They say the devil is choking the monks here every night.
Nonsense. _(To the Gray Monk passing by)_ Father Vissarion, come here a moment. Sit down. Mr. Tropinin's son here says the devil chokes us every night. Have you heard about it? _(The two monks laugh good-naturedly as they look at each other)_
Some of the monks can't sleep well because they have overeaten, so they think they are being choked. Why, young man, the devil can't enter within our sacred precincts.
But suppose he does suddenly put in an appearance? What will, you do then?
We'll get after him with the holy-water sprinkler, that's what we'll do. "Don't butt in where you have no business to, you black-faced booby!" _(The monk laughs)_
Wait a while, Father Vissarion. _(To Savva)_ You talk about faith and such things. There's a man for you--look at him--see how he walks. And yet he has chains on him weighing four hundred pounds. He doesn't walk, he dances. He visits us every summer, and I must say he is a very valuable guest. His example strengthens others in their faith. Herod! Ho, Herod!
Come here a minute. This gentleman doubts the existence of God. Talk to him.
What's the matter with yourself? Are you so full of booze that you can't wag your own tongue?
You heretic! What a heretic! _(Both monks laugh)_
He doubts? Let him doubt. It's none of my business.
He is doing that to wear himself out. Until he has reduced himself to absolute faintness he'll neither sleep nor eat. _(Aloud)_ This gentleman is wondering at the kind of chains you have on your body.
Chains? Just baby rattles. Put them on a horse and he too would carry them if he had the strength. I have a sad heart. _(Looks at Savva)_ You know, I killed my own son. Yes, I did. Have they been telling you about me, these chatterboxes?
You lie--you can't. No one can understand it. Go through the whole world, search round the whole globe, ask everybody--no one will be able to tell you, no one will understand. And if anyone says he does, take it from me that he lies, lies just as you do. Why, you can't even see your own nose properly, yet you have the brazenness to say you understand. Go. You are a foolish boy, that's what you are.
I am wise. My sorrow has made me so. It is a great sorrow. There is none greater on earth. I killed my son with my own hand. Not the hand you are looking at, but the one which isn't here.