The Brothers Karamazov (101 page)

Kolya was beginning to blush. He was afraid Alyosha would think he was trying to display his knowledge to show him that he was a grown-up. “But I’m not trying to show off my knowledge to him at all,” Kolya thought indignantly, and he suddenly became very annoyed.

“I must say, I hate to get into this sort of debate,” he said sharply, “because, after all, it’s perfectly possible to love mankind even without God, don’t you think? Why, Voltaire didn’t believe in God, but he loved mankind . . .”

Oh damn, there he went again!

“Voltaire did believe in God, but not very much I think, and if he liked mankind I don’t think it was so very much either,” Alyosha said quietly and unaffectedly, as if talking to someone of his own age. Kolya was particularly struck by Alyosha’s uncertainty about Voltaire’s belief, as if he were submitting the matter to him, thirteen-year-old Kolya, to settle. “You have read Voltaire, haven’t you?” Alyosha added.

“N-no, not really . . . Although I did read 
Candide
 in a Russian translation, an old and ridiculous translation, too . . .” Ah, he was showing off again!

“But you did understand it, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes, of course, everything . . . What makes you ask? You’re thinking about the obscenities in it? . . . But I understood, of course, that it’s a philosophical novel and that Voltaire wrote it to prove an idea and . . .” Kolya was getting a little entangled now. “You know, Karamazov, I’m a socialist, an incorrigible socialist,” he suddenly declared.

“A socialist!” Alyosha said, beginning to laugh. “You’ve managed to become a socialist pretty quickly. Why, I believe you told me you were only thirteen!”

Kolya winced.

“First of all, I’m practically fourteen—I’ll be fourteen in two weeks,” he said, flushing, “and in the second place, I really don’t see what my age has to do with it! We were talking about my convictions and not about my age, remember?”

“When you’re a few years older, you’ll realize yourself what an important role age plays in our beliefs. I have the feeling that these are not really your own opinions that you’ve been expressing,” Alyosha said in as friendly and unassertive a way as he could, but Kolya heatedly interrupted him.

“Wait a minute. You’re demanding obedience and mysticism of me. Now, wouldn’t you agree, for instance, that the Christian religion has mainly served the interests of the rich and the powerful by enabling them to enslave the lower classes? Isn’t that a fact?”

“Oh, I know where you got that from! I was sure someone had put you up to it!” Alyosha cried.

“Why, again you insist that I must have picked this up somewhere or other. No one has put me up to anything! I can think for myself, you know! Now, let me say this: I’m not against Christ, for He was an extremely humane character and if He were alive today, I’m certain He would join the revolutionary movement and might even play a leading role in it . . . As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure He would.”

“But where on earth did you get all this stuff from? What fool have you been talking to all this time?” Alyosha cried.

“Well, since the truth is bound to come out in the end anyway, I can tell you I’ve talked quite a bit with Mr. Rakitin, with whom I had a certain business . . . But then, of course, I understand that old Belinsky also held similar opinions.”

“Belinsky? I don’t remember his writing anything of that sort.”

“If he didn’t write such things, I understand he said them. Someone told me . . . But the hell with it.”

“But you yourself, have you read any Belinsky?”

“N-no, not quite . . . but I read something . . . you know that passage about Tatyana—why she refused to leave with Onegin. That I’ve read.”

“Why she refused to leave her husband and go off with Onegin? But how can you possibly understand things like that at your age?”

“I’m beginning to think you take me for a little boy, like Smurov or somebody,” Kolya said with an irritated grin. “I don’t want you to think, though, that I’m really a revolutionary extremist. There are many things on which I don’t see eye to eye with Mr. Rakitin at all. I mentioned Tatyana just now, but that doesn’t mean that I’m for the emancipation of women. I’ll go along with the idea that woman is a subordinate creature and that she should be obedient. 
‘Les femmes tricottent,’
 as Napoleon said once.” Kolya for some reason snorted as he said this. “And, on this point at least, I fully share the opinion of that pseudo-great man. I also feel that leaving our country and running away to America is the most despicable thing a man can do, or even worse, it’s a mistake! Why should anyone want to go to America when there are so many things to be done in the service of mankind here in Russia? And precisely now, right now! There is so much fruitful work facing us here. Well, that was my answer.”

“Your answer to whom? Has anyone invited you to go to America with him?”

“I admit such offers have been made me, but I turned them down. But look, Karamazov, it’s understood that you won’t repeat a word of this to anyone, isn’t it? This is strictly between us. I have absolutely no desire to land in the hands of the Secret Service and then learn lessons by the Chain Bridge. You know the song: ‘Remember that Chain Bridge building . . .’ You know it, don’t you? But what’s so funny about it? Why are you laughing? You don’t think, by any chance, that I just invented all this to impress you?”

(And what if Alyosha found out that Kolya had read only one single issue of 
The Bell
 in his father’s bookcase and that he hadn’t read anything else about all this, Kolya thought with a shudder.)

“Oh no, not at all. I’m not laughing at you and it never even occurred to me that you might have invented it. That’s just the trouble, it’s all too real. But tell me this: you were just talking about Tatyana. Have you read Pushkin’s 
Evgeny Onegin,
 at least, since you judge Tatyana?”

“No, I haven’t read it, but I’m planning to. I’m not prejudiced one way or the other, Karamazov. I intend to give a fair hearing to both sides. But why did you ask me that?”

“For no reason.”

“Tell me, Karamazov, do you despise me so very much?” Kolya suddenly straightened up and faced Alyosha, as though ready to fight him. “Do me a favor and tell me frankly what you think.”

“Whether I despise you?” Alyosha looked at him in surprise. “Why should I despise you? I’m a bit sad, though, that such a naturally charming boy as you, who hasn’t even begun to live, should already be corrupted by all this wicked nonsense.”

“You needn’t worry about my charms, you know,” Kolya cut him off sharply, although he was pleased to hear what Alyosha thought of him. “It’s a fact that I’m pretty touchy. And when, just now, you had that smile on your face, I had the impression . . .”

“No, no, I was smiling about something else, about something I read recently. It was about the impression our students made on a German who lived for some time in Russia: ‘If you show a celestial map to a Russian schoolboy who has never heard about such things before,’ that German wrote, ‘the next day he will return your map corrected.’ The German was trying to say of Russian youth that they combine infinite conceit with total ignorance.”

“But that’s perfectly true! What a smart German—he hit the nail right on the head!” Kolya suddenly burst into delighted laughter. “But then the Teuton missed the good side of it, don’t you think? Conceit there may be, that comes from youth and it will pass if you really think it should pass. But what about the independent spirit that manifests itself almost from early childhood, the boldness of thought and conviction, which is so different from the cringing servility before authority that is so typical of his Sauerkraut compatriots . . . Nevertheless, that German hit it just right. Bravo for him. Although, as a matter of principle, the best way of handling the Germans is to strangle them. They may be pretty good in science, but they ought to be strangled nevertheless.”

“Why strangle them?” Alyosha said with a smile.

“Oh, well, I went a bit overboard there, I agree. There are times when I must sound terribly immature and that’s because, when I’m pleased about something and don’t restrain myself in time, I’m likely to say heaven knows what . . . But listen, I wonder what that doctor could have been doing in there while we’ve been talking all this nonsense? He’s been in there for quite a while, hasn’t he? Although perhaps, while he was at it, he also examined Ilyusha’s mother and his sister Nina. You know, I like that Nina. Do you know what she said to me when I was leaving just now? She said: ‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’ And it sounded like a sort of reproach, the way she said it. I have the impression that she’s an awfully nice person and I’m terribly sorry for her.”

“You’re right, and if you come here often enough, you’ll find out what a wonderful person she is. It would be good for you to get to know people like her and to learn to appreciate them; yes, and there are so many other things that one can learn from such people,” Alyosha said with deep conviction. “That more than anything else will make you reconsider many things.”

“You know I’m terribly sorry, in fact I’m furious with myself for not having come here before,” Kolya said ruefully.

“Yes, it’s an awful shame. You saw what happiness you gave that poor child! And he was so miserable before you came.”

“Don’t keep telling me that. I feel bad enough as it is. But I guess I deserve to be told. I stayed away out of pride, out of selfish, contemptible, petty pride, of which I’ve been unable to rid myself, although I’ve been trying all my life. I can see it all now, Karamazov, and I realize what a despicable creature I am.”

“I think you have a wonderful nature, although it’s been corrupted a little. You know, I can see very well how you can have had such an influence on that sickly, generous, over-sensitive little boy,” Alyosha said with sincere warmth.

“It’s strange that you of all people should say that, Karamazov, because several times, and even just now, I thought you despised me. You cannot imagine how important your opinion is to me.”

“But why should you be so suspicious of people, at your age already! You know, curiously enough, as I was looking at you inside there, while you were telling some story, I suddenly thought you must be overly suspicious and sensitive. Isn’t that curious?”

“Did you really think that? You’ve got quite an eye, you know. Wait, I bet you thought that when I was telling the story about the goose! At one point while I was telling it, I suddenly got the feeling that you despised me because I was trying to impress the others with what a smart fellow I was. I suddenly hated you at that moment and spouted all kinds of nonsense . . . And then I got the same impression out here in the passage, only a few minutes ago, when I was holding forth about God, when I said that if God didn’t exist He would have to be invented—I was afraid that you might think I was trying to show off my knowledge to you, especially since I picked up that sentence from some book. But I swear to you that I wasn’t saying all these things out of vanity, but just because I felt happy. I swear, it was simply sheer joy that made me talk like that, although I realize perfectly well that it’s rather disgraceful for a fellow to throw himself at people like that just because he feels happy. I’m aware of that, too. But now, at least, I know that you don’t despise me and that I just imagined it all. You know, Karamazov, I am extremely unhappy. God knows the things I imagine sometimes—that everyone is laughing at me, the whole world, and then I’d like to turn the whole order of things upside down.”

“And so you make those around you miserable.” Alyosha smiled.

“Yes, and in particular my mother. But tell me, Karamazov, am I being ridiculous at this moment?”

“Why don’t you stop carrying on about that? Just forget about it altogether!” Alyosha cried. “Anyway, what does it mean, being ridiculous? There are so many different ways a man may seem funny to someone else. Especially these days when everyone who has any talent seems to be morbidly afraid that he may appear ridiculous. That’s why so many gifted people are so unhappy. The only surprising thing is that you’ve started feeling this way when you’re still so young, but I’ve noticed it in many other young people too. Nowadays, mere children suffer from it. It’s almost an obsession. The devil has crept into that insanity—yes, I actually mean it, the devil,” Alyosha said unsmilingly, although Kolya, who was watching him closely, had the impression that he grinned. “You’re really just like the rest of them. I mean, like very many people today,” Alyosha concluded, “but there’s no need for you to be like the rest.”

“Even if everybody else becomes like that?”

“Yes, even if everybody else is like that. Be the only one who is not like it. Besides, you 
are
 different, because you weren’t ashamed to admit to me things that you consider bad or even ridiculous in yourself. Who else today is willing to admit such things? No one. In fact, they’ve lost even the need to admit that they’re wrong when they know they are. So be different from the others, even if you are the only one who is different from all the rest.”

“Great! I was right about you—you know how to make people feel better. Oh, Karamazov, I’ve been so anxious to meet you for such a long time! Did you really think about me too? You told me you thought of me too, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I knew of you by reputation and I did think of you . . . And if it was pride that made you ask that now, there’s nothing so wrong about it.”

“Do you know, Karamazov, all this sounds a bit like a declaration of love,” Kolya said shyly, with a strange languor. “Do you think it’s ridiculous?”

“Not in the least. But even if it were, it wouldn’t matter, because it’s good,” Alyosha said with a bright smile.

“But tell me honestly—aren’t you yourself a little ashamed to be with me? I can see it by your eyes . . .” Kolya smiled slyly, but there was almost happiness in his eyes.

“What is there to be ashamed of?”

“Why are you blushing then?”

“It’s you who’s making me blush,” Alyosha laughed. He had really turned very red. “Well, yes, it is a bit embarrassing, but I don’t really know why it should be . . .” he muttered, quite confused now.