h)_

Yes, it's a strange condition.

SAVVA _(smiling at the Friar)_

Eh? Well, how are you now?

SPERANSKY

When my uncle took me to his house, he made me promise I would never
attempt suicide again. That was the only condition oh which he would
consent to let me live with him. "All right," I said; "if we really
exist, then I won't make any further attempt to hang myself."

SAVVA

Why do you want to know whether you exist or not? There is the
sky. Look, how beautiful it is. There are the swallows and the
sweet-scented grass. It's fine! _(To the Friar)_ Fine, isn't it,
Vassya?

FRIAR

Mr. Savva, do you like to tear up ant-hills?

SAVVA

I don't know. I never tried.

FRIAR

I like it. Do you like to fly kites?

SAVVA

It's a long time since I tried to. I used to like it very much.

SPERANSKY _(patiently awaiting the end of their conversation)_

Swallows! What good is their flying to me? Anyhow, maybe swallows
don't exist either, and it's all a dream.

SAVVA

Suppose it is a dream. Dreams are very beautiful sometimes, you know.

SPERANSKY

I should like to wake up, but I can't. I wander around and wander
around until I am weary and feeble, and when I rouse myself I find
I am here, in the very same place. There is the monastery and the
belfry, and the clock strikes the hour. And it's all like a dream, a
fantasy. You close your eyes, and it does not exist. You open them,
and it's there again. Sometimes I go out into the fields at night
and close my eyes, and then it seems to me there is nothing at all
existing. Suddenly the quail begin to call, and a wagon rolls down
the road. Again a dream. For if you stopped up your ears, you wouldn't
hear those sounds. When I die, everything will grow silent, and then
it will be true. Only the dead know the truth, Mr. Savva.

FRIAR _(smiling, cautiously waving his hands at a bird; in a whisper)_
It's time to go to bed, time to go to bed.

SAVVA _(impatiently)_

What dead? Listen, my dear sir. I have a plain, simple, peasant mind,
and I don't understand those subtleties. What dead are you talking
about?

SPERANSKY

About all the dead, every one without exception. That's why the faces
of the dead are so serene. Whatever agonies a man may have suffered
before his death, the moment he dies his face becomes serene. That's
because he has learned the truth. I always come here to attend the
funerals. It's astonishing. There was a woman buried here. She had