Gregory.  Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not Be content.

Varlaam.  What is it that makes you so fond of Lithuania!  Here are we, Father Missail and I, a sinner, when we fled 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.

Gregory.  And is it far to the Luyov mountains?

Hostess.  Not far; you might get there by evening, but for the tsar’s frontier barriers, and the captains of the guard.

Gregory.  What say you?  Barriers!  What means this?

Hostess.  Someone has escaped from Moscow, and orders have been given to detain and search everyone.

Gregory. (Aside.) Here’s a pretty mess!

Varlaam.  Hallo, comrade!  You’ve been making up to mine hostess.  To be sure you don’t want vodka, but you want a young woman.  All right, brother, all right!  Everyone has his own ways, and Father Missail and I have only one thing which we care for—­we drink to the bottom, we drink; turn it upside down, and knock at the bottom.