The Brothers Karamazov

“Here’s the hermitage, we’ve arrived!” cried Fyodor Pavlovich. “The fence and gates are shut.”

And he started crossing himself energetically before the saints painted above and on the sides of the gates.

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” he remarked.^[25] “Here in the hermitage there are altogether twenty-five saints saving their souls, looking at each other and eating cabbage. And not one woman ever goes through these gates, that’s what’s so remarkable. And it’s really true. Only didn’t I hear that the elder receives ladies?” he suddenly addressed the monk.

“There are some peasants of the female sex here even now, over there, lying near the porch, waiting. And for higher ladies two small rooms were built on the porch, but outside the wall—you can see the windows—and the elder `omes to them by an inner passage, when he feels well enough, so it is still outside the wall. Right now there is a lady, a landowner from Kharkov, Madame Khokhlakov, waiting there with her paralyzed daughter. Probably he has promised to come out to them, although lately he’s been so weak that he’s hardly shown himself even to the common people.”

“So, after all, a little hole has been made from the hermitage to the ladies. Not that I’m implying anything, holy father, I’m just ... You know, on Mount Athos—have you heard?—not only are the visits of women not allowed, but no women at all, no female creatures of any kind—no hens, no hen-turkeys, no heifers ...”

“Fyodor Pavlovich, I shall turn back and leave you here, and without me they will throw you out, I forewarn you!”

“How am I bothering you, Pyotr Alexandrovich? Just look,” he cried suddenly, stepping inside the wall of the hermitage, “what a vale of roses they live in!”

Indeed, though there were no roses, there were many rare and beautiful autumn flowers, wherever there was room for them. They were obviously tended by an experienced hand. There were flowerbeds within the church fences and between the graves. The little house where the elder had his cell, wooden, one-storied, with a front porch, was also surrounded with flowers.

“Was it like this in the time of the previous elder, Varsonofy? They say he didn’t like such niceties, they say he used to jump up and beat even ladies with a stick,” Fyodor Pavlovich remarked as he went up the steps.

“The elder Varsonofy indeed sometimes seemed like a holy fool, but much of what is told about him is nonsense. And he never beat anyone with a stick,” replied the little monk. “Now, gentlemen, if you will wait a moment, I will announce you.”

“Fyodor Pavlovich, for the last time I give you my conditions, do you hear? Behave yourself, or I will pay you back for it,” Miusov had time to mutter once again.

“I don’t see why you’re so greatly agitated,” Fyodor Pavlovich said mockingly. “Are you afraid of your little sins? They say he can tell what’s on a man’s mind by the look in his eyes. And, anyway, do you value their opinion so highly—you, such a Parisian, such a progressive-minded gentleman? You even surprise me, you really do!”

But Miusov did not have time to reply to this sarcasm. They were invited to come in. He walked in feeling somewhat irritated.

“That’s it, I know what will happen, I’m irritated, I’ll start arguing ... lose my temper ... demean myself and my ideas,” flashed through his head.

Chapter 2: The Old Buffoon

They came into the room almost at the same moment as the elder, who emerged from his bedroom just as they appeared. Two hieromonks^[26] of the hermitage were already in the cell awaiting the elder, one of them the Father Librarian, and the other Father Paissy, a sick man, though not old, but, it was said, a very learned one. Besides them, there stood in the corner (and remained standing there all the while) a young fellow who looked to be about twenty-two and was dressed in an ordinary frock coat, a seminarian and future theologian, who for some reason enjoyed the patronage of the monastery and the brothers. He was rather tall and had a fresh face, with wide cheekbones and intelligent, attentive, narrow brown eyes. His face expressed complete deference, but decently, with no apparent fawning. He did not even bow to greet the guests as they entered, not being their equal, but, on the contrary, a subordinate and dependent person.