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late elder Varsonofy, but a sweet fragrance,’ they recalled
malignantly. ‘But he gained that glory not because he was
an elder, but because he was a holy man.’
And this was followed by a shower of criticism and even
blame of Father Zossima. ‘His teaching was false; he taught
that life is a great joy and not a vale of tears,’ said some of
the more unreasonable. ‘He followed the fashionable belief,
he did not recognise material fire in hell,’ others, still more
unreasonable, added. ‘He was not strict in fasting, allowed
himself sweet things, ate cherry jam with his tea, ladies
used to send it to him. Is it for a monk of strict rule to drink
tea?’ could be heard among some of the envious. ‘He sat in
pride,’ the most malignant declared vindictively; ‘he con-
sidered himself a saint and he took it as his due when people
knelt before him.’ ‘He abused the sacrament of confession,’
the fiercest opponents of the institution of elders added in
a malicious whisper. And among these were some of the
oldest monks, strictest in their devotion, genuine ascetics,
who had kept silent during the life of the deceased elder,
but now suddenly unsealed their lips. And this was terri-
ble, for their words had great influence on young monks
who were not yet firm in their convictions. The monk from
Obdorsk heard all this attentively, heaving deep sighs and
nodding his head. ‘Yes, clearly Father Ferapont was right in
his judgment yesterday,’ and at that moment Father Fera-
pont himself made his appearance, as though on purpose
to increase the confusion.
I have mentioned already that he rarely left his wooden
cell by the apiary. He was seldom even seen at church and