"To see the Caucasus," Seraphim said in ecstasy, "that means to see the pure countenance of the earth, on which without inconsistency there unite in a smile the delicate purity of the childlike soul and the proud audacity and wisdom of the devil. The Caucasus is the touchstone of man. Weak spirits are ground to dust there and tremble before the power of the earth; but the strong, on the other hand, feel their strength grow and become proud and exalted like the mountain whose diamond-studded summit sends down its rays into the depths of the celestial wilderness. And this summit is the throne of the thunder." Grisha sighed and asked in a low voice: "And who points out the path to the soul? Should one be in the world or go away from it? What should one accept and what reject?" Seraphim smiled distractedly and luminously. "The glory of the sun is neither augmented nor diminished because you do not look at the sky, Grisha. Don't bother about that subject, my dear friend." I understood Seraphim, but not entirely. I asked him, a little hurt: "And as to people--what do you think about them? Why are they here?" He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "People--are like weeds. There are various kinds among them. For those who are blind the sun is black; for those who are not happy with themselves, God is an enemy. Besides, people are young. To call three-year-old Jack, Mr. So-and-so is early a bit and doesn't quite fit." His mouth overflowed with such quotations. They dropped from his lips like leaves from an apple tree, just as with Savelko. If you asked him anything, he immediately overpowered you with his puns, as if he were strewing flowers on a child's grave. His evasions made me angry, but he, the young devil, only laughed. At times I would say to him, irritated: "You are loafing here, you idle dog, eating bread for nothing." "That is the way it is with us," he answered. "He who eats his own bread remains hungry. Look at our peasants. All their life they sow wheat, yet dare not eat. You're quite right. To work is not my specialty. You get sore bones from work, but never rich and healthy; just lie in bed and shirk and you get fat and wealthy. And even you, Matvei, would rather steal than forego a meal." I argued with him, but toward the end I myself began to laugh. He was simple and straightforward, and that attracted me very much. He never made any pretensions, but said simply: "I am nothing but a little insect, and not very harmful at that. I only ask for bread that I be fed." I saw that his whole make-up was very much like Savelko's and I marveled how men could keep their clear spirits and their happy frame of mind in this maelstrom of life. Seraphim, next to Grisha, was like a clear day in spring compared to a day in autumn. Nevertheless, they grew more close to each other than to me. I was a little vexed at this. Soon they both went away together, Grisha having decided to go to Olonetz, and Seraphim said to me: