Practical Machine Learning for Computer Vision:

End-to-End Machine Learning for Images 1st

Edition Valliappa Lakshmanan pdf download

https://ebookmeta.com/product/practical-machine-learning-for-
computer-vision-end-to-end-machine-learning-for-images-1st-
edition-valliappa-lakshmanan/

Download more ebook from https://ebookmeta.com

Practical Machine Learning
for Computer Vision
End-to-End Machine Learning for Images

Valliappa Lakshmanan, Martin Görner, and

Ryan Gillard
Practical Machine Learning for Computer Vision
by Valliappa Lakshmanan, Martin Görner, and Ryan Gillard
Copyright © 2021 Valliappa Lakshmanan, Martin Görner, and Ryan
Gillard. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North,
Sebastopol, CA 95472.
O’Reilly books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales
promotional use. Online editions are also available for most titles
(http://oreilly.com). For more information, contact our
corporate/institutional sales department: 800-998-9938 or
corporate@oreilly.com.

Acquisition Editor: Rebecca Novack

Development Editor: Amelia Blevins and Shira Evans

Production Editor: Katherine Tozer

Copyeditor: Rachel Head

Proofreader: Piper Editorial Consulting, LLC

Indexer: Ellen Troutman-Zaig

Interior Designer: David Futato

Cover Designer: Karen Montgomery

Illustrator: Robert Romano

July 2021: First Edition

Revision History for the First Edition
2021-07-21: First Release

See http://oreilly.com/catalog/errata.csp?isbn=9781098102364 for

release details.
The O’Reilly logo is a registered trademark of O’Reilly Media, Inc.
Practical Machine Learning for Computer Vision, the cover image,
and related trade dress are trademarks of O’Reilly Media, Inc.
The views expressed in this work are those of the authors, and do
not represent the publisher’s views. While the publisher and the
authors have used good faith efforts to ensure that the information
and instructions contained in this work are accurate, the publisher
and the authors disclaim all responsibility for errors or omissions,
including without limitation responsibility for damages resulting from
the use of or reliance on this work. Use of the information and
instructions contained in this work is at your own risk. If any code
samples or other technology this work contains or describes is
subject to open source licenses or the intellectual property rights of
others, it is your responsibility to ensure that your use thereof
complies with such licenses and/or rights.
978-1-098-10236-4
[LSI]
Preface

Machine learning on images is revolutionizing healthcare,

manufacturing, retail, and many other sectors. Many previously
difficult problems can now be solved by training machine learning
(ML) models to identify objects in images. Our aim in this book is to
provide intuitive explanations of the ML architectures that underpin
this fast-advancing field, and to provide practical code to employ
these ML models to solve problems involving classification,
measurement, detection, segmentation, representation, generation,
counting, and more.
Image classification is the “hello world” of deep learning. Therefore,
this book also provides a practical end-to-end introduction to deep
learning. It can serve as a stepping stone to other deep learning
domains, such as natural language processing.
You will learn how to design ML architectures for computer vision
tasks and carry out model training using popular, well-tested prebuilt
models written in TensorFlow and Keras. You will also learn
techniques to improve accuracy and explainability. Finally, this book
will teach you how to design, implement, and tune end-to-end ML
pipelines for image understanding tasks.
Who Is This Book For?
The primary audience for this book is software developers who want
to do machine learning on images. It is meant for developers who
will use TensorFlow and Keras to solve common computer vision use
cases.
The methods discussed in the book are accompanied by code
samples available at
https://github.com/GoogleCloudPlatform/practical-ml-vision-book.
Most of this book involves open source TensorFlow and Keras and
will work regardless of whether you run the code on premises, in
Google Cloud, or in some other cloud.
Developers who wish to use PyTorch will find the textual
explanations useful, but will probably have to look elsewhere for
practical code snippets. We do welcome contributions of PyTorch
equivalents of our code samples; please make a pull request to our
GitHub repository.

How to Use This Book

We recommend that you read this book in order. Make sure to read,
understand, and run the accompanying notebooks in the book’s
GitHub repository—you can run them in either Google Colab or
Google Cloud’s Vertex Notebooks. We suggest that after reading
each section of the text you try out the code to be sure you fully
understand the concepts and techniques that are introduced. We
strongly recommend completing the notebooks in each chapter
before moving on to the next chapter.
Google Colab is free and will suffice to run most of the notebooks in
this book; Vertex Notebooks is more powerful and so will help you
run through the notebooks faster. The more complex models and
larger datasets of Chapters 3, 4, 11, and 12 will benefit from the use
of Google Cloud TPUs. Because all the code in this book is written
using open source APIs, the code should also work in any other
Jupyter environment where you have the latest version of
TensorFlow installed, whether it’s your laptop, or Amazon Web
Services (AWS) Sagemaker, or Azure ML. However, we haven’t tested
it in those environments. If you find that you have to make any
changes to get the code to work in some other environment, please
do submit a pull request in order to help other readers.
The code in this book is made available to you under an Apache
open source license. It is meant primarily as a teaching tool, but can
serve as a starting point for your production models.

Organization of the Book

The remainder of this book is organized as follows:

In Chapter 2, we introduce machine learning, how to read in

images, and how to train, evaluate, and predict with ML
models. The models we cover in Chapter 2 are generic and
thus don’t work particularly well on images, but the concepts
introduced in this chapter are essential for the rest of the
book.
In Chapter 3, we introduce some machine learning models
that do work well on images. We start with transfer learning
and fine-tuning, and then introduce a variety of
convolutional models that increase in sophistication as we
get further and further into the chapter.
In Chapter 4, we explore the use of computer vision to
address object detection and image segmentation problems.
Any of the backbone architectures introduced in Chapter 3
can be used in Chapter 4.
 In Chapters 5 through 9, we delve into the details of
creating production computer vision machine learning
models. We go though the standard ML pipeline stage by
stage, looking at dataset creation in Chapter 5,
preprocessing in Chapter 6, training in Chapter 7, monitoring
and evaluation in Chapter 8, and deployment in Chapter 9.
The methods discussed in these chapters are applicable to
any of the model architectures and use cases discussed in
Chapters 3 and 4.
In Chapter 10, we address three up-and-coming trends. We
connect all the steps covered in Chapters 5 through 9 into an
end-to-end, containerized ML pipeline, then we try out a no-
code image classification system that can serve for quick
prototyping and as a benchmark for more custom models.
Finally, we show how to build explainability into image model
predictions.
In Chapters 11 and 12, we demonstrate how the basic
building blocks of computer vision are used to solve a variety
of problems, including image generation, counting, pose
detection, and more. Implementations are provided for these
advanced use cases as well.

Conventions Used in This Book

The following typographical conventions are used in this book:
Italic
Indicates new terms, URLs, email addresses, filenames, and file
extensions.

Constant width
Used for program listings, as well as within paragraphs to refer to
program elements such as variable or function names, data
 types, environment variables, statements, and keywords.
Constant width bold
Used for emphasis in code snippets, and to show command or
other text that should be typed literally by the user.

Constant width italic

Shows text that should be replaced with user-supplied values or
by values determined by context.

TIP
This element signifies a tip or suggestion.

NOTE
This element signifies a general note.

WARNING
This element signifies a warning.

Using Code Examples

Supplemental material (code examples, exercises, etc.) is available
for download at https://github.com/GoogleCloudPlatform/practical-
ml-vision-book.
If you have a technical question or a problem using the code
examples, please send email to bookquestions@oreilly.com.
This book is here to help you get your job done. In general, if
example code is offered with this book, you may use it in your
programs and documentation. You do not need to contact us for
permission unless you’re reproducing a significant portion of the
code. For example, writing a program that uses several chunks of
code from this book does not require permission. Selling or
distributing a CD-ROM of examples from O’Reilly books does require
permission. Answering a question by citing this book and quoting
example code does not require permission. Incorporating a
significant amount of example code from this book into your
product’s documentation does require permission.
We appreciate, but do not require, attribution. An attribution usually
includes the title, author, publisher, and ISBN. For example:
“Practical Machine Learning for Computer Vision, by Valliappa
Lakshmanan, Martin Görner, and Ryan Gillard. Copyright 2021
Valliappa Lakshmanan, Martin Görner, and Ryan Gillard, 978-1-098-
10236-4.”
If you feel your use of code examples falls outside fair use or the
permission given above, feel free to contact us at
permissions@oreilly.com.

O’Reilly Online Learning

For more than 40 years, O’Reilly Media has provided technology and
business training, knowledge, and insight to help companies
succeed.
Our unique network of experts and innovators share their knowledge
and expertise through books, articles, and our online learning
platform. O’Reilly’s online learning platform gives you on-demand
access to live training courses, in-depth learning paths, interactive
coding environments, and a vast collection of text and video from
O’Reilly and 200+ other publishers. For more information, visit
http://oreilly.com.
How to Contact Us
Please address comments and questions concerning this book to the
publisher:

O’Reilly Media, Inc.

1005 Gravenstein Highway North

Sebastopol, CA 95472

800-998-9938 (in the United States or Canada)

707-829-0515 (international or local)

707-829-0104 (fax)

We have a web page for this book, where we list errata, examples,
and any additional information. You can access this page at
https://oreil.ly/practical-ml-4-computer-vision.
Email bookquestions@oreilly.com to comment or ask technical
questions about this book.
For news and information about our books and courses, visit
http://www.oreilly.com.
Find us on Facebook: http://facebook.com/oreilly
Follow us on Twitter: http://twitter.com/oreillymedia
Watch us on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/oreillymedia
Acknowledgments
We are very thankful to Salem Haykal and Filipe Gracio, our
superstar reviewers who reviewed every chapter in this book—their
eye for detail can be felt throughout. Thanks also to the O’Reilly
technical reviewers Vishwesh Ravi Shrimali and Sanyam Singhal for
suggesting the reordering that improved the organization of the
book. In addition, we would like to thank Rajesh Thallam, Mike
Bernico, Elvin Zhu, Yuefeng Zhou, Sara Robinson, Jiri Simsa,
Sandeep Gupta, and Michael Munn for reviewing chapters that
aligned with their areas of expertise. Any remaining errors are ours,
of course.
We would like to thank Google Cloud users, our teammates, and
many of the cohorts of the Google Cloud Advanced Solutions Lab for
pushing us to make our explanations crisper. Thanks also to the
TensorFlow, Keras, and Google Cloud AI engineering teams for being
thoughtful partners.
Our O’Reilly team provided critical feedback and suggestions.
Rebecca Novack suggested updating an earlier O’Reilly book on this
topic, and was open to our recommendation that a practical
computer vision book would now involve machine learning and so
the book would require a complete rewrite. Amelia Blevins, our
editor at O’Reilly, kept us chugging along. Rachel Head, our
copyeditor, and Katherine Tozer, our production editor, greatly
improved the clarity of our writing.
Finally, and most importantly, thanks also to our respective families
for their support.

Valliappa Lakshmanan, Bellevue, WA

Martin Görner, Bellevue, WA
Ryan Gillard, Pleasanton, CA
Chapter 1. Machine Learning
for Computer Vision

Imagine that you are sitting in a garden, observing what’s going on

around you. There are two systems in your body that are at work:
your eyes are acting as sensors and creating representations of the
scene, while your cognitive system is making sense of what your
eyes are seeing. Thus, you might see a bird, a worm, and some
movement and realize that the bird has walked down the path and is
eating a worm (see Figure 1-1).
 Figure 1-1. Human vision involves our sensory and cognitive systems.

Computer vision tries to imitate human vision capabilities by

providing methods for image formation (mimicking the human
sensory system) and machine perception (mimicking the human
cognitive system). Imitation of the human sensory system is focused
on hardware and on the design and placement of sensors such as
cameras. The modern approach to imitating the human cognitive
system consists of machine learning (ML) methods that are used to
extract information from images. It is these methods that we cover
in this book.
When we see a photograph of a daisy, for example, our human
cognitive system is able to recognize it as a daisy (see Figure 1-2).
The machine learning models for image classification that we build in
this book imitate this human capability by starting from photographs
of daisies.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
Later this single face disappeared from my memory, and only long
after I understood that it was this centralization of the will of the
people into one thought which arouses the anxiety of the guardians
of the law and makes them fear. Even if this thought is not yet born
or developed, still the spirit is enriched by the doubt in the
indestructibility of hostile laws—whence the worry of the guardians
of the law. They see this firm-willed, questioning look; they see the
people wander upon the earth, quiet and silent, and they feel the
unseeing rays of their thoughts, and they understand that the secret
fire of their dumb councils can turn their laws into ashes, and that
other laws are possible.
They have a fine ear for this, like thieves who hear the careful
movements of the awakened owner whose house they have come to
rob in the night, and they know that when the people shall open its
eyes life will change and its face turn toward heaven.
The people have no God so long as they live divided and hostile to
one another. And of what good is a living God to a satisfied man? He
seeks only a justification for his full stomach amid the general
starvation around him.
His lone life is pitiful and grotesque, surrounded on all sides by
horror.

CHAPTER XV

One time I noticed that a little, old, gray man, clean like a scraped
bone, watched me eagerly. His eyes were set deep in his head, as if
they had been frightened back. He was shriveled up, but strong like
a buck and quick on his feet. He used to sidle up toward people and
was always in the center of a crowd. He marched and scrutinized
each face as if looking for an acquaintance. He seemed to want
something from me but did not dare ask for it, and I pitied his
timidity.
I was going to Lubin, to the sitting Aphanasia, and he followed me
silently, leaning on his white staff. I asked him, "Have you been
wandering long, Uncle?"
He grew happy, shook his head and tittered.
"Nine years already, my boy, nine years."
"You must be carrying a great sin," I said.
"Where is there measure or weight for sin? Only God knows my
sins."
"Nevertheless, what have you done?" I laughed and he smiled.
"Nothing," he answered. "I have lived on the whole as every one
else. I am a Siberian from beyond Tobolsk. I was a driver in my
youth and later had an inn with a saloon and also kept a store."
"You've robbed some one." The old man started.
"Why, what is the matter with you? God save me from it."
"I was only joking," I said. "I saw a little man trotting along, and I
thought to myself, how could such a little man commit a big sin."
The old man stopped and shook his head.
"All souls have the same size," he answered, "and they are all
equally acceptable to the devil. But tell me, what do you think about
death? You have spoken in the shelters about life, always about life.
But where is death?"
"Here somewhere," I answered.
He threatened me with his finger jokingly and said: "It is here.
That's it, it is always here."
"Well, what if it is?" I asked.
"It is here," and rising on his tiptoes he whispered into my ear,
"Death is all powerful. Even Christ could not escape it. 'Let this cup
pass from me,' He said, but the Heavenly Father did not let it pass.
He could not. There is a saying, 'Death appears and the sun
disappears,' you see."
The little, old man began to talk like a stream rushing down a
mountain. "Death circles around us all and man walks along as if he
were crossing a precipice on a tightrope; one push with Death's wing
and man is no more. O Lord, by Thy force Thou hast strengthened
the world, but how has He strengthened it if death is placed above
everything? You can be bold in thought, steeped in learning, but you
will only live as long as death permits you." He smiled, but his eyes
were full of tears.
What could I say to him? I had never thought of death and now I
had no time.
He skipped along beside me, looking into my face with his faded
eyes, his beard trembling and his left hand hid in the bosom of his
cloak. He kept looking about him as if he expected death to jump
out from some bush and catch him by the hand and throw him into
hell.
I looked at him astonished.
Around us all life surged. The earth was covered with the emerald
foam of the grass, unseen larks sang, and everything grew toward
the sun in many colored brilliant shouts of gladness.
"How did you get such thoughts?" I asked my traveling companion.
"Have you been very sick?"
"No," he said. "Up to my forty-seventh year I lived peacefully and
contentedly, and then my wife died and my daughter-in-law hanged
herself. Both were lost in the same year."
"Maybe you yourself drove her to the noose."
"No, it was from her own depravity that she killed herself. I did not
bother her, though even if I had lived with her, it would have been
forgiven in a widower. I am no priest, and she was no stranger to
me. Even when my wife was alive I lived like a widower. She was
sick for four years and did not once come down from the stove.
When she died I crossed myself. 'Thank God,' I said, 'I am free.' I
wanted to marry again when suddenly the thought occurred to me I
live well, I am contented, but yet I have to die. Why should it be so?
I was overcome. I gave everything I had to my son and began my
wandering. I thought that on the road I would not notice that I was
going to the grave, for everything about me was gay and shining
and seemed to lead away from the graveyard. However, it is all the
same."
"Your heart is heavy, Uncle?" I asked him.
"Oh, my son, it is so terrible I cannot describe it. In the daytime I try
to be among people that I may hide behind them. Death is blind,
perhaps it might not see me or make a mistake and take some one
else, but at night, when each one remains unprotected, it is terrible
to lie awake without sleep. It seems to me then that a black hand
sweeps over me, feeling my breast and searching, 'Are you here? 'It
plays with my heart like a cat with a mouse and my heart becomes
frightened and beats. I get up and look about me. There are people
lying down, but who knows whether they will arise? It happens that
death takes away in crowds. In our village it took a whole family, a
husband, a wife and two daughters who died of coal smoke in the
bath house."
His mouth twitched in a vain effort to smile, but tears flowed from
his eyes.
"If one would only die within a little hour, or in sleep, but first there
comes sickness to eat one away little by little."
He frowned and his face contracted and looked like mildew. He
walked quickly, almost skipping, but the light went out of his eyes,
and he kept muttering in a low voice, neither to me nor to himself:
"Oh, Lord, let me be a mosquito, only to live on the earth! Do not kill
me, Lord; let me be a bug or even a little spider!"
"How pitiable!" I thought.
At the station, among people, he seemed to revive again, and he
talked about his mistress, Death, but with courage. He preached to
the people. "You will die," he said; "You will be destroyed on an
unknown day and in an unknown hour. Perhaps three versts from
here the lightning will strike you down."
He made some sad and others angry, and they quarreled with him.
One young woman called out: "You have nothing the matter with
you, and yet death bothers you."
She said it with such anger that I noticed her, and even the old man
stopped his eulogy on death.
All the way to Lubin he comforted me, until he bored me to death. I
have seen many such people who run away from death and foolishly
play hide-and-seek with it. Even among the young there are some
struck by fear, and they are worse than the old. They are all
Godless; their souls are black within, like the pipe of a stove, and
fear whistles through them even in the fairest weather. Their
thoughts are like old pilgrims who patter on the earth, walking
without knowing whither and blindly trampling under foot the living
things in their path. They have the name of God on their lips, but
they love no one and have no desire for anything. They are occupied
with only one thing: To pass on their fears to others, so that people
will take them up, the beggars, and comfort them.
They do not go to people to get honey, but that they may pour into
another soul the deadly poison of their putrid selves. They love
themselves and are without shame in their poverty, and resemble
crippled beggars who sit on the road on the way to church and
disclose their wounds and their sores and their deformities to
people, that they may awaken pity and receive a copper.
They wander, sowing everywhere the gloomy seeds of unrest, and
groan aloud, with the desire to hear their groans reecho. But around
them surges a mighty wave—the wave of humble seekers for God
and human suffering surrounds them many colored. For instance,
like that of the young woman, the little Russian, who had talked up
to the old man. She walked silent, her lips compressed, her face
sunburnt and angry, and her eyes burning with a keen fire.. If
spoken to she answered sharply, as if she wanted to stick you with a
knife.
"Rather than getting angry," I said to her, "you had better tell me
your trouble. You might feel better afterward."
"What do you want of me?"
"I don't want anything; don't be afraid."
"I am not afraid; but you are disgusting to me." "Why am I
disgusting?"
"Stop insisting or I will call the people." And so she struck out at
every one—old and young, and women, too.
"I do not need you," I answered. "I need your pain, for I want to
know why people suffer."
She looked at me sideways and answered, "Go to others. They are
all in need, the devil take them." "Why curse them?"
"Because I want to."
She seemed to me like one possessed.
"For whom are you making this pilgrimage?" I asked.
A smile spread over her face. She slackened her pace and she
talked, though not to me:
"Last spring my husband went down the Dneiper to float lumber, and
he never came back. Perhaps he was drowned, or perhaps he found
another wife—who knows? My father-in-law and mother-in-law are
very poor and very bad. I have two children-a boy and a girl—and
how was I to feed them? I was ready to work—to break myself in
two working—? but there was no work. And what can a woman
earn? My father-in-law scolded. 'You and your children are a
millstone around our necks, with your eating and drinking.' My
mother-in-law nagged, 'You are young yet; go to the monastery; the
monks desire women, and you can earn much money.' I could not
stand the hunger of the children, and so I went. Should I have
drowned them? I went."
She talked as in her sleep, through her teeth and indistinctly, and
her eyes cried out with the pain of motherhood.
"My son is already in his fourth year; his name is Ossip and my
daughter's name is Ganka. I beat them when they asked for bread; I
beat them. I have wandered a whole month and I have earned four
rubles. The monks are miserly. I would have earned more at honest
labor. Oh, those devils! What waters can wash me now?"
I felt I ought to say something to her, so I said: "On account of your
children, God will forgive you."
Here she cried out at me. "What is that to me? I'm not guilty before
God! If He doesn't forgive me, He doesn't have to, and if He forgives
me, I myself cannot forget it. It cannot be worse in hell. There the
children will not be with me."
I excited her in vain, I said to myself. But already she could not
restrain herself.
"There is no God for the poor. When we were in Zeleniklin on the
banks of the Amur, how we celebrated mass and prayed and wept
for aid! But did He aid us? We suffered there for three years, and
those who did not die from fever returned paupers. My father died
there, my mother had her leg broken by a wheel and both my
brothers were lost in Siberia."
Her face became like stone. Although her features were heavy, she
had a serious beauty about her and her eyes were dark and her hair
thick. All night up to early morning I spoke with her sitting on the
edge of the wood behind the box of the railroad watchman. I saw
that her heart was all burned out, that she was no longer capable of
weeping, and only when she spoke of her childhood did she smile
twice, involuntarily, and her eyes became softer.
I thought to myself as she spoke, "She's ready to kill. She will
murder some one yet or she will become the loosest of the loose.
There is no outlet for her."
"I do not see God, and I do not love people," she said. "What kind of
people are they if they cannot aid one another. Such people! Before
the strong they are lambs and before the weak—wolves, but even
the wolves live in packs but people live each one for himself and an
enemy to his neighbor. I have seen and see much, and may they all
go to ruin! To bear children and not to be able to bring them up! Is
that right? I beat mine when they asked for bread; I beat them!"
In the morning she arose to sell her body to the monks, and going
away she said to me spitefully, "What is the matter with you? We
slept near each other and you are stronger than I am, and yet you
did not take advantage of the bargain."
I felt as if she had slapped my face.
"You do wrong in insulting me," I answered.
She lowered her eyes and then said, "I feel like insulting every one,
even those who are not guilty. You are young and you are worn out
and your temples are gray. I know that you, too, suffer, but as for
me, it is all the same, I pity no one. Good-by."
And she went away.

CHAPTER XVI

In the six years of my wandering I have seen many people made

bad by sorrow. An unquenchable hatred for every one burned within
them, and they were blind to everything but evil. They saw evil and
bathed in it as in a hot bath, and they drank gall like a drunkard
wine, and laughed and triumphed.
"Ours is the right," they cried. "Evil and unhappiness are
everywhere; there is no place to escape."
They fell into mad despair and, inflamed by it, led depraved lives
and soiled the earth in every way, as if to revenge themselves on her
that she gave them birth. They crawled without strength on the
paths of the earth, and remained slaves of their own weakness to
the very day of their death. They elevated sorrow to godhood and
bowed before it, and desired to see nothing but their own sores and
hear nothing but the outcries of their own despair.
They were to be pitied, for they were as though mad; but how
repulsive to the soul they were, with their readiness to spit their gall
into every face and pollute the sun itself with their spittle if they
could.
There were others, who were crushed by sorrow and frightened by
it, who remained silent and tried to hide their small and slave-like
lives, but who did not succeed and only served as clay in the hands
of the strong, to plaster up the chinks in the walls of their own
fortress.
Many faces and expressions have become engraved on my mind.
Bitter tears were shed before me, and more than once I was
deafened by the terrible laughter of despair.
I have tasted of all the poisons and drunk of a hundred rivers, and
many times I myself wept the bitter tears of impotence. Life seemed
to me a terrible delirium. It was a whirlwind of frightened words and
warm rain of tears; it was a ceaseless cry of despair, an agonized
convulsion of the whole earth suffering with an upward struggle,
unattainable to my mind and to my heart.
My soul groaned, "No; that is not the right."
The streams of sorrow flowed turbidly over the whole earth, and
with unspeakable horror I saw that there was no room for God in
this chaos which separated man from man. There was no room to
manifest His strength, no spot to place His foot. Eaten up by the
vipers of sorrow and fear, by malice and despair, by greed and
shamelessness, all life was falling into ruin and man was being
destroyed by discord and weakening isolation.
I questioned: "Art Thou not truly, O Lord, but a dream of the soul of
man, a hope created by despair in an hour of dark impotence?"
I saw that each one had his own God, and that his God was neither
more noble nor more beautiful than His worshipers. This revelation
crushed me. It was not God that man sought, but the forgetfulness
of sorrow. Misfortune torments man and drives him in all directions.
He escapes from himself; he wishes to avoid action; he is afraid to
work in harmony with life, and he seeks a quiet corner where he can
hide himself.
I did not find in man the holy feeling of seeking God nor a striving to
rejoice in the Lord. I saw nothing but fear of life, a desire to
overcome sorrow. My conscience cried out: "No; that is not the
right!"
It happened more than once that I met a man who seemed deep in
serious thought and had a good, clean light in his eyes. If I met him
once or twice, he was the same; but at the third or fourth meeting I
would see that he was bad or drunk, and that he was no longer
modest, but shameless, vulgar and blasphemed God, and I could not
understand why the man was spoiled or what had broken him. All
seemed blind to me, and to fall easily by the way-side.
I seldom heard an exalted word. Too frequently men spoke strange
words out of habit, not understanding the benefit nor the harm
which was locked up in their thoughts. They gathered together the
speeches of the pious monks or the prophecies of the hermits and
the anchorites, and divided them among each other, like children
playing with broken pieces of china. In fact, I did not see the man,
but fragments of broken lives, dirty human dust, which swept over
the earth and was blown by various winds onto the steps of
churches.
The people circled in vast numbers around the relics of the saints or
the miracle-making ikons, or bathed in the holy streams, and sought
only self-forgetfulness. The church processions were painful to me.
Even as a child the miraculous ikons had lost their significance for
me, and my life in the monastery had destroyed any vestige of
respect that was left. At times I felt that man was a gigantic worm,
crawling in the dust of the roads, and that men urged each other on
by a force which I could not see, calling to each other, "Forward!
Hurry!"
And above them, forcing their heads to the ground, floated the ikon
like a yellow bird, and it seemed to me that its weight was far too
heavy for them.
Those possessed fell in heaps in the dust and mud under the feet of
the crowd, and they struggled like fish in the water, and their wild
cries were heard. But the crowds passed over these palpitating
bodies, stamped them and kicked them under foot, and cried out to
the image of the Virgin, "Rejoice, Thou queen of heaven!"
Their faces were distorted and wild with straining, damp with sweat
and black with dirt; and this whole procession of man, singing a
joyless song with weary voices and marching with hollow steps,
insulted the earth and darkened the heavens.
The beggars sat or reclined on the sides of the road, under the trees
and stretched themselves out like two gay ribbons—the sick, the
crippled, the wounded, the armless, the legless and the blind. Their
worn bodies crept over the earth, their mutilated arms and legs
trembled in the air and pushed themselves before people to excite
their pity. The beggars moaned and wailed, their wounds burned in
the sun, while they asked and begged a kopeck for themselves, in
the name of God. Many of them were eyeless, while in others the
eyes burned like coals and pain gnawed the flesh without respite,
and they resembled some horrible growth.
I saw man persecuted. The force which drove him into the dust and
the dirt seemed hostile to me. Whither did it drive them? No; that is
not the right!
Once I was in the exquisite city of Kiev, and I was struck by the
beauty and the grandeur of this ancient nest of the Russians. There
I had an interview with a monk who was supposed to be very wise. I
said to him:
"I cannot understand the laws upon which the life of a man is
based."
"Who are you?" he asked me.
"A peasant."
"Can you read and write?"
"A little."
"Reading and writing is not for such as you," he said sternly.
I saw in truth that he was a seer.
"Are you a Stundist?" he asked me.
"No.
"A-ha! Then you are a Dukhobor?"
"Why?"
"I gather it from your words."
His face was pink like flesh and his eyes were small.
"If you seek God," he said to me, "then it is for but one reason—to
abase Him." He threatened me with his finger. "I know your kind.
You will not read the Credo a hundred times. Well, read it, and all
your foolishness will vanish like smoke. I would send all you heretics
to Abyssinia, to the Ethiopians in Africa. There you would perish
alive from the heat."
"Were you ever in Abyssinia?" I asked him.
"Yes," he answered.
"And you didn't perish?"
The monk became enraged.
Another time, near the Dneiper, I met a man. He sat on the banks
opposite Lafra and he threw stones into the water. He was about
fifty, bald, bearded, his face covered with wrinkles, and his head
large. At that time I could tell by the eyes if a man was in earnest or
not, and I walked up to him and sat down at his side. It was toward
evening. The turbid Dneiper rolled its waters hurriedly. Behind it rose
the mountains, gray with temples, where the proud golden heads of
the churches shimmered in the sun, the crosses glistened and the
windows sparkled like precious gems. It appeared that the earth
opened its lap and showed her treasure to the sun in proud bounty.
The man next to me said in a low voice, and sorrowfully:
"They should cover Lafra with glass and drive all the monks away
from it and permit no one to enter, for there is no man worthy to
walk amid such beauty."
It was like a fairy tale told by some wise, great man, which came
true there upon the banks of the river, where the waves of the
Dneiper, rushing down from afar, splashed up against the Lafra with
joy at the sight of it. But its surprised surging could not drown the
quiet voice of man. With what force it commenced, with what
strength it was built up! Like a faint dream, I remembered Prince
Vladimir, and the Church fathers, Anthony and Theodosia, and all the
Russian heroes; and I was filled with regret.
The innumerable chimes on the other side of the bank rang out
loudly and joyfully, but the sad thoughts about life fell more
distinctly on my ears. We do not remember our birth. I came to seek
the true faith, and now I found myself wondering, "Where is man?"
I could not see man. I saw only Cossacks, peasants, officials, priests,
merchants. I could find no one who was not tied up with some daily
and ordinary affair. Each one served some one, each one was under
some one's orders. Above the official was another official, and so
they rose, till they vanished from the eyes in an unattainable height.
And there God was hidden!
Night came on. The water in the river became bluer and the crosses
on the churches lost their rays. The man still threw stones in the
water, but I could no longer see the ripples which they made.
"Three years ago," he said, "we had a riot in Maikop on account of a
pestilence among the cattle. The dragoons were called out to fight
us, and peasants killed peasants. And all because of cattle. Many
were killed. I thought to myself then: 'What is this faith of the
Russians, if we are ready to kill each other on account of a few
oxen, when God said to us, "Thou shalt not kill."'"
The Lafra disappeared in the darkness, and like a vision reentered
the mountain. The Cossack searched for stones in the sand around
him, found them and threw them into the river, and the water
splashed loudly.
"Such is man," the Cossack said, lowering his head. "The laws of
God are like spiritual milk, but they come down to us skimmed. It is
written, 'With a pure heart you will see God.' But how can your heart
be pure if you do not live according to your own will? Without one's
freedom there is no true faith, but only a fictitious one."
He arose, shook himself and looked about him. He was a square-
built fellow.
"We are not free enough before God; that is what I think."
He took his cap and went away, and I remained alone, as if glued to
the earth. I wished to grasp the meaning of the Cossack's words,
but I could not. Still, I felt that they were right.
The warm southern night caressed me, and I thought to myself:
"Is it possible that only in suffering is the human soul beautiful?
Where is the pivot around which this human whirlwind moves? What
is the meaning of this vanity?"
In winter I always went south, where it was warmer; but if the snow
and the cold caught me in the north, then I always entered a
monastery. At first the monks did not receive me in a friendly way,
but when I showed them how I worked they accepted me readily.
They liked to see a man work well and not take any money.
My feet rested, while my arms and my head worked. I remembered
all that I saw during the summer, and I desired to draw out of it
some clean food for my soul. I weighed, I extracted, I wanted to
understand the reasons for things, and at times I became so
confused that I could have wept.
I felt overfed with the groans and the sorrows of the earth, and the
boldness of my soul vanished and I became morose, silent, and an
anger arose in me against everything.
From time to time dark despair took hold of me, and for weeks I
lived as if in a dream or blind. I desired nothing and saw nothing.
I began to wonder if I should not stop this wandering and live as
every one else, and stop puzzling over my riddles, and subject
myself humbly to conditions of things which were not of my making.
My days were as dark as the night, and I stood alone on the earth,
like the moon in heaven, except that I gave no light. I could stand
apart from myself and watch myself. I saw myself on the cross-ways,
a healthy young fellow, who was a stranger to every one, and whom
nothing pleased, and who believed in no one. Why did he live? Why
was he apart from the world?
My soul became chilled.

CHAPTER XVII

I also went to nunneries for a week or two, and in one of them, on

the Volga, I hurt my foot with an ax one day while chopping wood.
Mother Theoktista, a good little old woman, nursed me.
The monastery was not large, but rich, and the sisters all had a
prosperous and dignified appearance. They irritated me, with their
sweetness and their honied smiles and their fat crops.
Once, as I stood at vespers, I heard one of the women in the choir
sing divinely. She was a tall young girl, with a flushed face, black
eyes, stern looking, her lips red, and her voice was sure and full. She
sang as if she were questioning something, and angry tears mingled
with her voice.
My foot became better and, as I was already able to work, I was
preparing to leave the place. While I was shoveling the snow from
the road one day I saw the girl coming. She walked quietly, but
stiffly. In her right hand, which was pressed against her breast, she
carried a rosary; her left hung by her side like a whip. Her lips were
compressed, she frowned and her face was pale. I bowed to her, but
she threw her head backward and looked at me as if I had done her
harm at some time. Her manner enraged me. Moreover, I could not
bear the sight of this young nun.
"Well, my girl," I said, "it is not easy to live." She started and
stopped.
"What did you say?" she asked.
"It is hard to master one's self," I said.
"Oh, the devil!" she said suddenly in a low voice, but with great
anger. And with that her black figure disappeared quickly, like a
cloud on a windy day.
I cannot explain why I said that to her. At that time many such
thoughts jumped into my head and flew out like sparks into any
one's eyes. It seemed to me that all people were liars and
hypocrites.
Three days later I saw her again on another road. She angered me
still more. Why did she cover herself all in black? From what was she
hiding? When she passed me I said to her:
"Do you wish to escape from here?"
The girl trembled, threw back her head and remained standing,
straight as an arrow. I thought she would cry out, but she passed
me, and then I heard her answer distinctly:
"I will tell you to-night."
I was terrified, but I thought perhaps I had not heard correctly. Still,
though she had spoken low, her words came as clearly to me as
from a bell. At first they amused me; then I became confused, and
later I calmed myself, thinking that perhaps the bold hussy was
joking with me.
When I had hurt my foot, they had brought me into the infirmary
and I occupied a little room under the staircase, and that room I
occupied all the time I stayed at the monastery. That night as I lay
in my cot I thought it was time I stopped my wandering life, and
that I ought to go to some city and there work in a bakery. I did not
wish to think about the girl.
Suddenly some one knocked very low. I jumped up, opened the
door, and an old woman bowed and said:
"Follow me, if you please."
I understood where, but I asked nothing and went, threatening her
inwardly.
"Is that the way it is, my dear? You will see how I will surprise your
soul."
We crossed corridors and came to the place. The old woman opened
a door and pushed me forward, whispering, "I will come to take you
back."
A match flared up for a moment and in the darkness a familiar face
lit up, and I heard her voice say:
"Lock the door."
I locked it.
I felt along the wall till I reached the stove, leaned up against it and
asked:
"Will there be no light?"
The girl gave a little laugh. "What kind of a light?" she asked.
"Oh, you wanton!" I thought to myself, but remained silent.
I could hardly make out the girl. She was in the dark, like a black
cloud in a stormy sky.
"Why don't you speak?" she asked. Her voice was masterful.
She must be rich, I thought, and I collected myself and said:
"It is for you to speak."
"Were you serious when you asked me about my running away from
here?"
I stopped to think how I could best insult her, but then, like a
coward, I answered quietly:
"No. It was only to test your piety."
Again she lit a match. Her face stood out clearly and her black eyes
gazed boldly. It was unpleasant for me.
I got used to the darkness and saw that she stood, tall and black, in
the middle of the room, and her bearing was strangely straight.
"You need not test my piety," she whispered hotly. "I did not call you
here for that, and if you do not understand, go away from here."
Her breast heaved and there was something serious in her voice—
nothing loose.
In the wall opposite me was a window, and it looked like a path
which had been cut out of the darkness into the night. The sight of it
was disagreeable to me.
I felt uncomfortable, for I understood that I had made a mistake,
and it became more and more painful to me, so that my limbs
trembled.
She continued talking.
"I have nowhere to run away to. My uncle drove me here by force,
but I can live here no longer. I shall hang myself."
Then she became silent, as if lost in an abyss.
I lost myself entirely, but she moved nearer to me and her breath
came with difficulty.
"What do you wish?" I asked her.
She came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder. It trembled,
and I, too, shook all over. My knees became weak and the darkness
entered my throat and stifled me.
"Perhaps she is possessed," I thought to myself.
But she began to sob as she spoke, and her breath came hot on my
face.
"I gave birth to a son, and they took him away from me and drove
me here, where I cannot live. They tell me that my child is dead. My
uncle and aunt say it, my guardians. Perhaps they have killed him.
Perhaps they abandoned him. What can one know, my dear friend? I
have still two years to be in their power before I reach my majority,
but I cannot remain here."
The words came from her inmost heart, and I felt guilty before her. I
was sorry for her, and also a little afraid. She seemed half insane. I
did not know whether to believe her or not.
But she continued her whispering, which was broken by sobs:
"I want a child. As soon as I am with child, they will drive me away
from here. I need a child, since the first one died. I want to give
birth to another, and this time I will not let them take it away from
me, nor let them rob my soul. I beg pity and help from you. You,
who are good, aid me with your strength, help me get back that
which was taken from me. Believe me, in Christ's name, I am a
mother, not a loose woman. I do not want to sin, but I want a child.
It is not pleasure I seek, but motherhood."
I was in a dream. I believed her. It was impossible not to believe
when a woman stood on her rights and called a stranger to her, and
said openly to him:
"They have forbidden me to create man. Help me."
I thought of my mother, whom I had never known. Perhaps it was in
this same way that she threw her strength into the power of my
father. I embraced her and said:
"Pardon me. I have judged you wrongly. Forgive me in the name of
the Mother of God."
While lost in self-forgetfulness in accomplishing the holy sacrament
of marriage, an impious doubt arose in my mind.
"Perhaps she is deceiving me, and I am not the first man with whom
she is playing this game."
Then she told me her life story. Her father was a locksmith and her
uncle was a machinist's apprentice. Her uncle drank and was cruel.
In summer he worked on steamboats, in 'winter on docks. She had
nowhere to live, for her father and mother were drowned while there
was a fire on a boat, and she became an orphan at thirteen. At
seventeen she became the mother of a child by a young nobleman.
Her low voice flowed through my soul, her warm arms were around
my neck, and her head rested on my shoulder. I listened to her, but
the serpent of doubt gnawed at my heart.
We have forgotten that it was a woman who gave birth to Christ and
followed him humbly to Golgotha. We have forgotten that it was
woman who was mother of all the saints and of all the heroes of the
past. We have forgotten the value of woman in our vile lust and
have degraded her for our pleasure and turned her into a household
drudge. And that is why she no longer gives birth to saviors of life,
but only bare, mutilated children, the fruit of our own weakness.
She told me about the monastery. She was not the only one who
was sent in there by force. Suddenly she said to me, caressingly:
"I have a good friend here, a pure girl, from a rich family. And, oh, if
you would only know how difficult it is for her to live here. Perhaps
you could make her with child also. Then they would drive her forth
from here and she would go to her godmother."
"Good God!" I thought, "another one in misery!"
And again my faith in the omniscience of God and the righteousness
of his laws was broken into. How could one place man in misery that
laws might triumph?
Christa whispered low in my ear: "If only you could help her also!"
Her words killed my doubts and I was ready to kiss her feet, for I
understood that only a pure woman, who appreciated the value of
motherhood, could speak like that.
I confessed my doubts to her. She pushed me from her and wept
low in the darkness, and I dared not comfort her.
"Do you think I had no qualms or shame in calling you?" she said to
me reproachfully. "You, who are so strong and handsome? Was it
easy for me to beg a caress from a man as if it were alms? Why did
I go to you? I saw a man who was stern, whose eyes were serious,
who spoke little and had little to do with young nuns. Your temples
are gray. Moreover, I do not know why, I believed you to be true and
good. But when you spoke to me that first time so unkindly, I wept.
'I was mistaken,' I thought to myself. But later, thank God, I decided
to call you."
"Forgive me," I said to her.
She kissed me. "God will forgive you."
Here the old woman knocked on the door and whispered:
"It is time to part. They will ring matins soon." When she led me
along the corridors she said:
"Will you give me a ruble?"
I could have struck her.
I lived about five days with Christa. It was impossible to stay longer,
for the choir singer and the neophyte began to bother me too much.
Besides, I felt the need of being alone to reflect on this incident.
How could they forbid women to bear children if such was their
wish, and if children have been and always will be the harbingers of
a new life, the bearers of new strength?
There was another reason for my having to fly. Christa showed me
her friend. She was a slim young girl, with blonde curly hair and blue
eyes and resembled my Olga. Her little face was pure, and she
looked out upon the world with profound sadness. I was drawn
toward her, and Christa urged me on.
But this was a different matter. Christa was no longer a girl; but Julia
was innocent, and her husband should also be innocent.
I had no longer faith in my purity nor did I know what I really was.
It did not matter with Christa, but with the other my self-doubt had
the power to interfere. Why, I do not know, but it had that power.
I said good-by to Christa. She wept a little and asked me to write to
her; said she would want to let me know when she was with child,
and I gave her an address. Soon after I wrote her. She answered
with a letter of good news, and I wrote her again. She was silent.
About a year and a half later, in Zadona, I received a letter. It had
lain a long time in the post-office. She told me that she gave birth to
a child, a son; that she called him Matvei; that he was happy and
healthy; that she lived with her aunt, and that her uncle was dead.
He had drunk himself to death.
"Now," she wrote, "I am my own mistress, and if you will come you
will be received with joy."
I had a desire to see my son and my accidental wife, but by this
time I had found a true road for myself and I did not go to her.
"I cannot now," I wrote. "I will come later."
Afterward she married a merchant who sold books and engravings,
and went to live in Ribinsk.
In Christa I saw for the first time a person who had no fear in her
soul and who was ready to fight for herself with all her strength. But
at that time I did not appreciate the great value of this trait.
After the incident with Christa I went to work in the city; but life
there was distasteful to me. It was narrow and oppressive. I did not
like the artisans. They gave their souls nakedly and openly into the
power of the masters. Each one seemed to cry out by his action:
"Here, devour my body! Drink my blood! I have no room on this
earth for myself!"
It was unpleasant for me to be with them. They drank, they swore
at each other over a bagatelle, they sang their sad songs and
burned at their labor night and day, and their masters warmed their
fat marrows by them.
The bakery was close and dirty; the men slept there like dogs, and
vodka and passion were their only pleasures. When I spoke to them
about the false arrangement of our life they listened, grew sorrowful
and agreed with me. But when I said that we had to seek God, they
sighed and my words flowed past them.
At times, for some unknown reason, they made fun of me, and did it
with malice.
I do not like cities. The incessant noise and traffic are unbearable to
me, and the city people, with their insane business, remained
strangers.
There were drinking places enough, and a superabundance of
churches. The houses rose like mountains, but to live in them was
difficult. The people were many, but each one lived for himself; each
one was tied to his work, and his life ran along on one thread, like a
dog on a string.
I heard weariness in every sound. Even the chimes rang out without
hope, and I felt in my whole soul that things were not created for
this. It was not right.
At times I laughed at myself. What kind of a leader is this that has
arisen among you? But though I laughed, it was not with joy, for I
saw only error in everything, and since I could not understand, it
was all the more oppressive to me. I sank into the depths.
At night I remembered my wandering and freer life, especially my
nights in the open fields. In the fields the earth is round and clear
and dear to your heart. You lie on her as in the palm of a hand,
small and simple like a child, clothed in a warm shadow and covered
by the starry sky, floating with it past the stars. You feel your tired
body filled with a strong perfume of plants and flowers, and it seems
to you that you lie in a cradle, and that an unseen hand rocks it and
puts you to sleep. The shadows float past and brush the tops of the
plants, there is a murmuring and whispering around you, and
somewhere a marmot comes out from its hole and whispers low.
Far off on the horizon a dark form arises. Perhaps it is a horse in the
night. He stands for a second, then vanishes into the sea of warm
darkness. Then something else arises, now in another place, another
form. And so the whole night long, the guardians of earthly sleep,
the loving shadows of the summer nights, silently come and go in
the fields.
You feel that near you, in the whole sphere, all life has drawn back,
resting in a light slumber. And your conscience hurts. Yet you
continue to crush the plants with the weight of your body. A night-
bird flies noiselessly, a piece of earth is broken off and becomes
alive, and winged with its desires, seeks to fulfil them. Mice rustle
through the grass; sometimes a small, soft thing runs quickly across
your hand. You start, and you feel still deeper the abundance of life;
that the earth itself is alive underneath you, is near to you and
closely related to you. You hear her breathe, and you wonder what
is the dream she is having, and what strength is quietly being born
in her breast. How will she look upon the sun to-morrow? In what
way will she rejoice him, his beautiful and beloved one?
You lie on her breast and your body grows and you drink the warm,
perfumed milk of your dear mother, and you see yourself completely
and forever the child of the earth. With gratitude you think of her,
"Oh, my beloved earth!"
Unseen torrents of wholesome strength pour from the earth and
streams of spicy perfumes float in the air. The earth is like a censer
to the heavens, and you both the fire and the incense. The stars
burn ardently that they may show all their beauty before the rising
of the sun, and love and sleep fill and caress you. The bright light of
hope passes warmly through your soul. "Somewhere there exists a
sublime God."
"Seek and thou shalt find." That is well said, and we should not
forget these words, for in truth they are worthy of the human mind.

CHAPTER XVIII

As soon as spring came to the city I started out to tramp to Siberia,

for I had heard that country highly praised, but on my way I was
stopped by a man who strengthened my soul for the rest of my life
and showed me the true path to God.
I met him on the road between Perm and Verkhotour.
I was lying on the edge of a wood and had built a fire to boil water.
It was noon, very hot, and the air was filled with a rosinlike woody
smell, oily and sappy. It was difficult to breathe. Even the birds felt
hot, and they hid themselves in the depth of the wood and sang
there happily while they arranged their lives.
It was quiet on the edge of the wood. It seemed to me that
everything would soon melt underneath the sun and that the trees
and the rocks and my own stultified body would flow in a many-
colored, thick stream upon the earth.
A man was approaching, coming from the Perm side, singing in a
loud, trembling voice. I raised my head and listened. I saw a little
pilgrim, in a white cassock, with a tea-kettle at his belt and a calf-
skin knapsack and a sauce-pan on his back. He walked briskly and
nodded and smiled to me from afar.
He was the usual pilgrim. There are many such, and all of them are
harmful. Making pilgrimages is a paying business for them. They are
boorish and ignorant and are inveterate liars and drunkards, and are
not beyond stealing. I disliked them from the bottom of my heart.
He came up to me, took off his cap, shook his head, and his hair
danced drolly, while he chattered like a magpie.
"Peace to you, young man. What heat! It is twenty-two degrees
hotter than hell."
"Are you long from there?" I asked.
"About six hundred years."
His voice was vibrant and gay, his head small, his forehead high, and
his face was covered with fine wrinkles, like a spider-web. His gray
beard looked clean and his brown eyes shone with gold, like a young
man's.
"He is a merry dog," I thought to myself.
But he continued chattering. "The Urals; there is where you find
beauty! The Lord is a great master in decorating the earth. He
knows how to arrange the woods and the trees and the mountains
well."
He took his tramping gear off, moving quickly and briskly. He saw
that my kettle was boiling over and he lifted it off the fire, and asked
like an old comrade:
"Shall I pour out my tea, or will we drink yours?" Before I had time
to answer, he added: "Well, let's drink mine. I've got good tea. A
merchant gave it to me. It's expensive."
I smiled. "You're spry," I said to him.
"That's nothing," he answered. "I am nearly dead from the heat. But
wait till I'm rested. Then I will crease out your wrinkles for you."
There was something about him which reminded me of Savelko, and
I wanted to joke with him. But in about five minutes I listened to his
words open-mouthed. They were strangely familiar; yet unheard-of,
and it seemed to me that my own heart, not he, was singing the joy
of the sunny days:
"Look! Is this not a holiday? Is it not paradise? The mountains rise
toward the sun, rejoicing, and the woods climb to the summits of
the hills, and the little blades of grass under your feet strive winged
up toward the light of life. All sing psalms of joy, but you, man, you,
master of the earth, why do you sit here, morose?"
"What strange bird is that?" I asked myself. But I said to him, trying
to draw him out:
"But what if I am filled with unhappy thoughts?" He pointed to the
earth. "What is that?"
"The earth."
"No. Look higher."
"You mean the grass?"
"Higher still."
"The shadow?"
"It is the shadow of your body," he said, "and your thoughts are the
shadow of our soul. What are you afraid of?"
"I am afraid of nothing."
"You are lying. If you are not afraid, your thoughts would be bold.
Unhappiness gives birth to fear, and fear comes from lack of faith.
That is the way it is. Drink some tea."
He poured tea into the cups and spoke without interruption:
"It seems to me that I have seen you before. Were you ever in
Valaan?"