The Brothers Karamazov‘what a vale of roses they live in!’
Though there were no roses now, there were numbers of
rare and beautiful autumn flowers growing wherever there
was space for them, and evidently tended by a skilful hand;
there were flower-beds round the church, and between the
tombs; and the one-storied wooden house where the elder
lived was also surrounded with flowers.
‘And was it like this in the time of the last elder, Varson-
ofy? He didn’t care for such elegance. They say he used to
jump up and thrash even ladies with a stick,’ observed Fy-
odor Pavlovitch, as he went up the steps.
‘The elder Varsonofy did sometimes seem rather strange,
but a great deal that’s told is foolishness. He never thrashed
anyone,’ answered the monk. ‘Now, gentlemen, if you will
wait a minute I will announce you.’
‘Fyodor Pavlovitch, for the last time, your compact, do
you hear? Behave properly or I will pay you out!’ Miusov
had time to mutter again.
‘I can’t think why you are so agitated,’ Fyodor Pavlov-
itch observed sarcastically. ‘Are you uneasy about your sins?
They say he can tell by one’s eyes what one has come about.
And what a lot you think of their opinion! you, a Parisian,
and so advanced. I’m surprised at you.’
But Miusov had no time to reply to this sarcasm. They
were asked to come in. He walked in, somewhat irritated.
‘Now, I know myself, I am annoyed, I shall lose my tem-
per and begin to quarrel — and lower myself and my ideas,’
he reflected.