THE Karamazovs’ house was far from being in the centre of the town, but it was not quite outside it. It was a pleasant-looking old house of two stories, painted grey, with a red iron roof. It was roomy and snug1, and might still last many years. There were all sorts of unexpected little cupboards and closets and staircases. There were rats in it, but Fyodor Pavlovitch did not altogether dislike them. “One doesn’t feel so solitary2 when one’s left alone in the evening,” he used to say. It was his habit to send the servants away to the lodge3 for the night and to lock himself up alone. The lodge was a roomy and solid building in the yard. Fyodor Pavlovitch used to have the cooking done there, although there was a kitchen in the house; he did not like the smell of cooking, and, winter and summer alike, the dishes were carried in across the courtyard. The house was built for a large family; there was room for five times as many, with their servants. But at the time of our story there was no one living in the house but Fyodor Pavlovitch and his son Ivan. And in the lodge there were only three servants: old Grigory, and his old wife Marfa, and a young man called Smerdyakov. Of these three we must say a few words. Of old Grigory we have said something already. He was firm and determined4 and went blindly and obstinately5 for his object, if once be had been brought by any reasons (and they were often very illogical ones) to believe that it was immutably7 right. He was honest and incorruptible. His wife, Marfa Ignatyevna, had obeyed her husband’s will implicitly9 all her life, yet she had pestered10 him terribly after the emancipation11 of the serfs. She was set on leaving Fyodor Pavlovitch and opening a little shop in Moscow with their small savings12. But Grigory decided13 then, once for all, that “the woman’s talking nonsense, for every woman is dishonest,” and that they ought not to leave their old master, whatever he might be, for “that was now their duty.”
“Do you understand what duty is?” he asked Marfa Ignatyevna.
“I understand what duty means, Grigory Vassilyevitch, but why it’s our duty to stay here I never shall understand,” Marfa answered firmly.
“Well, don’t understand then. But so it shall be. And you hold your tongue.”
And so it was. They did not go away, and Fyodor Pavlovitch promised them a small sum for wages, and paid it regularly. Grigory knew, too, that he had an indisputable influence over his master. It was true, and he was aware of it. Fyodor Pavlovitch was an obstinate6 and cunning buffoon14, yet, though his will was strong enough “in some of the affairs of life,” as he expressed it, he found himself, to his surprise, extremely feeble in facing certain other emergencies. He knew his weaknesses and was afraid of them. There are positions in which one has to keep a sharp lookout15. And that’s not easy without a trustworthy man, and Grigory was a most trustworthy man. Many times in the course of his life Fyodor Pavlovitch had only just escaped a sound thrashing through Grigory’s intervention16, and on each occasion the old servant gave him a good lecture. But it wasn’t only thrashings that Fyodor Pavlovitch was afraid of. There were graver occasions, and very subtle and complicated ones, when Fyodor Pavlovitch could not have explained the extraordinary craving17 for someone faithful and devoted18, which sometimes unaccountably came upon him all in a moment. It was almost a morbid19 condition. Corrupt8 and often cruel in his lust20, like some noxious21 insect, Fyodor Pavlovitch was sometimes, in moments of drunkenness, overcome by superstitious23 terror and a moral convulsion which took an almost physical form. “My soul’s simply quaking in my throat at those times,” he used to say. At such moments he liked to feel that there was near at hand, in the lodge if not in the room, a strong, faithful man, virtuous24 and unlike himself, who had seen all his debauchery and knew all his secrets, but was ready in his devotion to overlook all that, not to oppose him, above all, not to reproach him or threaten him with anything, either in this world or in the next, and, in case of need, to defend him — from whom? From somebody unknown, but terrible and dangerous. What he needed was to feel that there was another man, an old and tried friend, that he might call him in his sick moments merely to look at his face, or, perhaps, exchange some quite irrelevant25 words with him. And if the old servant were not angry, he felt comforted, and if he were angry, he was more dejected. It happened even (very rarely however) that Fyodor Pavlovitch went at night to the lodge to wake Grigory and fetch him for a moment. When the old man came, Fyodor Pavlovitch would begin talking about the most trivial matters, and would soon let him go again, sometimes even with a jest. And after he had gone, Fyodor Pavlovitch would get into bed with a curse and sleep the sleep of the just. Something of the same sort had happened to Fyodor Pavlovitch on Alyosha’s arrival. Alyosha “pierced his heart” by “living with him, seeing everything and blaming nothing.” Moreover, Alyosha brought with him something his father had never known before: a complete absence of contempt for him and an invariable kindness, a perfectly26 natural unaffected devotion to the old man who deserved it so little. All this was a complete surprise to the old profligate27, who had dropped all family ties. It was a new and surprising experience for him, who had till then loved nothing but “evil.” When Alyosha had left him, he confessed to himself that he had learnt something he had not till then been willing to learn.
I have mentioned already that Grigory had detested28 Adelaida Ivanovna, the first wife of Fyodor Pavlovitch and the mother of Dmitri, and that he had, on the contrary, protected Sofya Ivanovna, the poor “crazy woman,” against his master and anyone who chanced to speak ill or lightly of her. His sympathy for the unhappy wife had become something sacred to him, so that even now, twenty years after, he could not bear a slighting allusion29 to her from anyone, and would at once check the offender30. Externally, Grigory was cold, dignified31 and taciturn, and spoke32, weighing his words, without frivolity33. It was impossible to tell at first sight whether he loved his meek34, obedient wife; but he really did love her, and she knew it.
Marfa Ignatyevna was by no means foolish; she was probably, indeed, cleverer than her husband, or, at least, more prudent35 than he in worldly affairs, and yet she had given in to him in everything without question or complaint ever since her marriage, and respected him for his spiritual superiority. It was remarkable36 how little they spoke to one another in the course of their lives, and only of the most necessary daily affairs. The grave and dignified Grigory thought over all his cares and duties alone, so that Marfa Ignatyevna had long grown used to knowing that he did not need her advice. She felt that her husband respected her silence, and took it as a sign of her good sense. He had never beaten her but once, and then only slightly. Once during the year after Fyodor Pavlovitch’s marriage with Adelaida Ivanovna, the village girls and women — at that time serfs — were called together before the house to sing and dance. They were beginning “In the Green Meadows,” when Marfa, at that time a young woman, skipped forward and danced “the Russian Dance,” not in the village fashion, but as she had danced it when she was a servant in the service of the rich Miusov family, in their private theatre, where the actors were taught to dance by a dancing master from Moscow. Grigory saw how his wife danced, and, an hour later, at home in their cottage he gave her a lesson, pulling her hair a little. But there it ended: the beating was never repeated, and Marfa Ignatyevna gave up dancing.
God had not blessed them with children. One child was born but it died. Grigory was fond of children, and was not ashamed of showing it. When Adelaida Ivanovna had run away, Grigory took Dmitri, then a child of three years old, combed his hair and washed him in a tub with his own hands, and looked after him for almost a year. Afterwards he had looked after Ivan and Alyosha, for which the general’s widow had rewarded him with a slap in the face; but I have already related all that. The only happiness his own child had brought him had been in the anticipation37 of its birth. When it was born, he was overwhelmed with grief and horror. The baby had six fingers. Grigory was so crushed by this, that he was not only silent till the day of the christening, but kept away in the garden. It was spring, and he spent three days digging the kitchen garden. The third day was fixed38 for christening the baby: meantime Grigory had reached a conclusion. Going into the cottage where the clergy39 were assembled and the visitors had arrived, including Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was to stand godfather, he suddenly announced that the baby “ought not to be christened at all.” He announced this quietly, briefly40, forcing out his words, and gazing with dull intentness at the priest.
“Why not?” asked the priest with good-humoured surprise.
“Because it’s a dragon,” muttered Grigory.
“A dragon? What dragon?”
Grigory did not speak for some time. “It’s a confusion of nature,” he muttered vaguely41, but firmly, and obviously unwilling42 to say more.
They laughed, and, of course, christened the poor baby. Grigory prayed earnestly at the font, but his opinion of the new-born child remained unchanged. Yet he did not interfere43 in any way. As long as the sickly infant lived he scarcely looked at it, tried indeed not to notice it, and for the most part kept out of the cottage. But when, at the end of a fortnight, the baby died of thrush, he himself laid the child in its little coffin44, looked at it in profound grief, and when they were filling up the shallow little grave he fell on his knees and bowed down to the earth. He did not for years afterwards mention his child, nor did Marfa speak of the baby before him, and, even if Grigory were not present, she never spoke of it above a whisper. Marfa observed that, from the day of the burial, he devoted himself to “religion,” and took to reading the Lives of the Saints, for the most part sitting alone and in silence, and always putting on his big, round, silver-rimmed spectacles. He rarely read aloud, only perhaps in Lent. He was fond of the Book of Job, and had somehow got hold of a copy of the sayings and sermons of “the God fearing Father Isaac the Syrian, which he read persistently45 for years together, understanding very little of it, but perhaps prizing and loving it the more for that. Of late he had begun to listen to the doctrines46 of the sect22 of Flagellants settled in the neighbourhood. He was evidently shaken by them, but judged it unfitting to go over to the new faith. His habit of theological reading gave him an expression of still greater gravity.
He was perhaps predisposed to mysticism. And the birth of his deformed47 child, and its death, had, as though by special design, been accompanied by another strange and marvellous event, which, as he said later, had left a “stamp” upon his soul. It happened that, on the very night after the burial of his child, Marfa was awakened48 by the wail49 of a new-born baby. She was frightened and waked her husband. He listened and said he thought it was more like someone groaning50, “it might be a woman.” He got up and dressed. It was a rather warm night in May. As he went down the steps, he distinctly heard groans51 coming from the garden. But the gate from the yard into the garden was locked at night, and there was no other way of entering it, for it was enclosed all round by a strong, high fence. Going back into the house, Grigory lighted a lantern, took the garden key, and taking no notice of the hysterical52 fears of his wife, who was still persuaded that she heard a child crying, and that it was her own baby crying and calling for her, went into the garden in silence. There he heard at once that the groans came from the bath-house that stood near the garden gate, and that they were the groans of a woman. Opening the door of the bath-house, he saw a sight which petrified53 him. An idiot girl, who wandered about the streets and was known to the whole town by the nickname of Lizaveta Smerdyastchaya (Stinking Lizaveta), had got into the bath-house and had just given birth to a child. She lay dying with the baby beside her. She said nothing, for she had never been able to speak. But her story needs a chapter to itself.
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1
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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immutably
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| adv.不变地，永恒地 | |
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corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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32
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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33
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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41
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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42
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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43
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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45
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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46
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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47
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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48
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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49
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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50
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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51
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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52
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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53
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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