man with a large experience.
It's no easy thing to frighten me. But I am afraid to walk in the hall
at night.

SAVVA

What devil?

KONDRATY

The ordinary one. To you, educated people, he appears in a nobler
aspect of course; but to us plain, simple people, he reveals himself
as he really is.

SAVVA

With horns?

KONDRATY

How can I tell? I never saw the horns; but that's not the point,
although I may say that his shadow clearly shows the horns. The thing
is that we have no peace in our monastery; there is always such a
noise and clatter there. Everything is quiet outside; but inside there
are groans and gnashing of teeth. Some groan, some whine, and some
complain about something, you can't tell what. When you pass the
doors, you feel as if your soul were taking leave of the world behind
every door. Suddenly something glides from around the corner.--and
there's a shadow on the wall. Nothing at all--and yet there's a
shadow on the wall. In other places it makes no difference. You pay
no attention to such a trifle as a shadow; but here, Savva Yegorovich,
they are alive, and you can almost hear them speak. On my word of
honor! Our hall, you know, is so long that it seems never to end. You
enter--nothing! You see a sort of black object moving in front of
you, something like the figure of a man. Then it stretches out, grows
larger and larger and wider and wider until it reaches across the
ceiling, and then it's behind you! You keep on walking. Your senses
become paralyzed. You lose all consciousness.

SAVVA _(to Tony)_

What are you staring at?

TONY

What a face!

KONDRATY

And God too is impotent here. Of course we have sacred relics and a
wonder-working ikon; but, if you'll excuse me for saying so, they have
no efficacy.

LIPA

What are you saying?

KONDRATY

None whatever. If you don't believe me, ask the other monks. They'll
bear me out. We pray and pray, and beat our foreheads, and the result
is nothing, absolutely nothing. If the image did nothing else than
drive away the impure power! But it can't do even that. It hangs there
as if it were none of its business, and as soon as night comes, the
stir and the gliding and the flitting around the corners begin again.
The abbot says we are cowards, poor in spirit, and that we ought to
be ashamed. But why are the images ineffective? The monks in the
monastery say--

LIPA

Well?

KONDRATY

But it's hard to believe it. It's impossible. The