0 The Brothers Karamazov
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 mountebank,
a buffoon?’
‘Oh no; there are people of deep feeling who have been
somehow crushed. Buffoonery in them is a form of resent-
ful irony against those to whom they daren’t speak the truth,
from having been for years humiliated and intimidated by
them. Believe me, Krassotkin, that sort of buffoonery is
sometimes tragic in the extreme. His whole life now is cen-
tred in Ilusha, and if Ilusha 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 hu-
man nature,’ Kolya added, with feeling.
‘And as soon as I saw you with a dog, I thought it was
Zhutchka you were bringing.’
‘Wait a bit, Karamazov, perhaps we shall find it yet; but
this is Perezvon. I’ll let him go in now and perhaps it will
amuse Ilusha more than the mastiff pup. Wait a bit, Karam-
azov, you will know something in a minute. But, I say, I am
keeping you here!’ Kolya cried suddenly. ‘You’ve no over-
coat on in this bitter cold. You see what an egoist I am. Oh,
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 Kolya, but what else?’
‘Nikolay — Nikolay Ivanovitch Krassotkin, or, as they
say in official documents, ‘Krassotkin son.’’ Kolya laughed