THERE was one circumstance which struck Grigory particularly, and confirmed a very unpleasant and revolting suspicion. This Lizaveta was a dwarfish1 creature, “not five foot within a wee bit,” as many of the pious2 old women said pathetically about her, after her death. Her broad, healthy, red face had a look of blank idiocy3 and the fixed4 stare in her eyes was unpleasant, in spite of their meek5 expression. She wandered about, summer and winter alike, barefooted, wearing nothing but a hempen6 smock. Her coarse, almost black hair curled like lamb’s wool, and formed a sort of huge cap on her head. It was always crusted with mud, and had leaves; bits of stick, and shavings clinging to it, as she always slept on the ground and in the dirt. Her father, a homeless, sickly drunkard, called Ilya, had lost everything and lived many years as a workman with some well-to-do tradespeople. Her mother had long been dead. Spiteful and diseased, Ilya used to beat Lizaveta inhumanly7 whenever she returned to him. But she rarely did so, for everyone in the town was ready to look after her as being an idiot, and so specially8 dear to God. Ilya’s employers, and many others in the town, especially of the tradespeople, tried to clothe her better, and always rigged her out with high boots and sheepskin coat for the winter. But, although she allowed them to dress her up without resisting, she usually went away, preferably to the cathedral porch, and taking off all that had been given her — kerchief, sheepskin, skirt or boots — she left them there and walked away barefoot in her smock as before. It happened on one occasion that a new governor of the province, making a tour of inspection10 in our town, saw Lizaveta, and was wounded in his tenderest susceptibilities. And though he was told she was an idiot, he pronounced that for a young woman of twenty to wander about in nothing but a smock was a breach11 of the proprieties12, and must not occur again. But the governor went his way, and Lizaveta was left as she was. At last her father died, which made her even more acceptable in the eyes of the religious persons of the town, as an orphan13. In fact, everyone seemed to like her; even the boys did not tease her, and the boys of our town, especially the schoolboys, are a mischievous14 set. She would walk into strange houses, and no one drove her away. Everyone was kind to her and gave her something. If she were given a copper15, she would take it, and at once drop it in the alms-jug of the church or prison. If she were given a roll or bun in the market, she would hand it to the first child she met. Sometimes she would stop one of the richest ladies in the town and give it to her, and the lady would be pleased to take it. She herself never tasted anything but black bread and water. If she went into an expensive shop, where there were costly16 goods or money lying about, no one kept watch on her, for they knew that if she saw thousands of roubles overlooked by them, she would not have touched a farthing. She scarcely ever went to church. She slept either in the church porch or climbed over a hurdle17 (there are many hurdles18 instead of fences to this day in our town) into a kitchen garden. She used at least once a week to turn up “at home,” that is at the house of her father’s former employers, and in the winter went there every night, and slept either in the passage or the cow-house. People were amazed that she could stand such a life, but she was accustomed to it, and, although she was so tiny, she was of a robust19 constitution. Some of the townspeople declared that she did all this only from pride, but that is hardly credible20. She could hardly speak, and only from time to time uttered an inarticulate grunt21. How could she have been proud?
It happened one clear, warm, moonlight night in September (many years ago) five or six drunken revellers were returning from the club at a very late hour, according to our provincial22 notions. They passed through the “backway,” which led between the back gardens of the houses, with hurdles on either side. This way leads out on to the bridge over the long, stinking23 pool which we were accustomed to call a river. Among the nettles24 and burdocks under the hurdle our revellers saw Lizaveta asleep. They stopped to look at her, laughing, and began jesting with unbridled licentiousness25. It occurred to one young gentleman to make the whimsical inquiry26 whether anyone could possibly look upon such an animal as a woman, and so forth27. . . . They all pronounced with lofty repugnance28 that it was impossible. But Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was among them, sprang forward and declared that it was by no means impossible, and that, indeed, there was a certain piquancy29 about it, and so on. . . . It is true that at that time he was overdoing30 his part as a buffoon31. He liked to put himself forward and entertain the company, ostensibly on equal terms, of course, though in reality he was on a servile footing with them. It was just at the time when he had received the news of his first wife’s death in Petersburg, and, with crape upon his hat, was drinking and behaving so shamelessly that even the most reckless among us were shocked at the sight of him. The revellers, of course, laughed at this unexpected opinion; and one of them even began challenging him to act upon it. The others repelled32 the idea even more emphatically, although still with the utmost hilarity33, and at last they went on their way. Later on, Fyodor Pavlovitch swore that he had gone with them, and perhaps it was so, no one knows for certain, and no one ever knew. But five or six months later, all the town was talking, with intense and sincere indignation, of Lizaveta’s condition, and trying to find out who was the miscreant34 who had wronged her. Then suddenly a terrible rumour35 was all over the town that this miscreant was no other than Fyodor Pavlovitch. Who set the rumour going? Of that drunken band five had left the town and the only one still among us was an elderly and much respected civil councillor, the father of grown-up daughters, who could hardly have spread the tale, even if there had been any foundation for it. But rumour pointed36 straight at Fyodor Pavlovitch, and persisted in pointing at him. Of course this was no great grievance37 to him: he would not have troubled to contradict a set of tradespeople. In those days he was proud, and did not condescend38 to talk except in his own circle of the officials and nobles, whom he entertained so well.
At the time, Grigory stood up for his master vigorously. He provoked quarrels and altercations39 in defence of him and succeeded in bringing some people round to his side. “It’s the wench’s own fault,” he asserted, and the culprit was Karp, a dangerous convict, who had escaped from prison and whose name was well known to us, as he had hidden in our town. This conjecture40 sounded plausible41, for it was remembered that Karp had been in the neighbourhood just at that time in the autumn, and had robbed three people. But this affair and all the talk about it did not estrange42 popular sympathy from the poor idiot. She was better looked after than ever. A well-to-do merchants’s widow named Kondratyev arranged to take her into her house at the end of April, meaning not to let her go out until after the confinement43. They kept a constant watch over her, but in spite of their vigilance she escaped on the very last day, and made her way into Fyodor Pavlovitch’s garden. How, in her condition, she managed to climb over the high, strong fence remained a mystery. Some maintained that she must have been lifted over by somebody; others hinted at something more uncanny. The most likely explanation is that it happened naturally — that Lizaveta, accustomed to clambering over hurdles to sleep in gardens, had somehow managed to climb this fence, in spite of her condition, and had leapt down, injuring herself.
Grigory rushed to Marfa and sent her to Lizaveta, while he ran to fetch an old midwife who lived close by. They saved the baby, but Lizaveta died at dawn. Grigory took the baby, brought it home, and making his wife sit down, put it on her lap. “A child of God — an orphan is akin9 to all,” he said, “and to us above others. Our little lost one has sent us this, who has come from the devil’s son and a holy innocent. Nurse him and weep no more.”
So Marfa brought up the child. He was christened Pavel, to which people were not slow in adding Fyodorovitch (son of Fyodor). Fyodor Pavlovitch did not object to any of this, and thought it amusing, though he persisted vigorously in denying his responsibility. The townspeople were pleased at his adopting the foundling. Later on, Fyodor Pavlovitch invented a surname for the child, calling him Smerdyakov, after his mother’s nickname.
So this Smerdyakov became Fyodor Pavlovitch’s second servant, and was living in the lodge44 with Grigory and Marfa at the time our story begins. He was employed as cook. I ought to say something of this Smerdyakov, but I am ashamed of keeping my readers’ attention so long occupied with these common menials, and I will go back to my story, hoping to say more of Smerdyakov in the course of it.
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dwarfish
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| a.像侏儒的，矮小的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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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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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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hempen
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| adj. 大麻制的, 大麻的 | |
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inhumanly
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| adv.无人情味地，残忍地 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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licentiousness
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| n.放肆，无法无天 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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overdoing
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| v.做得过分( overdo的现在分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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altercations
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| n.争辩，争吵( altercation的名词复数 ) | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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estrange
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| v.使疏远，离间，使离开 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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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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