"Not everything the Greeks and the Romans said is true. Exaltation,
enthusiasm, ecstasy--all that distinguishes prophets, poets,
martyrs for the idea, from the common folk--is repellent to the
animal side of man--that is, his physical health. I repeat, if
you want to be healthy and normal, go to the common herd."

"Strange that you repeat what often comes into my mind," said Kovrin.
"It is as though you had seen and overheard my secret thoughts. But
don't let us talk about me. What do you mean by 'eternal truth'?"

The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not distinguish
his face. His features grew blurred and misty. Then the monk's head
and arms disappeared; his body seemed merged into the seat and the
evening twilight, and he vanished altogether.

"The hallucination is over," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a
pity."

He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the
monk had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole
soul, his whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal
truth, to stand in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy
of the kingdom of God some thousands of years sooner--that is,
to free men from some thousands of years of unnecessary struggle,
sin, and suffering; to sacrifice to the idea everything--youth,
strength, health; to be ready to die for the common weal--what
an exalted, what a happy lot! He recalled his past--pure, chaste,
laborious; he remembered what he had learned himself and what he
had taught to others, and decided that there was no exaggeration