ich has been written on that subject,
he would very soon throw his pen out of the window."

"I must again differ from you," said Dorfling. "I think it is best,
that we so seldom know all that has been thought and written on a
subject. It is best that we write new books without wearying to read
the millions of others. I grant that most books are only repetitions of
earlier ones. But it is unconscious repetition, and it is exactly that
which gives it a wonderfully new meaning. It proves unity of mind,
identity of science. Thousands of men daily discover gunpowder. Many of
them laugh, because gunpowder was first discovered two hundred years
ago. I do not laugh. I see in it the manifestation of the eternal unity
of phenomenal principle. So many men could not arrive at the same
thought if they were not fragments of a whole; now you know why I have
written a book, and also, why I have not put my individual name on the
title-page."

From the next room they heard a woman laugh in a wild, excited way,
glasses chinked together, and a man's voice was just distinguished in
conversation. Barinskoi pricked up his ears and winked at Paul; the
others paid no attention.

"Do not misunderstand me," said Wilhelm, answering Dorfling's last
remark. "I do not mean to say that your book is superfluous. You had
every right to it, having made it the object of your life."

"Not the object of my life," interrupted Dorfling. "The only object I
have in life is death, which I call deliverance."

"Very good; I will say then, when you conceived it your duty to write
it."

"'Duty' yes, I will allow that word to pass. Let us rather say impulse,
or instinct. If one has a perception one also feels an impulse, which
one calls a feeling of duty to share it with others."

Wilhelm smiled.

"You believe even in perception. That proves above all what you mean by
your duty. I know, to my regret, that I have no perceptions to share
with others, and the duty of my life is only toward my own moral
education and greatest possible perfection."

"That is not enough," Paul broke in, "this self-culture in one's own
study does no one any good. For that reason I do not mind if I appear
unphilosophical. One has duties toward one's fellowmen. One must be
useful to the State, as a good citizen. One must make money, to add to
the national wealth."

"Bravo, Herr Haber," said Mayboom gravely. "You speak like a
town-crier," and after a short pause he added, "That is