The Brothers Karamazov

“I know who founded Troy,” one boy suddenly spoke quite unexpectedly. He had said almost nothing till then, was silent and obviously shy, a very pretty-looking boy, about eleven years old, by the name of Kartashov. He was sitting just next to the door. Kolya gave him a surprised and imposing look. The thing was that the question of who precisely founded Troy had decidedly become a great secret in all the classes, and in order to penetrate it one had to read Smaragdov. But no one except Kolya had a copy of Smaragdov. And so one day when Kolya’s back was turned, the boy Kartashov had quickly and slyly opened Smaragdov, which lay among Kolya’s books, and lighted just on the passage discussing the founders of Troy. That had been some time ago, but he was somehow embarrassed and could not bring himself to reveal publicly that he, too, knew who had founded Troy, for fear something might come of it and Kolya might somehow confound him. But now, suddenly, for some reason he could not refrain from saying it. He had been wanting to for a long time.

“Well, who did?” Kolya turned to him arrogantly and condescendingly, having already seen from the boy’s face that he indeed did know, and, of course, preparing himself at once for all the consequences. What is known as a dissonance came into the general mood.

“Troy was founded by Teucer, Dardanus, Ilius, and Tros,” the boy rapped out at once, and instantly blushed all over, blushed so much that it was pitiful to see. But all the boys stared fixedly at him, stared for a whole minute, and then suddenly all those staring eyes turned at once to Kolya. He stood looking the bold boy up and down with disdainful equanimity.

“And in what sense did they found it?” he deigned at last to speak. “What generally is meant by the founding of a city or a state? Did each of them come and lay a brick, or what?”

There was laughter. The guilty boy turned from pink to crimson. He was silent, he was on the verge of tears. Kolya kept him like that for another minute.

“If one is to speak of such historical events as the founding of a nation, one must first know what it means,” he uttered distinctly, severely, by way of admonition. “I, in any case, do not regard these old wives’ tales as important, and generally I do not have much respect for world history,” he suddenly added nonchalantly, now addressing everyone present.

“World history, sir? “ the captain inquired suddenly with some sort of fear.

“Yes, world history. It is the study of the succession of human follies, and nothing more. I only respect mathematics and natural science,” Kolya swaggered, and glanced at Alyosha: his was the only opinion in the room that he feared. But Alyosha was still as silent and serious as before. If Alyosha had said anything now, the matter would have ended there, but Alyosha did not respond, and “his silence could well be contemptuous,” and at that Kolya became quite vexed.

“And also these classical languages we have now: simply madness, nothing more ... Again you seem to disagree with me, Karamazov?”

“I disagree,” Alyosha smiled restrainedly.

“Classical languages, if you want my full opinion about them—it’s a police measure, that’s the sole purpose for introducing them,” again Kolya gradually became breathless, “they were introduced because they’re boring, and because they dull one’s faculties. It was boring already, so how to make it even more boring? It was muddled already, so how to make it even more muddled? And so they thought up the classical languages. That is my full opinion of them, and I hope I shall never change it,” Kolya ended sharply. Flushed spots appeared on both his cheeks.

“That’s true,” Smurov, who had been listening diligently, suddenly agreed in a ringing and convinced voice.

“And he’s first in Latin himself!” one boy in the crowd cried.

“Yes, papa, he says that, and he’s first in the class in Latin,” Ilyusha echoed.

“What of it?” Kolya found it necessary to defend himself, though the praise also pleased him very much. “I grind away at Latin because I have to, because I promised my mother I’d finish school, and I think that whatever one does one ought to do well, but in my soul I deeply despise classicism and all that baseness ... You don’t agree, Karamazov?”

“Why ‘baseness’?” Alyosha smiled again.

“But, good heavens, the classics have been translated into all languages, therefore there was absolutely no need for Latin in order to study the classics, they needed it only as a police measure and to dull one’s faculties. Wouldn’t you call that baseness?”

“But who taught you all that?” exclaimed Alyosha, at last surprised.^[280]

“First of all, I myself am capable of understanding without being taught, and second, let me inform you that the very thing I just explained about the classics being translated, our teacher, Kolbasnikov, said himself to the whole third class ...”

“The doctor has come!” Ninochka, who had been silent all the while, suddenly exclaimed.