finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_3_part_2.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 3.chapter 2
book 3, chapter 2
{"name": "book 3, Chapter 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section4/", "summary": "Stinking Lizaveta The girl whom Grigory sees giving birth is Lizaveta, often called \"stinking Lizaveta. Lizaveta is extremely slow-witted and cannot talk. The people of the town are appalled that someone has seduced this helpless young girl, and they agree that the only man vile enough to do so is Fyodor Pavlovich. Grigory and his wife adopt the baby, and Fyodor Pavlovich names him Smerdyakov", "analysis": ""}
Chapter II. Lizaveta


There was one circumstance which struck Grigory particularly, and
confirmed a very unpleasant and revolting suspicion. This Lizaveta was a
dwarfish creature, "not five foot within a wee bit," as many of the pious
old women said pathetically about her, after her death. Her broad,
healthy, red face had a look of blank idiocy and the fixed stare in her
eyes was unpleasant, in spite of their meek expression. She wandered
about, summer and winter alike, barefooted, wearing nothing but a hempen
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 inhumanly whenever she returned to
him. But she rarely did so, for every one in the town was ready to look
after her as being an idiot, and so specially 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 inspection 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 breach of the proprieties, 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 orphan. In fact, every one seemed
to like her; even the boys did not tease her, and the boys of our town,
especially the schoolboys, are a mischievous set. She would walk into
strange houses, and no one drove her away. Every one was kind to her and
gave her something. If she were given a copper, 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 costly 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 hurdle
(there are many hurdles 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 cowhouse. 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 robust constitution. Some
of the townspeople declared that she did all this only from pride, but
that is hardly credible. She could hardly speak, and only from time to
time uttered an inarticulate grunt. How could she have been proud?

It happened one clear, warm, moonlight night in September (many years ago)
five or six drunken revelers were returning from the club at a very late
hour, according to our provincial notions. They passed through the "back-
way," 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, stinking
pool which we were accustomed to call a river. Among the nettles and
burdocks under the hurdle our revelers saw Lizaveta asleep. They stopped
to look at her, laughing, and began jesting with unbridled licentiousness.
It occurred to one young gentleman to make the whimsical inquiry whether
any one could possibly look upon such an animal as a woman, and so
forth.... They all pronounced with lofty repugnance 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 piquancy about it, and so on.... It is true that at that time he
was overdoing his part as a buffoon. 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
revelers, of course, laughed at this unexpected opinion; and one of them
even began challenging him to act upon it. The others repelled the idea
even more emphatically, although still with the utmost hilarity, 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 miscreant who had wronged her. Then suddenly a
terrible rumor was all over the town that this miscreant was no other than
Fyodor Pavlovitch. Who set the rumor going? Of that drunken band five had
left the town and the only one still among us was an elderly and much
respected civil councilor, the father of grown-up daughters, who could
hardly have spread the tale, even if there had been any foundation for it.
But rumor pointed straight at Fyodor Pavlovitch, and persisted in pointing
at him. Of course this was no great grievance to him: he would not have
troubled to contradict a set of tradespeople. In those days he was proud,
and did not condescend 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 altercations in defense 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
conjecture sounded plausible, for it was remembered that Karp had been in
the neighborhood just at that time in the autumn, and had robbed three
people. But this affair and all the talk about it did not estrange popular
sympathy from the poor idiot. She was better looked after than ever. A
well-to-do merchant'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
confinement. 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 akin 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 lodge 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.





book 3, Chapter 2
Stinking Lizaveta The girl whom Grigory sees giving birth is Lizaveta, often called "stinking Lizaveta. Lizaveta is extremely slow-witted and cannot talk. The people of the town are appalled that someone has seduced this helpless young girl, and they agree that the only man vile enough to do so is Fyodor Pavlovich. Grigory and his wife adopt the baby, and Fyodor Pavlovich names him Smerdyakov