KOSTILYOFF. Where to?
LUKA. I’ll follow my nose . . .
KOSTILYOFF. Tramping, eh? Don’t like stopping in one place all the time, do you?
LUKA. Even water won’t pass beneath a stone that’s sunk too firmly in the ground, they say . . .
KOSTILYOFF. That’s true for a stone. But man must settle in one place. Men can’t live like cockroaches, crawling about wherever they want. . . . A man must stick to one place—and not wander about aimlessly . . .
LUKA. But suppose his home is wherever he hangs his hat?
KOSTILYOFF. Why, then—he’s a vagabond,—useless . . . a human being must be of some sort of use—he must work . . .
LUKA. That’s what you think, eh?
KOSTILYOFF. Yes—sure . . . just look! What’s a vagabond? A strange fellow . . . unlike all others. If he’s a real pilgrim then he’s some good in the world . . . perhaps he discovered a new truth. Well—but not every truth is worth while. Let him keep it to himself and shut up about it! Or else—let him speak in a way which no one can understand . . . don’t let him interfere . . . don’t let him stir up people without cause! It’s none of his business how other people live! Let him follow his own righteous path . . . in the woods—or in a monastery—away from everybody! He mustn’t interfere—nor condemn other people—but pray—pray for all of us—for all the world’s sins—for mine—for yours—for everybody’s. To pray—that’s why he forsakes the world’s turmoil! That’s so! [Pause] But you—what sort of a pilgrim are you—? An honest person must have a passport . . . all honest people have passports . . . yes . . . !
LUKA. In this world there are people—and also just plain men . . .