On a battlefield in France, two soldiers killed each other with the bayonet. The devil in each escaped with the soul. They were not ordinary men. I saw these two devils, these two “dwellers on the threshold,” these two “desire-elementals,” call them what you will. Do you think they fell upon each other to destroy each other? Not at all. Each fell upon the soul it belonged to. They had no interest in each other; they had nothing to give or to take away from each other, these devils, dwellers, elementals. Do you see what I mean? Your enemy is within you. The one you fight outside is your brother. Love him with brotherly love and your devil will grow weaker as your angel grows stronger. Your angel is descended from the Atma, the Christ, the Krishna _in you_. It is similar to the Atma, the Christ, the Krishna in your brother. The devils are all very individual. The angels are all very much alike, though some are stronger than others and older in experience. Seek the Christ in yourself, that it may arise, with tidings of great joy unto all men. That is what I wish to say to the world on this evening before Easter Day. _April 3._ LETTER XV LISTENING IN BRUSSELS NO, do not expect me to write essays. I am writing letters. Let me be as discursive as I please. But you will see at the end of my labors that the building has a frame, and that all the parts are in place. Having philosophized the last time, I will now tell you a story. When the German army passed through unresisting Brussels (three days, if I remember rightly, it was passing through, a long, moving grey-green river of men, on whose helmetted ripples the sunlight or the lamplight glittered), I stood for an hour unnoticed upon a balcony, reading the thoughts of man after man as he passed before my place. As I have explained to you before, I have no difficulty in reading the thoughts of the Germans; it is only in trying to make them understand me that I often fail. The river of men and the river of thoughts, each man a ripple, each thought a ripple! Here are a few ripples of thought which caught the light of my attention: “What a beautiful city Brussels is!” “My feet are tired. My shoes hurt me.” “That tree yonder is like the one beside the door at home.” “Mother will be making coffee at this hour.” “What a pretty girl--the one with the bread in her basket!” “I wonder if Gretchen will talk much with Hans now I am gone.” “That gate on the left is the one that Marie sent me on a picture postcard last year.” “My feet are tired. My shoes hurt me.” “So this is Brussels! I always wanted to see it.” “My head aches.” “Deutschland über Alles! Deutschland über Alles!” “I wonder if the Lieutenant paid his tailor.” “How warm it is!” “What is father doing now?” “I wish I had a glass of beer!” “I am glad we don’t destroy Brussels!” “What is all this war about, anyway?” “The Fatherland! The Fatherland!”