The Brothers Karamazov
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