from the monastery, then we cared for nothing. Was it

Lithuania, was it Russia, was it fiddle, was it dulcimer?

All the same for us, if only there was wine. That's the

main thing!

MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam.

HOSTESS. (Enters.)

There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health.

MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (The

monks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passest

by, my dear," etc.) (To GREGORY) Why don't you join

in the song? Not even join in the song?

GREGORY. I don't wish to.

MISSAIL. Everyone to his liking - VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven.* Father Missail!

We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Where

the brave lad in durance," etc.) Still, Father Missail,

when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsiness

is one thing - but pride quite another. If you want

to live as we do, you are welcome. No? - then take

yourself off, away with you; a mountebank is no

companion for a priest.

[*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot

be satisfactorily rendered into English.]

GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,*

Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know how

to make puns.

[*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot

be satisfactorily rendered into English.]

VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself?

MISSAIL. Let him alone, Father Varlaam.

VARLAAM. But what sort of a fasting man is he? Of his

own accord he attached himself as a companion to us;

no one knows who he is, no one knows whence he comes -

and yet he gives himself grand airs; perhaps he has a

close acquaintance with the pillory. (Drinks and sings:

"A young monk took the tonsure," etc.)

GREGORY. (To HOSTESS.) Whither leads this road?

HOSTESS. To Lithuania, my dear, to the Luyov mountains.