"Throw it away! Devil take it! Some German or other has been showing off his cleverness. There's no sense in it." "Wait a minute!" cried Jakov, and looked anxiously round, then at his friend, and said gently: "Perhaps you know your beginning?" "What beginning?" cried Ilya crossly. "Don't shout so! Take the soul. Man is born with a soul, isn't he?" "Well?" "Then he must know where he comes from, and how? The soul is immortal, they say. It was always there; isn't that true? Wait! It isn't so much to know how you were born as how you lived. When did you live? When did you first know that you were alive? You were born living. Well, then, when did you become living. In the womb? Very well. Why don't you remember more--what happened before your birth, and not only what happened after you were five years old? Eh? And, if you have a soul, how did it get inside you? Eh? Tell me." Jakov's eyes shone triumphantly, his face broke into a happy smile, and he cried, with a joy that seemed to Ilya very strange: "You see, there you have your soul!" "Stupid!" said Ilya, and looked at him angrily, "what's that to be glad about?" "I'm not glad. I'm only saying--I'm only saying----" "Well, I tell you, throw the book away! You see quite well it's written against God. It doesn't matter a bit how I was born alive, but how I live. How to live so that everything is clean and pleasant, so that no one hurts me, and I hurt nobody. Find me a book that'll make that plain to me." Jakov sat silent and thoughtful, his head on his breast. His joy vanished when it found no echo. After a time he said: "When I look at you, there's something about you I don't like. I don't understand your thoughts, but I see you've been getting very proud about something or other for some time. You go on as if you were the only righteous man." Ilya laughed aloud. "What are you laughing at? It's true. You judge every one so harshly. You don't love anybody." "There you're right," said Ilya, fiercely. "Whom should I love; and why? What good have men done to me? Every one wants to get his bread by some one else's work, and every one cries out: 'love me, respect me, give me a share of your goods; then perhaps I'll love you!' Every one, every where, thinks of nothing but stuffing himself." "No. I think men don't think only of stuffing themselves," answered Jakov displeased and hurt.