"I know you would all like it to be Zhutchka.I've heard all about it." Kolya smiled mysteriously."Listen, Karamazov, I'll tell you all about it.That's what I came for; that's what I asked you to come out here for, to explain the whole episode to you before we go in," he began with animation."You see, Karamazov, Ilusha came into the preparatory class last spring.Well, you know what our preparatory class is- a lot of small boys.They began teasing Ilusha at once.I am two classes higher up, and, of course, I only look on at them from a distance.I saw the boy was weak and small, but he wouldn't give in to them; he fought with them.I saw he was proud, and his eyes were full of fire.I like children like that.And they teased him all the more.The worst of it was he was horribly dressed at the time, his breeches were too small for him, and there were holes in his boots.
They worried him about it; they jeered at him.That I can't stand.Istood up for him at once, and gave it to them hot.I beat them, but they adore me, do you know, Karamazov?" Kolya boasted impulsively;"but I am always fond of children.I've two chickens in my hands at home now- that's what detained me to-day.So they left off beating Ilusha and I took him under my protection.I saw the boy was proud.
I tell you that, the boy was proud; but in the end he became slavishly devoted to me: he did my slightest bidding, obeyed me as though I were God, tried to copy me.In the intervals between the classes he used to run to me at once' and I'd go about with him.On Sundays, too.They always laugh when an older boy makes friends with a younger one like that; but that's a prejudice.If it's my fancy, that's enough.I am teaching him, developing him.Why shouldn't I develop him if I like him? Here you, Karamazov, have taken up with all these nestlings.Isee 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.Iused sometimes to propound certain ideas; I could see that it was not so much that he disagreed with the ideas, but that he was simply rebelling against me, because I was cool in responding to his endearments.And so, in order to train him properly, the tenderer he was, the colder I became.I did it on purpose: that was my idea.My object was to form his character, to lick him into shape, to make a man of him...and besides...no doubt, you understand me at a word.
Suddenly I noticed for three days in succession he was downcast and dejected, not because of my coldness, but for something else, something more important.I wondered what the tragedy was.I have pumped him and found out that he had somehow got to know Smerdyakov, who was footman to your late father- it was before his death, of course- and he taught the little fool a silly trick- that is, a brutal, nasty trick.He told him to take a piece of bread, to stick a pin in it, and throw it to one of those hungry dogs who snap up anything without biting it, and then to watch and see what would happen.So they prepared a piece of bread like that and threw it to Zhutchka, that shaggy dog there's been such a fuss about.The people of the house it belonged to never fed it at all, though it barked all day.(Do you like that stupid barking, Karamazov? I can't stand it.) So it rushed at the bread, swallowed it, and began to squeal;it turned round and round and ran away, squealing as it ran out of sight.That was Ilusha's own account of it.He confessed it to me, and cried bitterly.He hugged me, shaking all over.He kept on repeating 'He ran away squealing': the sight of that haunted him.He was tormented by remorse, I could see that.I took it seriously.Idetermined to give him a lesson for other things as well.So I must confess I wasn't quite straightforward, and pretended to be more indignant perhaps than I was.'You've done a nasty thing,' I said, 'you are a scoundrel.I won't tell of it, of course, but I shall have nothing more to do with you for a time.I'll think it over and let you know through Smurov'- that's the boy who's just come with me; he's always ready to do anything for me- 'whether I will have anything to do with you in the future or whether I give you up for good as a scoundrel.' He was tremendously upset.I must own I felt I'd gone too far as I spoke, but there was no help for it.I did what Ithought best at the time.A day or two after, I sent Smurov to tell him that I would not speak to him again.That's what we call it when two schoolfellows refuse to have anything more to do with one another.
