Chapter: 70
In the capital of the Empire, there exists a place referred to as “Beyond the Yellow Wall.”
To put it simply, it was a ghetto.
Those who live in the capital but cannot enjoy the prosperity of the capital—the amputees, the unfortunate born lowly, the sinners unable to find work, the poor who can’t even afford a single meal—are all huddled together there.
These slums existed yet didn’t exist.
The glory of the capital was too bright to acknowledge the presence of slums. Isn’t it odd that the greatest city has “filth” like slums?
So, the citizens of the capital simply call it “beyond the yellow wall” and treat it as if it’s not even there. A shadowy place, more visible because it’s close, yet always present, so no one bothers to examine it closely.
Without a name, we just call it “Beyond the Yellow Wall.”
“Father Paolo, are you heading ‘beyond the wall’ again today?”
“Ah, Brother! You’re doing a great job guarding. I’m on my way to the soup kitchen with food for distribution.”
“Father, you’re the one working hard. I’d hate for those lazy rascals to trouble you… If you don’t mind, can I send one of my soldiers with you?”
“Haha, that’s alright. I can look after myself.”
The folks beyond the wall are the discarded ones, even by the almshouses. More precisely, they’re the ones who can’t benefit from the almshouses due to their religious rules.
Thinking of the saying “He who doesn’t work, doesn’t eat” makes it easy to understand. An almshouse teaches the poor a trade, feeds them while they learn, and connects them with jobs so they can support themselves.
But the folks in the ghetto aren’t working at all.
They’re people who either can’t work or don’t want to; they live here “beyond the wall.”
Those who can’t receive help from the almshouses can only rely on the soup kitchens run by the church and the Empire. Instead of getting rations from the soup kitchens, they don’t dare intrude “inside the walls.”
That’s why the Empire’s “inside the walls” stays clean.
The citizens of the mighty Empire live in an ideal city where “there’s no poverty or crime.” There aren’t even any disabled people or criminals. If what you don’t see doesn’t exist, then the capital of the Empire must be undeniably “ideal.”
The common people of the Empire are busy working in factories, enjoying beer, magazines, and the occasional brawl—all within their simple joys.
The beastmen of the Empire face discrimination in various ways, but within their own community, they support each other and take pride in their wealth.
The nobility of the Empire bicker and brawl in the councils, yet in social circles, they wrap themselves in pretentious airs and archaic manners.
The priests of the Empire help those in need at orphanages and churches, sharing their blessed words.
Each person carries their own sorrows, misfortunes, and hardships.
The Empire, too, was an “ideal” society—even amidst those sorrows.
“Still, when you’re out walking, be careful not to wander too deep into alleys.”
“I’ll stick to the streets I usually walk, so don’t worry too much.”
“Yes. Then, take care.”
“Yes. You too.”
But.
If you shift just a little from that ideal society…
“I’m Priest Paul. I’ve brought food for the soup kitchen.”
“…Please leave it at the door.”
“If I leave it at the door, won’t someone take it?”
“If some foolish kid tries to steal from the soup kitchen, he won’t be able to stay here long anyway. Just leave it.”
“…Okay. Understood.”
There exists a miserable, wretched society where the helpless gaze with bloodshot eyes from the shadows.
Monk Paul never got used to the air here.
Although he’s visited many times before… it still felt chilling. Perhaps it was some kind of religious aversion he felt as a priest—disgust and revulsion.
Drug addicts, vagrants, the helpless, and the faithless.
Such trash were more common here than the litter on the streets.
…
“Have you returned, Father?”
“Yes, Brother. Was there any trouble while I was away?”
“New books have arrived at the priory, and I hear there’s a new one by Homer.”
“Hmm… really?”
In fact, unlike the priests of the Vatican, Monk Paul was not really a fan of Homer.
Of course, he respects him.
How can one not honor a saint who fulfilled the Church’s eternal wish for “universal child welfare” and who was granted the “miracle” of inspiring people to take it upon themselves to help children?
However, as a monk who values poverty and sincerity….
Homer’s “virtue of giving” felt a bit excessive. How could the poor and lazy find salvation if they were guaranteed unconditional aid?
Of course, if he, as a priest, voiced such thoughts, he’d be scorned as no better than stingy scholars and might even face excommunication—
Still.
It was hard to look upon it favorably.
“I suppose this is also a sin of thought…”
So.
You could say Monk Paul had two selves.
One was the priest who reveres “miracle-worker” Homer, and the other was the monk who doesn’t quite like “philanthropist” Homer running a welfare foundation.
Torn between these two selves, Monk Paul brushed his hand across the cover of the book the minister had brought.
“…In this book, I might find the answers.”
In the end, both selves loved Homer, the “writer.”
If Homer is canonized, he’d be the patron saint of literature. Regardless of personal preferences, every single one of Homer’s works is a masterpiece filled with deep philosophy and thought.
Moreover, for a monk always searching for answers in contemplation, literature is quite a nice hobby to fill his time.
Thus, Monk Paul decided to seek a compromise with his torment and give up his frustrations to read a new work by Homer.
[The Brothers Karamazov]
“Wow, this is a hefty book… I won’t have a dull moment for the next few days!”
…
The Brothers Karamazov was a typical… Russian literary novel.
If that doesn’t fully capture the greatness of the great master, let me rephrase it:
The Brothers Karamazov is “Russian literature” itself. It’s one of the idealized goals of the “perfect novel” that many writers aim for, a work that fully embodies human flaws and ideals.
“This one feels a bit… chaotic.”
“Really? In what way?”
“It seems like a novel about sin, yet it’s constantly talking about love… while featuring unforgivable crimes like murder and suicide… it’s still filled with hope. Um, I’m not very articulate, so it’s hard to explain, but… even though everyone’s in extreme situations, it feels surprisingly natural. It’s different from the ‘romantic’ sadness of young Werther or the ‘hardboiled’ tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“Exactly! No matter how extreme the circumstances, it’s just the ordinary, natural ‘life’ of those experiencing it. So, that life becomes even more precious.”
Dostoevsky was sentenced to death and spent time in a labor camp alongside other death row inmates.
Extreme situations, extreme crimes, extreme environments.
In such an atmosphere, where people are driven to grim malice, Dostoevsky gained a deeper understanding of the goodness and ordinariness of his “prisoner” companions.
He realized how good and evil coexist and how the laws of a country often contradict human morals.
And.
Despite all the ugliness of human affairs, he also learned about a love that must endure eternally. The love of God.
The reason Dostoevsky was so captivated by God’s love is rather simple: the Bible was the only book allowed in the camp. It was only natural for him to see his sudden pardon just before execution as a “miracle from God.”
Anyway, for these reasons, The Brothers Karamazov was a quintessential Russian novel and the essence of Russian literature itself.
Dostoevsky’s life was a walking contradiction of Russia.
And Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov contained his very life.
[“I think that the people of the world should love life above all else.”]
[“Not just the meaning of life, but life itself?”]
[“Certainly.”]
…
[“I trust people, just like I trust my brother.”]
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