellusha told me about it at the time. He knows everything, father, he knows more than any of us. Put in Ellusha, he only pretends to be like that, but really he is top in every subject. Ellusha looked at Kulbashnikov with infinite happiness. Oh, that's all nonsense about Troy, a trivial matter. I consider this an unimportant question, said Kulbashnikov 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 Ellusha 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 Ellusha was silent because he despised him, and thought he was showing off before him. If he dared to think anything like that, Kulya would. I regard the question as quite a trivial one, he wrapped out again, proudly. And I know who founded Troy, a boy who had not spoken before, said suddenly, to the surprise of everyone. He was silent and seemed to be shy. He was a pretty boy of about eleven, called Kartashov. He was sitting near the door. Kulya 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 Smaragdav, and no one had Smaragdav but Kulya. One day when Kulya's back was turned, Kartashov hastily opened Smaragdav, which lay among Kulya'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 Krasotkin 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 Kulya, turning to him with hotty 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 Tusser, Dardanus, Ilius, and Tross, the boy wrapped 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 Kulya, 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. Kulya 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 wise 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 Kulya. 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 Kulya. 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 Kulya began to get breathless again. Latin and Greek were introduced because they are abhor, 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. Kulya finished abruptly. His cheeks were flushed. That's true, ascended Smirov 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 Alyosha. What of it? Kulya 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 stupify 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 Holikov drove up to the gate. The captain, who had been expecting the doctor all the morning, rushed headlong out to meet him. Mama pulled herself together and assumed a dignified air. Alyosha went up to Ilyusha 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 Peresvon and the dog jumped off the bed. I won't go away, I won't go away, Kolya said hastily to Ilyusha. I'll wait in the passage and come back when the doctor's gone. I'll come back with Peresvon. But by now the doctor had entered, an important-looking person with long, dark whiskers and a shiny, shaven chin, wearing a bare-skin 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 seal-skin 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. Snagyryov? the doctor said loudly and pompously. Mr. Snagyryov, is that you? That's me, sir. 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. End of Section 67. Section 68 of the Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Translated by Constance Garnett. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Bruce Peary. Book 10, Chapter 6. Precocity. What do you think the doctor will say to him? Kolia asked quickly. What a repulsive mug, though, hasn't he? I can't endure medicine. Ilyusha is dying. I think that's certain, answered Alyosha mournfully. They are rogues. Medicine's a fraud. I'm glad to have made your acquaintance, though, Karamazov. I wanted to know you for a long time. I'm only sorry we meet in such sad circumstances. Kolia 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, Kolia 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 Kolia, 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, Kolia 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 the final air. It's possible for one who doesn't believe in God to love mankind. Don't you think so? Valterre didn't believe in God and loved mankind. I am at it again, he thought to himself. Valterre 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 someone of his own age or even older. Kolia was particularly struck by Alyosha's apparent diffidence about his opinion of Valterre. He seemed to be leaving the question for him, little Kolia, to settle. Have you read, Valterre? 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. Kolia was getting mixed by now. I am a socialist, Karamazov. I am an incurable socialist, he announced suddenly, a propo of nothing. A socialist? laughed Alyosha. But when have you had time to become one? Why, I thought you were only thirteen. Kolia 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 Kolia 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 certain someone told you so, quite 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 the most humane person, and if you were alive today, 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. Raketan, of course, but old Bialinsky said that too, so they say. Bialinsky? 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 up, but never mind. And have you read Bialinsky? Well, no, I haven't read all of him, but I read the passage about Tatiana while she didn't go off with Onyagin. Didn't go off with Onyagin? Surely you don't understand that already. Why, you seem to take me for little smear-off, said Collier, with a grin of irritation. But please don't suppose I am such a revolutionist. I often disagree with Mr. Raketan. Though I mentioned Tatiana, I am not at all for the emancipation of women. I acknowledge that women are a subject race and must obey. Le femme tricotte, as Napoleon said. Collier, 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. I 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 someone suggested you're 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? Call your 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, Onyagin, 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? Kulia wrapped 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, Kulia interrupted, not without complacency. But it's true that I am stupidly sensitive, crudely sensitive. You smiled just now, and I fancied you seem too. 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 today. 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, Kulia 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, Kulia exclaimed, with bitter feeling. Yes, it's a great pity. You suffer 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 wilfulness 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 Kulia, and would you believe it? I 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 anyone 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 everyone is laughing at me, the whole world, and then I feel ready to overturn the whole order of things. And you worry everyone about you, smiled Alyosha. Yes, I worry everyone 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 everyone 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 Kulia, staring at him, expected to see. You are like everyone else, said Alyosha, in conclusion. That is, like very many others. Only you must not be like everybody else. That's all. Even if everyone is like that? Yes, even if everyone is like that. You be the only one not like it. You really are not like everyone 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 everyone 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 Kulia, 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. Kulia 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 Kulia, in positive ecstasy. His cheeks glowed, his eyes beamed. You know, Kulia, you will be very unhappy in your life, something made Alyosha say suddenly. I know, I know, how you know it all beforehand, Kulia 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, forever, or we shall part enemies to the grave? And saying that, of course, you loved me, Alyosha laughed gaily. 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. End of section sixty-eight. Section sixty-nine of the Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnet. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bruce Peary. Book ten. Chapter seven. Alyosha. 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 Koliya as he did so. Alyosha weaved 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, hmm, 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 beneficial climatic conditions might possibly affect. To Syracuse, cried the captain, unable to grasp what was said. Syracuse is in Sicily, Collia 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. Mama, and my family? 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 Le Pelé Che, 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. Collia wrapped out loudly, noticing the doctor's rather uneasy glance at Peresvon, who was standing in the doorway. There was a wrathful note in Collia'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 Collia. Who's this? He addressed Alyosha as though asking him to explain. It's Peresvon's master. Don't worry about me, Collia said incisively again. Peresvon repeated the doctor, perplexed. He hears the bell, but where it is, he cannot tell. Goodbye, 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. Collia, hold your tongue. He cried to Krasotkin. 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 Peresvon might bite. Said Collia, turning pale, with quivering voice and flashing eyes. He sees Peresvon. Collia, 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 Nikolai Krasotkin. This is the man. Collia pointed to Alyosha. I obey him. Goodbye. He stepped forward, opened the door, and quickly went into the inner room. Peresvon 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 Collia into the room. He was already by Alyosha'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— Alyosha faltered in violent excitement. But apparently unable to go on, he flung his wasted arms round his father and Collia, uniting them in one embrace and hugging them as tightly as he could. The captain suddenly began to shake with dumb sobs, and Collia's lips and chin twitched. Father, Father, how sorry I am for you! Alyosha moaned bitterly. Alyosha, 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 Alyosha, 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 Alyosha, and love him instead of me. Hush, old man, you'll get well! Cressotkin cried suddenly in a voice that sounded angry. But don't ever forget me, Father, Alyosha 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 Cressotkin in the evening, and Peresvon. 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, Mamatou burst into tears. Alyosha, Alyosha, she exclaimed. Cressotkin suddenly released himself from Alyosha's embrace. Good-bye, 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 Peresvon. But now I will take him with me, because he will begin to howl when I am away and bother you. Good-bye. 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. Colia, 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! Buttered Colia, 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. Colia ran out into the street. Good-bye, 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, E. C. Peresvon. He cried with positive ferocity to the dog, and with rapid strides he went home. End of section 69