March 18.Rome, Palazzo Orsini.
March 18.Rome, Palazzo Orsini.
It is three days now that Magnus and Maria are living in my palazzo in Rome. It is empty and silent and really seems huge. Last night, worn by insomnia, I wandered about its halls and stairways, over rooms I had never seen before and their number astonished me. Maria’ssoulhas expelled from it all that was frivolous and impure and only the saintly Toppi moves through its emptiness, like the pendulum of a church clock. Ah, how saintly he looks. If not for his broad back, the broad folds of his coat, and the odor of fur in his head, I myself would take him for one of the saints who have honored me with their acquaintance.
I rarely see my guests. I am turning my entire estate into cash and Magnus and Toppi and all the secretaries are busy with this work from morning to night; our telegraph is constantly buzzing. Magnus has little to say to me. He onlytalks business. Maria...it seems as if I were avoiding her. I can see her through my window walking in the garden, and this is quite enough for me, for hersoulis here and every atom of the air is filled with her breath. And, as I have already remarked, I suffer with insomnia.
As you see, my friend, I have remained among theliving, a dead hand could not possibly write even the dead words I am not setting down. Let us forget the past, as sweethearts would who have just settled their differences. Let us be friends, you and I. Give me your hand, my friend! I vow by eternal salvation that never again will I chase you hence or laugh at you: if I have lost the wisdom of the snake I have acquired the gentleness of the dove. I am rather sorry that I have driven away my painters and my interviewers: I have no one to inquire whom Iresemblewith my radiant countenance? I personally feel that I remind one of a powdered darkey, who is afraid to rub the powder off with his sleeve and thus reveal his black skin...ah, I still have a black skin!
Yes, I have remainedalivebut I know not yet how far I shall succeed in keeping up this state: have you any idea how hard are the transitions from a nomad to a settled life? I was a redskin, a carefree nomad, who folds up and casts off all that is human, as he would a tent. Now I am layinga granite foundation for an earthly home and I, having little faith, am cold and trembling. Will it be warm when the white snow covers my new home? What do you think, my friend, is the best heating system?
I promised Thomas Magnus that night that I would not kill myself. We sealed this agreement with a warm handshake. We did not open our veins nor seal the pact with our blood. We simply said “yes” and that was quite sufficient: as you know only human beings break agreements. Devils always keep them.... You need only recall your horny, hairy heroes and their Spartan honesty. Fortunately (let us call it ‘fortunate’) we had set no...date. I swear by eternal salvation, I would be a poor king and ruler if, when building a palace, I did not leave for myself a secret exit, a little door, a modest loophole through which wise kings disappear when their foolish subjects rise and break into Versailles.
I will not kill myself to-morrow. Perhaps I shall wait quite a while. I will not kill myself: of the two walls I have chosen the lower one and I am quite human now, even as you my friend. My earthly experiment is not very thrilling as yet, but who knows?—this human life may unexpectedly grow quite attractive! Has not Toppi lived to grow gray and to a peaceful end? Whyshould not I, traversing all the ages of man, like the seasons of the year, grow to be a gray old sage, a wise guide and teacher, the bearer of the covenant and arterio sclerosis? Ah, this ridiculous sclerosis, these ills of old age—it is only now that they begin to seem terrible to Me, but, can I not get used to them and even grow to love them? Every one says it is easy to get used to life. Well, I, too, will try to get used to it. Everything here is so well ordered that after rain comes sunshine and dries him who is wet, if he has not been in too great a hurry to die. Everything here is so well ordered that there is not a single disease for which there is no cure. This is so good! One may be ill all the time, provided there is a drug store nearby!
At any rate, I have my little door, my secret exit, my narrow, wet, dark corridor, beyond which are the stars and all the breadth of my illimitable space! My friend, I want to be frank with you: there is a certain characteristic of insubordination in me, and it is that I fear. What is a cough or a catarrh of the stomach? But it is possible that I may suddenly refuse to cough, for no reason at all, or for some trivial cause, and run off! I like you at this moment. I am quite ready to conclude a long and fast alliance with you, butsomethingmay suddenly gleam across your dearface which...no, it is quite impossible to do without a little secret door for him who is so capricious and insubordinate! Unfortunately, I am proud, too,—an old and well known vice of Satan! Like a fish struck in the head, I am dazed by my human existence. A fatal unconsciousness is driving me into your life, but of one thing I am quite certain: I am of the race of thefree. I am of the tribe of therulers. I come from those who transform their will into laws. Conquered kings are taken into captivity but conquered kings never become slaves. And when I shall perceive, above my head, the whip of a dirty guard and my fettered hands are helpless to avert the blow...well: shall I remain living with welts upon my back? Shall I bargain with my judges about another blow of the whip? Shall I kiss the hand of the executioner? Or shall I send to the druggist for an eye lotion?
No, let not Magnus misjudge me for a little slip in our agreement: I will live only as long as I want to live. All the blessings of the human existence, which he offered me on that night, when Satan was tempted by man, will not strike the weapon from my hand: in it alone is the assurance of my liberty! Oh, man, what are all your kingdoms and dukedoms, your knowledge and your nobility, your gold and your freedom besidethis little, free movement of the finger which, in a moment carries you up to the Throne of Thrones!...
Maria!
Yes, I am afraid of her. The look in her eye is so clear and commanding, the light of her love is so mighty, enchanting and beautiful that I am all atremble and everything in me is quivering and urging me to immediate flight. With hitherto unknown happiness, with veiled promises, with singing dreams she tempts Me! Shall I cry: Away!—or shall I bend mine to her will and follow her?
Where? I do not know. Or are there other worlds beside those I know or have forgotten? Whence comes this motionless light behind my back? It is growing ever broader and brighter. Its warm touch heats my soul, so that its Polar ice crumbles and melts. But I am afraid to look back. I may see Sodom on fire and if I look I may turn into stone. Or is it a new Sun, which I have not yet seen upon this earth that is rising behind my back, and I, like a fool, am fleeing from it and baring my back instead of my breast to it, the low, dumb neck of a frightened animal, instead of my lofty brow?
Maria! Will you give me my revolver? I paid ten dollars for it, together with the holster. Toyou I will not give it for a kingdom! Only do not look at Me, oh, Queen...otherwise, otherwise I will give you everything: the revolver and the holster and Satan himself!
March 26.Rome, Palazzo Orsini.
March 26.Rome, Palazzo Orsini.
It is the fifth night that I do not sleep. When the last light is turned out in my silent palazzo, I quietly descend the stairs, quietly order a machine—somehow or other even the noise of my own steps and voice disturb me, and I go for the night into the Campagna. There, leaving the automobile on the road, I wander about until day-break or sit immovable upon some dark ruins. I cannot be seen at all and the rare passersby, perhaps some peasants from Albano, converse quite loudly and without restraint. I like to remain unseen. It reminds me of something I have forgotten.
Once, as I sat down on a stone, I disturbed a lizzard. It may have been that it lightly moved the grass beneath my feet and disappeared. Perhaps it was a snake? I do not know. But I wanted desperately to become a lizzard or a snake, concealed beneath a stone: I am troubled by my large stature, by the size of my feet and arms: They make it very difficult to become invisible. Ilikewise refrain from looking at my face in the mirror: it is painful to think I have a face, which all can see. Why did I fear darkness so much at the beginning? It is so easy to conceal oneself in it. Apparently all animals experience such subtle shame, fear and worriment and seek seclusion when they are changing their skin or hide.
So, I am changing my skin? Ah, it is the same, worthless prattle! The whole trouble is that I have failed to escapeMaria’sgaze and am, apparently preparing to close the last door, the door I guarded so well. But I am ashamed! I swear by eternal salvation, I feel ashamed, like a girl before the altar. I am almost blushing. Blushing Satan...no, quiet, quiet:heis not here! Quiet!...
Magnus told her everything. She did not reiterate that she loves Me but looked at me and said:
“Promiseme, you will not kill yourself.”
Therestwas in her gaze. You remember how bright it is? But do not think that I hastily agreed. Like a salamander in the fire, I quickly changed colors. I shall not repeat to you all the flaming phrases I uttered: I have forgotten them. But you remember how bright and serene Maria’s gaze is? I kissed her hand and said humbly:
“Madam! I do not ask you for forty days and a desert for contemplation: the desert I will findmyself and a week is quite enough for me to think the matter over. But do give me a week and...please, don’t look at me any more...otherwise....”
No, that wasn’t what I said. I said it in other words, but it’s all the same. I am now changing my skin. It hurts me. I am frightened and ashamed because any crow might see me and come to pick my flesh. What use is there in the fact that there is a revolver in my pocket? It is only when you learn to hit yourself that you can hit a crow: crows know that and consequently do not fear tragically bulging pockets.
Having become human and descended from above I have become but half a man. I entered upon this human existence as if into a strange element, but I have not lost myself in it entirely: I still cling with one hand to my Heaven and my eyes are still above the surface. But she commands me to accept man in his entirety: only he is amanwho has said: never shall I kill myself, never shall I leave life of my own free will. And what about the whip? These cursed cuts upon my back? Pride?
Oh, Maria, Maria, how terribly you tempt Me!
I look into the past of this earth and serious myriads of tragic shadows floating slowly over climes and ages! Their hands stretch hopelesslyinto space, their bony ribs tear through the lean, thin skin, their eyes are filled with tears, and their sighs have dried up their throats. I see blood and madness, violence and falsehood, I hear their oaths, which they constantly betray, their prayers to God, in which, with every word of mercy and forgiveness, they curse their own earth. Wherever I look, I see the earth smoking in convulsion; no matter in which direction I strain my ear, I hear everywhere unceasing moans: or is the womb of the earth itself filled with moaning? I see a myriad cups about me, but no matter which of them my lips may touch, I find it filled with rust and vinegar: or has man no other drink? And this isman?
I knewthembefore. I have seenthembefore. But I looked upon them as Augustus did from his box upon the galaxy of his victims: Ave, Cæsar! These who are about to die salute you. And I looked upon them with the eyes of an eagle and my wise, belaureled head did not disdain to take notice of their groaning cries even with so much as a nod: they came and disappeared, they marched on in endless procession—and endless was the indifference of my Cæsar-like gaze. And now...is it really I who walks on so hastily, playing with the sand of the arena? And am I this dirty, emaciated, hungry slave who lifts hisconvict face into the air, yelling hoarsely into the indifferent eyes of Fate:
“Ave, Cæsar! Ave, Cæsar!”
I feel a sharp whip upon my back and with a cry of pain I fall to the ground. Is it someMasterwho is beating me? No, it is anotherslave, who has been ordered to whip aslave: very soon his knout will be in my hand and his back will be covered with blood and he will be chewing the sand, the sand which now grates between my teeth.
Oh, Maria, Maria, how terribly you tempt Me!
March 29Rome.
March 29Rome.
Buy the blackest paint available, take the largest brush you can find and, with a broad line, divide my life into Yesterday and To-day. Take the staff of Moses and divide the stream of Time and dry it up clear down to its bed—then only will you sense myTo-day.
Ave, Cæsar, moriturus te salutat!
April 2, Rome.Pallazzo Orsini.
April 2, Rome.Pallazzo Orsini.
I do not want to lie. There is not yet in me, oh man, any love for you, and if you have hastened to open your arms to me, please close them: the time has not yet come for passionate embraces. Later, at some other date, we shall embrace, but meanwhile, let us be cold and restrained, like two gentlemen in misfortune. I cannot say that my respect for you has grown to any extent, although your life and your fate have becomemy life and my fate: let the facts suffice that I have voluntarily placed my neck beneath the yoke and that one and the same whip are furrowing our backs.
Yes, that is quite sufficient for the present. You have observed that I no longer use a super-capital in writing the word “I”?—I have thrown it out together with the revolver. This is a sign of submission and equality. You understand? Like a king, I have taken the oath of allegiance to your constitution. But I shall not, like a king, betray this vow: I have preserved from my former life a respect for contracts. I swear I will be true to your comrades-at-hard-labor and will not make any attempt to escape alone!
For the last few nights, before I took this decision, I thought much uponourlife. It is wretched. Don’t you think so? It is difficult and humiliating to be this little thing called man, the cunning and avaricious little worm that crawls, hastily multiplies itself and lies, turning away its head from the final blow—the worm that no matter how much it lies, will perish just the same at the appointed hour. But I will be a worm. Let me, too, beget children, let the unthinking foot also crush my unthinking head at the appointed hour—I meekly accept all consequences. We are both of us humiliated, comrade, and in this alonethere is some consolation: you will listen to my complaints and I—to yours. And if the matter should ultimately reach the state of litigation, why the witnesses will all be ready! That is well: When one kills in the public square there are always eyewitnesses.
I will lie, if necessary. I will not lie in that free play of lying with which even prophets lie, but in that enforced manner of lying employed by the rabbit, which compels him to hide his ears, to be gray in summer and white in winter. What can one do when behind every tree a hunter with a rifle is concealed! This lying may appear to be ignoble from one point of view and may well call forth condemnation upon us, but you and I must live, my friend. Letbystandersaccuse us to their heart’s content, but, when necessary, we will lie like wolves, too! we will spring forward, suddenly, and seize the enemy by the throat: one must live, brother, one must live, and are we to be held responsible for the fact that there is such great lure and such fine taste in blood! In reality neither you nor I are proud of our lying, of our cowardice or of our cruelty, and our bloodthirstiness is certainly not a matter of conviction.
But however hideous our life may be, it is still more miserable. Do you agree with that? I do not love you yet, oh man, but on these nights Ihave been more than once on the verge of tears when I thought of your suffering, of your tortured body, and of your soul, relinquished to eternal crucifixion. It is well for a wolf to be a wolf. It is well for a rabbit to be a rabbit. But you, man, contain both God and Satan—and, oh, how terrible is the imprisonment of both in that narrow and dark cell of yours! Can God be a wolf, tearing throats and drinking blood! Can Satan be a rabbit, hiding his ears behind his humped back! No, that is intolerable. I agree with you. That fills life with eternal confusion and pain and the sorrow of the soul becomes boundless.
Think of it: of three children that you beget, one becomes a murderer, the other the victim and the third, the judge and executioner. And each day the murderers are murdered and still they continue to be born; and each day the murderers kill conscience and conscience kills the murderers. And all are alive: the murderers and conscience. Oh, what a fog we live in! Give heed to all thewordsspoken by man from the day of his birth and you will think: this is God! Look at all thedeedsof man from his very first day and you will exclaim in disgust: this is a beast! Thus does man struggle with himself for thousands of years and the sorrow of his soul is boundless and the suffering of his mind is terrible and horrible,while thefinaljudge is slow about his coming.... But he will never come. I say this to you: we are forever alone with our life.
But I accept this, too. Not yet has the earth endowed me with my name and I know not who I am: Cain or Abel? But I accept the sacrifice as I do murder. I am everywhere with you and everywhere I follow you, Man. Let us weep together in the desert, knowing that no one will give heed to us...or perhaps some one will? You see: you and I are beginning to have faith in some one’s Ear and soon I will begin to believe in a triangular Eye...it is really impossible that such a concert should have no hearer, that such a spectacle should be wasted on the desert air!
I think of the fact that no one has yet beaten me, and I am afraid. What will become of my soul when some one’s grubby hand strikes me on the face.... What will become of me! For I know that no earthly revenge could return my face to me. And what will then become of my soul?
I swear I will become reconciled even to this. Everywhere with you and after you, man. What is my face when you struck the face of your own Christ and spat into his eyes? Everywhere with you! And if necessary, I myself will strike at Christ with the hand with which I now write: Igo with you to all ends, man. They beat us and they will continue to beat us. We beat Christ and will still beat him.... Ah, bitter is our life, almost unbearable!
Only a while ago, I rejected your embraces. I said they were premature. But now I say: let us embrace more firmly, brother, let us cling closely to each other—it is so painful, so terrible to be alone in this life when all exits from it are closed. And I know not yet wherein there is more pride and liberty: in going away voluntarily, whenever one wishes, or in accepting, without resistance, the hand of the executioner? In calmly placing one’s hands upon his breast, putting one foot forward and, with head proudly bent backward, to wait calmly:
“Do thy duty, executioner!”
Or:
“Soldiers, here’s my breast: fire!”
There is something plastic in this pose and it pleases me. But still more am I pleased with the fact that once again my greater Ego is rising within me at the striking of this pose. Of course, the executioner will not fail to do his duty and the soldiers will not lower their rifles, but the important thing is the line, themoment, when before my very death itself I shall suddenly find myself immortal and broader than life itself. It isstrange, but with one turn of the head, with one phrase, expressed or conceived at the proper moment, I could, so to speak, halt the function of my very spirit and the entire operation would be performed outside of me. And when death shall have finally performed its rôle of redeemer, its darkness would not eclipse the light, for the latter will have first separated itself from me and scattered into space, in order to reassemble somewhere and blaze forth again...but where?
Strange, strange.... I sought to escape from men—and found myself at that wall of Unconsciousness known only to Satan! How important, indeed, is the pose! I must make note of that. But will the pose be as convincing and will it not lose in plasticity if instead of death, the executioner and the firing squad I should be compelled to say something else...well, something like:
“Here’s my face: strike!”
I do not know why I am so concerned about my face, but it does concern me greatly. I confess, man, that it worries me very much indeed. No, a mere trifle. I will simply subdue my spirit. Let them beat me! When the spirit is crushed the operation is no more painful or humiliating than it would be if I were to beat my overcoat on its hanger....
...But I have forgotten that I am not aloneand being in your company have fallen into impolite meditation. For a half hour I have been silent over this sheet of paper and it seemed all the time as if I had been talking and quite excitedly! I forgot that it is not enough to think, that one must also speak! What a shame it is, man, that for the exchange of thoughts we must resort to the service of such a poor and stealthy broker as the word—he steals all that is precious and defiles the best thoughts with the chatter of the market place. In truth, this pains me much more than death or the beating.
I am terrified by the necessity ofsilencewhen I come upon theextraordinary, which is inexpressible. Like a rivulet I run and advance only as far as the ocean: in the depths of the latter is the end of my murmuring. Within me, however, motionless and omnipresent, rocking to and fro, is the ocean. It only hurls noise and surf upon the earth, but its depths are dumb and motionless and quite without any purpose are the ships sailing on its surface. How shall I describe it?
Before I resolved to enroll myself as an earthly slave I did not speak to Maria or to Magnus.... Why should I speak to Maria when her beckoning isclear, like her gaze? But having become a slave I went to Magnus to complain and to seek advice—apparently the human begins thus.
Magnus heard me in silence and, as it seemed to me, with some inner excitement. He works day and night, virtually knowing no rest, and the complicated business of the liquidation of my property is moving forward as rapidly in his hands as if he had been engaged in such work all his life. I like his heroic gestures and his contempt for details: when he cannot unravel a situation he hurls millions out of the window with the grace of a grandee. But he is weary and his eyes seem larger and darker on the background of his dim face. Only now have I learned from Maria that he is tortured by frequent headaches.
My complaints against life, I fear, have failed to arouse any particular sympathy on his part: No matter what the accusations I brought against man and the life he leads, Magnus would reply impatiently:
“Yes, yes, Wondergood. That is what being a man means. Your misfortune is that you discovered this rather late and are now quite unnecessarily aroused. When you shall haveexperiencedat least a part of that which now terrifies you, you will speak in quite a different tone. However, I am glad that you have dropped yourindifference: you have become, much more nervous and energetic. But whence comes this immeasurable terrorin your eyes? Collect yourself, Wondergood!”
I laughed.
“Thank you. I am quite collected. Apparently it is theslave, in expectation of the whip, who peers at you from within my eye. Have patience, Magnus. I am not quite acclimated to the situation. Tell me, shall I or shall I not be compelled to commit...murder?”
“Quite possibly.”
“And can you tell mehowthis happens?”
Both of us looked simultaneously at his white hands and Magnus replied somewhat ironically:
“No, I will not tell you that. But if you wish I will tell you something else: I will tell you what it means to accept man to thevery end—it is this that is really worrying you, is it not?”
And with much coolness and a sort of secret impatience, as if another thought were devouring his attention, he told me briefly of a certain unwilling and terrible murderer. I do not know whether he was telling me a fact or a dark tale created for my personal benefit, but this was the story: It happened long ago. A certain Russian, a political exile, a man of wide education yet deeply religious, as often happens in Russia, escaped fromkatorga, and after long and painful wandering over the Siberian forests, he foundrefuge with some non-conformist sectarians. Huge, wooden, fresh huts in a thick forest, surrounded by tall fences; great bearded people, large ugly dogs—something on that order. And in his very presence, soon after his arrival, there was to be performed a monstrous crime: these insane mystics, under the influence of some wild religious fanaticism, were to sacrifice an innocentlamb, i.e., upon a home-made altar, to the accompaniment of hymns, they were to kill a child. Magnus did not relate all the painful details, limiting himself solely to the fact that it was a seven year old boy, in a new shirt, and that his young mother witnessed the ceremony. All the reasonable arguments, all the objections of the exile that they were about to perform a great sacrilege, that not the mercy of the Lord awaited them but the terrible tortures of hell, proved powerless to overcome the fierce and dull stubbornness of the fanatics. He fell upon his knees, begged, wept and tried to seize the knife—at that moment the victim, stripped, was already on the table while themotherwas trying desperately to control her tears and cries—but he only succeeded in rousing the mad anger of the fanatics: they threatened to kill him, too....
Magnus looked at me and said slowly with a peculiar calm:
“And how would you have acted in that case, Mr. Wondergood?”
“Well, I would have fought until I was killed?”
“Yes! He did better. He offered his services and with hisownhand, with appropriate song, he cut the boy’s throat. You are astonished? But he said: ‘Better for me to take this terrible sin and punishment upon myself than to surrender into the arms of hell these innocent fools.’ Of course, such things happen only with Russians and, it seems to me, he himself was somewhat deranged. He died eventually in an insane asylum.”
Following a period of silence, I asked:
“And how would you have acted, Magnus?”
And with still greater coolness, he replied:
“Really, I do not know. It would have depended on the moment. It is quite possible I would have left those beasts, but it is also possible that I too...human madness is extremely contagious, Mr. Wondergood!”
“Do you call it only madness?”
“I said: human madness. But it is you who are concerned in this, Wondergood:howdo you like it? I am off to work. In the meantime, devote yourself to discerning theboundaryof the human, which you are now willing to accept in its entirety,and then tell me about it. You have not changed your intention, I hope, of remaining withus?”
He laughed and went away, patronizingly polite. And I remained to think. And so I think: where is the boundary?
I confess that I have begun to fear Magnus somewhat...or is this fear one of the gifts of my complete human existence? But when he speaks to me in this fashion I become animated with a strange confusion, my eyes move timidly, my will is bent, as if too great and strange a load had been put upon it. Think, man: I shake his big hand withreverenceand findjoyin his caress! This is not true of me before, but now, in every conversation, I perceive that this man can gofurtherthan I in everything.
I fear Ihatehim. If I have not yet experienced love, I know not hatred either, and it will be strange indeed if I should be compelled to begin by hating thefatherof Maria!... In what a fog we do live, man! I have just merely mentioned the name of Maria, her clear gaze has only touched my soul and already my hatred of Magnus is extinguished (or did I only conjure it up?) and extinguished also is my fear of man and life (or did I merely invent it?) and great joy, great peace has descended upon me.
It is as if I were again a white schooner on theglassy ocean; as if I held all answers in my hand and were merely too lazy to open it and read therein, as ifimmortalityhad returned to me...ah, I can speak no more, oh, man! Let me press your hand?
April 6, 1914.
April 6, 1914.
The good Toppi approvesallmy actions. He amuses me greatly, this good Toppi. As I expected, he hascompletelyforgotten his true origin: he regards all my reminders of our past as jests. Sometimes he laughs but more often he frowns as if he were hurt, for he is religious and considers it an insult to be compared with a “horny” devil, even in jest: he himself is now convinced that devils have horns. His Americanism, at first pale and weak, like a pencil sketch, has now become filled with color, and I, myself, am ready to believe all the nonsense given out by Toppi as his life—it is so sincere and convincing. According tohim, he has been in my service about fifteen years and particularly amusing it is to hear his stories of his youth.
Apparently he, too, has been touched by the charms ofMaria: my decision to surrender all my money to her father astonished him much less than I expected. He merely chewed his cigar for a moment and asked:
“And what will he do with your money?”
“I do not know, Toppi.”
He raised his brow and frowned:
“You are joking, Mr. Wondergood?”
“You see, Toppi: just now we, i.e., Magnus is occupied in converting my estate into gold and jamming it into banks, in his name, of course. You understand?”
“How can I fail to understand, Mr. Wondergood?”
“These are all preliminary, essential steps. What may happen further...I do not know yet.”
“Oh, you are jesting again?”
“You must remember, old man, that I myself did not know what to do with my money. It is not money that I need but new activity. You understand? But Magnusknows. I do not know yet what his plans are but it is what Magnus said that is important to me: ‘I will compel you to work, Wondergood!’ Oh, Magnus is a great man. You will see that for yourself, Toppi!”
Toppi frowned again and replied:
“You are master of your money, Mr. Wondergood.”
“Ah, you have forgotten everything, Toppi! Don’t you remember about thatplay? That I wanted to play?”
“Yes, you did say something about it. But I thought you were joking.”
“No, I was not joking. I was only mistaken. They do play here but this is not a theater. It is a gambling house and so I gave all my money to Magnus: let him break the bank. You understand? He is the banker, he will manage the game and I shall simply do the betting.... Quite a life, eh?”
Apparently the old fool understood nothing. He kept raising and lowering his eyebrows and again inquired:
“And how soon may we expect your betrothal to Signorina Maria?”
“I do not know yet, Toppi. But that is not the thing. I see you are dissatisfied. You do not trust Magnus?”
“Oh, Signor Magnus is a worthy man. But one thing I do fear, Mr. Wondergood, if you will permit me to be frank: he is a man who does not believe. This seems strange to me: how can the father of Signorina Maria be a non-believer? Is that not so? Permit me to ask: do you intend to give anything to his Eminence?”
“That depends now on Magnus.”
“Oh! On Signor Magnus? So, so. And do you know that His Eminence has already been to see Signor Magnus? He was here a few days agoand spent several hours in this study. You were not at home at that time.”
“No, I do not know. We have not spoken about that, but have no fear: we will findsomethingfor the cardinal. Confess, old man: you are quite enchanted with that old monkey?”
Toppi glanced at me sharply and sighed. Then he lapsed into thought...and strange as it may seem—something akin to a monkey appeared in his countenance, as in the cardinal’s. Later, from somewhere deep within him, there appeared a smile. It illumined his hanging nose, rose to his eyes and blazed forth within them in two bright, little flames, not devoid of wanton malice. I looked at him in astonishment and even with joy: yes that was my old Toppi, risen from his human grave.... I am convinced that his hair again has the smell of fur instead of oil! Gently I kissed his brow—old habits cannot be rooted out—and exclaimed:
“You are enchanting, Toppi! Butwhatwas it that gave you such joy?”
“I waited to see whether he would show Maria to the cardinal?”
“Well?”
“He did not!”
“Well?”
But Toppi remained silent. And as it hadcome so did the smile disappear, slowly: at first the hanging nose grew pale and became quite indistinct, then all at once the flames within his eyes went out—and again the old dejection, sourness and odor of church hypocrisy buried him who had been resurrected for a moment. It would have been useless to trouble the ashes with further questions.
This happened yesterday. A warm rain fell during the day but it cleared up towards evening and Magnus, weary and apparently suffering with headache, suggested that we take a ride into the Campagna. We left our chauffeur behind, a practice peculiar to all our intimate trips. His duties were performed by Magnus, with extraordinary skill and daring. On this occasion, his usual daring reached the point of audacity: despite the ever-thickening twilight and the muddy road, Magnus drove the automobile at such mad speed that more than once did I look up at his broad, motionless back. But that was only at first: the presence of Maria, whom I supported with my arm (I do not dare say embraced!) soon brought me to the loss of all my senses. I cannot describe it all to you—so that you would really feel it—the aromatic air of the Campagna, which caressed my face, the magnificence and charm of our arrow-like speed, my virtual loss of all sensation of materialweight, of the complete disappearance ofbody, when I felt myself a speeding thought, a flying gaze....
But still less can I tell you ofMaria. Her Madonna gaze whitened in the twilight, like marble; like the mysterious silence and perfect beauty of marble was her gentle, sweet and wise silence. I barely touched her slender, supple figure, but if I had been embracing within the hollow of my hand the entire firmness of earth and sky I could not have felt a more complete mastery of thewhole world! Do you know what a line is in measurement? Not much,—is that not so? And it was only by the measure of a line that Maria bent her divine form to me—no, no more than that! But what would you say, man, if thesun, coming down from its course just one line were to come closer to you by that distance? Would you not consider it amiracle?
My existence seemed unbounded, like the universe, which knows neither your time nor distance. For a moment there gleamed before me the wall of my unconsciousness, that unconquerable barrier against which the spirit of him who has donned the human form beats in vain,—and as quickly did it disappear: it was swallowed, without sound or conflict, by the waves of my new sea. Even higher they rose, enshrouding theworld. There was no longer anything to remember for me or to know: my new human soul remembered all and commanded all. I am a man!
What gave me the idea that I hate Magnus? I looked at this motionless, erect and firm human back and thought that behind it a heart was beating. I thought of how painful and terrible it was for it to remain firm and erect and of how much pain and suffering had already fallen to the lot of this human creature, no matter how proud it might appear or dejected. And suddenly I realized to the extent of pain and tears, how much I loved Magnus, this very same Magnus! He speeds so wildly and has no fear! And the very moment I sensed this, Maria’s eyes turned upon me.... Ah, they are as bright at night as they are by day! But at that moment there was a troubled look within them. They were asking: Why these tears?
What could I say in reply with the aid of weak words! I silently took Maria’s hand and pressed it to my lips. And without taking her gaze off me, shining in cold, marble luster, she quietly withdrew her hand—and I became confused—and again gave it to me, taking off her glove. Will you permit me to discontinue, man? I do not know who you are, you who are reading these lines, and I rather fear you...your swift anddaring imagination. Moreover, a gentleman feels ill at ease in speaking of his success with the ladies. Besides, it was time to return: on the hills the lights of Tivoli were already gleaming and Magnus reduced his speed.
We were moving quite slowly on the return trip and Magnus, grown merry, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, now and then addressed brief remarks to us. There is one thing I will not conceal: her unquestionable womanliness emphasizes the completeness of my transformation. As we walked up the broad stairs of my palazzo, amid its princely wealth and beauty, I suddenly thought:
“Why not send all this adventure to the devil? Why not simply wed and live like a prince in this palace? There will be freedom, children, laughter, just earthly happiness and love.”
And again I looked at Magnus. He seemed strange to me: “I will take your money!” Then I saw the stern gaze of my Maria—and the contradiction between her love and this plan of simple, modest happiness was so great and emphatic that my thought did not even require an answer. I now recollect this thought accidentally as a curiosity of “Toppism.” Let me call it “Toppism” in honor of my perfect Toppi.
The evening was charming. At Magnus’ request, Maria sang. You cannot imagine the reverencewith which Toppi listened to her singing! He dared not utter a word to Maria, but on leaving he shook my hand long and with particular warmth. Then, similarly, he shook the hand of Magnus. I also rose to retire.
“Do you intend to do some work yet, Magnus?”
“No. Don’t you want to go to sleep, Wondergood? Come to my room. We’ll chat a bit. Incidentally, there is a paper for you to sign. Do you want any wine?”
“Oh, with pleasure, Magnus. I love conversation at night.”
We drank the wine. Magnus, whistling something out of tune, silently walked the carpet, while I, as usual, reclined in a chair. The Palazzo was all silence, like a sarcophagus, and this reminded me of that stirring night when Mad Mars raved behind the wall. Suddenly, Magnus exclaimed loudly, without hesitation:
“The affair is progressing splendidly.”
“So?”
“In two weeks everything will be completed. Your swollen, scattered wealth, in which one can be lost as in a wood, will be transformed into a clear, concise and exact sack of gold...to be more correct—into a mountain. Do you know the exact estimate of your money, Wondergood?”
“Oh, don’t, Magnus. I don’t want to know it. Moreover, it’s your money.”
Magnus looked at me quickly and said sharply:
“No, it’s yours.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I did not want to argue. It was so quiet and I so enjoyed watching this strong man silently pacing to and fro. I still remembered his motionless, stern back, behind which I could clearly see his heart. He continued, after a pause:
“Do you know, Wondergood, that the Cardinal has been here?”
“The old monkey? Yes, I know. What did he want?”
“The same thing. He wanted to see you but I did not feel like taking you away from your thoughts.”
“Thanks. Did you drive him out?”
Magnus replied angrily:
“I am sorry to say,—no. Don’t put on airs, Wondergood: I have already told you that we must be careful of him as long as we remain here. But you are quite right. He is an old, shaven, useless, evil, gluttonous, cowardly monkey!”
“Ah, ah! Then why not show him the door?”
“Impossible.”
“I believe you, Magnus. And what does thisking I hear about want, he who is to visit us some of these days?”
“Ex-king. Probably the same thing. You should receive him yourself, of course.”
“But only in your presence. Otherwise I refuse. You must understand, my friend, that from that memorable night on I have been merely your disciple. You find it impossible to drive out the old monkey? Very well, let him remain. You say we must receive some ex-king? Very well, receive him. But I would rather be hanged on the first lamppost than to do so without knowing your reason.”
“You are jesting again, Wondergood.”
“No, I amquiteserious, Magnus. But I swear by eternal salvation that I know not what we are doing or intend to do. I am not reproaching you. I am not even questioning you: as I have already told you, I trust you and am ready to follow your directions. That you may not again reproach me with levity and impracticability, I may add a little business detail: Maria and her love are my hostages. Moreover, I do not yet know to what you intend to devote your energy, of whose boundlessness I am becoming more convinced each day; what plans and ends your experience and mind have set before you. But of one thing I have no doubt: they will be huge plans, great objects. AndI, too, shall always find something to do beside you...at any rate this will be much better than my brainless old women and six secretaries. Why do you refuse to believe in my modesty, as I believe in your...genius. Imagine that I am come from some other planet, from Mars, for instance, and wish in the most serious manner possible, to pass through the experience of aman.... It is all very simple, Magnus!”
Magnus frowned at me for a few moments and suddenly broke into laughter:
“You certainly are a pilgrim from some other planet, Wondergood!... And what if I should devote your gold to doing evil?”
“Why? Is that so very interesting?”
“Hm!... You thinkthat isnot interesting?”
“Yes, and so do you. You are too big a man to do little evil, just as billions constitute too much money, while honestly as far as great evil is concerned, I know not yet whatgreat evilis? Perhaps it is reallygreat good? In my recent contemplations, there...came to me a strange thought: Who is of greateruseto man—he who hates or he who loves him? You see, Magnus, how ignorant I still am of human affairs and...how ready I am for almost anything.”
Without laughter and, with what seemed to me, extreme curiosity, Magnus measured me with hiseyes, as if he were deciding the question: is this a fool I see before me, or the foremost sage of America? Judging by his subsequent question he was nearer the second opinion:
“So, if I have correctly understood your words, you are afraid ofnothing, Mr. Wondergood?”
“I thinknot.”
“And murder...many murders?”
“You remember the point you made in your story about the boy of theboundaryof the human? In order that there may be no mistake, I have moved it forward several kilometers. Will that be enough?”
Something like respect arose in Magnus’ eyes...the devil take him, though, he really considers me a clod! Continuing to pace the room, he looked at me curiously several times, as if he were trying to recall and verify my remark. Then, with a quick movement, he touched my shoulders:
“You have an active mind, Wondergood. It is a pity I did not come to know you before.”
“Why?”
“Just so. I am interested to know how you will speak to the king: he will probably suggest something very evil to you. And great evil is great good. Is that not so?”
He again broke into laughter and shook his head in a friendly fashion.
“I don’t think so. The chances are he will propose something very silly.”
“Hm!... And is that not great wisdom?” He laughed again but frowned suddenly and added seriously: “Do not feel hurt, Wondergood. I liked what you said very much and it is well you do not put any questions to me at this time: I could not answer them just now. But there is something I can say even now...in general terms, of course. Are you listening?”
“I am all attention.”
Magnus seated himself opposite me and, taking a sip of wine, asked with strange seriousness:
“How do you regard explosives?”
“With great respect.”
“Yes? That is cold praise, but, I dare say, they don’t deserve much more. Yet, there was a time when I worshiped dynamite as I do frankness...this scar on my brow is the result of my youthful enthusiasm. Since then I have made great strides in chemistry—and other things—and this has cooled my zeal. The drawback of every explosive, beginning with powder, is that the explosion is confined to a limited space and strikes only the things near at hand: it might do for war, of course, but it is quite inadequate where bigger things are concerned. Besides, being a thing of material limitations, dynamite or powderdemands a constantly guiding hand: in itself, it is dumb, blind and deaf, like a mole. To be sure, in Whitehead’s mine we find an attempt to create consciousness, giving the shell the power to correct, so to speak, certain mistakes and to maintain a certain aim, but that is only a pitiful parody on eyesight....”
“And you want your ‘dynamite’ to have consciousness, will and eyes?”
“You are right. That is what I want. And my newdynamitedoes have these attributes: will, consciousness, eyes.”
“And what is your aim? But this sounds...terrible.”
Magnus smiled faintly.
“Terrible? I fear your terror will turn to laughter when I give you the name of my dynamite. It isman. Have you never looked at man from this point of view, Wondergood?”
“I confess,—no. Does dynamite, too, belong to the domain of psychology? This is all very ridiculous.”
“Chemistry, psychology!” cried Magnus, angrily: “that is all because knowledge has been subdivided into so many different subjects, just as a hand with ten fingers is now a rarity. You and your Toppi—all of us are explosive shells, some loaded and ready, others still to be loaded.And the crux of the matter lies, you understand, in how to load the shell and, what is still more important: how to explode it. You know, of course, that the method of exploding various preparations depends upon their respective compositions?”
I am not going to repeat here the lecture on explosives given me by Magnus with great zeal and enthusiasm: it was the first time I had seen him in such a state of excitement. Despite the absorbing interest of the subject, as my friends the journalists would say, I heard only half the things he was saying and concentrated most of my attention on his skull, the skull which contained such wide and dangerous knowledge. Whether it was due to the conviction carried in Magnus’ words, or to pure weariness—I know not which—this round skull, blazing with the flames of his eyes, gradually assumed the character of a real, explosive shell, of a bomb, with the fuse lit for action.... I trembled when Magnus carelessly threw upon the table a heavy object resembling a cake of grayish-yellow soap, and exclaimed involuntarily:
“What’s that?”
“It looks like soap or wax. But it has the force of a devil. One half of this would be enough to blow St. Peter’s into bits. It is a capriciousDevil. You may kick it about or chop it into pieces, you may burn it in your stove, it will remain ever silent: a dynamite shell may tear it apart yet it will not rouse its wrath. I may throw it into the street, beneath the hoofs of horses; the dogs may bite at it and children may play with it—and still it remains indifferent. But I need only apply a current of high pressure to it—and the force of the explosion will be monstrous, limitless. A strong but silly devil!”
With equal carelessness, bordering almost upon contempt, Magnus threw his devil back into the table drawer and looked at me sternly. My eyebrows twitched slightly:
“I see you know your subject to perfection, and I rather like this capricious devil of yours. But I would like to hear you discussman.”
Magnus laughed:
“And was it not of him I have just spoken? Is not the history of this piece of soap the history of yourman, who can be beaten, burned, hacked to bits, hurled beneath the hoofs of horses, thrown to the dogs, torn into shreds—without rousing his consuming wrath or even his anger? But prick him withsomething—and the explosion will be terrible...as you will learn, Mr. Wondergood.”
He laughed again and rubbed his white hands with pleasure: he scarcely remembered at thatmoment that human blood was already upon them. And is it really necessary formanto remember that? After a pause commensurate with the respect due to the subject, I asked:
“And do you know how to make amanexplode?”
“Certainly.”
“And would you consider it permissible to give me this information?”
“Unfortunately it is not so easy or convenient because the current of high pressure would require too much elucidation, dear Wondergood.”
“Can’t you put it briefly?”
“Oh, briefly. Well, it is necessary to promise man somemiracle.”
“Is that all?”
“That is all.”
“Lies once more? The old monkey?”
“Yes, lies again. But not the old monkey. It is not that I have in mind. Neither crusades nor immortality in heaven. This is the period of other miracles and other wonders. He promised resurrection to the dead. I promise resurrection to the living. His followers were the dead. Mine...ours—are the living.”
“But the deaddid not arise. How about the living?”
“Whoknows? We must make an experiment.I cannot yet confide in you the business end of the enterprise but I warn you: the experiment must be conducted on a very large scale. You are not afraid, Mr. Wondergood?”
I shrugged my shoulders indicating nothing definite. What could I answer? This gentleman carrying upon his shoulders a bomb instead of a head again split me into two halves, of whichman, alas, was the lesser one. As Wondergood, I confess without shame, I felt cruel fear and even pain: just as if the monstrous explosion had already touched my bones and were now breaking them...ah, but where is my endless happiness with Maria, where the boundless peace of mind, where the devil is that white schooner? No, as Great Immortal Curiosity, as the genius ofplayand eternal movement, as the rapacious gaze of unclosing eyes I felt—I confess this, too, without shame—great joy, bordering upon ecstasy! And with a shiver of delight I mumbled:
“What a pity I did not know that before.”
“Why a pity?”
“Oh, just so. Do not forget that I am come from another planet and am only now getting acquainted with man. So what shall we do with this—planet—Magnus?”
He laughed again:
“You are a strange fellow, Wondergood! Withthis planet? We will give it a little holiday. But enough jesting. I do not like it!” He frowned angrily and looked at me sternly, like an old professor...the manner of this gentleman was not distinguished by flippancy. When it seemed to him that I had grown sufficiently serious he shook his head in approval and asked: “Do you know, Wondergood, that the whole of Europe is now in a very uneasy state?”
“War?”
“Possibly war. Everybody is secretly expecting it.Butwar precedes the belief in the kingdom ofmiracles. You understand: we have lived too long in simple faith in the multiplication table,weare tired of the multiplication table,weare filled with ennui and anxiety on this straight road whose mire is lost in infinity. Just now all of us are demanding some miracle and soon the day will come when we will demand the miracle immediately! It is not I alone who wantsan experiment on a large scale—the whole world is preparing it...ah, Wondergood, in truth, life would not be worth the candle if it were not for these highly interesting moments! Highly interesting!” He greedily rubbed his hands.
“You are pleased?”
“As a chemist, I am in ecstasy. My shells are already loaded, without being themselves consciousof the fact, but they will know it well enough when I apply the torch. Can you imagine the sight whenmydynamite will begin to explode, its consciousness, its will, its eyes directed straight upon its goal?”
“And blood? Perhaps my reminder is out of place but I remember an occasion when you spoke ofbloodwith much excitement.”
Magnus fixed his long gaze upon me: something akin to suffering appeared in his eyes: But this was not the prick of conscience or pity—it was the emotion of a mature and wise man whose thoughts had been interrupted by the foolish question of a child: “Blood,” he said, “what blood?”
I recalled to him his words on that occasion and told him of my strange and extremely unpleasant dream about the bottles, filled with blood instead of wine, and so easily broken. Weary, with his eyes closed, he listened to my tale and sighed heavily.
“Blood!”—he murmured: “blood! that’s nonsense. I told you many trite things on that occasion, Wondergood, and it is not worth while to recall them. However, ifthisgives you fear, it is not too late.”
I replied resolutely:
“I fearnothing. As I have already said, I shall follow you everywhere. It ismyblood thatis protesting—you understand?—not my consciousness or will. Apparently I shall be the first to be fooled by you: I, too, seek a miracle. Is not yourMariaa miracle? I have been repeating the multiplication table night and day and I have grown to hate it like the bars of a prison. From the point of view of your chemistry, I am quite loaded and I ask but one thing: blow me up as quickly as possible!”
Magnus agreed sternly:
“Very well. In about two weeks. Are you satisfied?”
“Thank you. I hope that Signorina Maria will then become my wife?”
Magnus laughed.
“Madonna?”
“Oh, I don’t understand your smile...and, I must say, my hope is altogether in conformity with the regard I bear for your daughter, Signor Magnus.”
“Don’t excite yourself, Wondergood. My smile was not about Maria but about your faith in miracles. You are a splendid fellow, Wondergood. I am beginning to love you like a son. In two weeks you will receive everything and then we shall conclude a new and strong pact. Your hand, comrade!”
For the first time he shook my hand in a strong,comradely fashion. I would have kissed him if there had been a simple human head instead of a bomb upon his shoulders. But to touch a bomb! Not even in the face of my utmost respect for him!
That was the first night that I slept like one slain and the stone walls of the palace did not press upon me. The walls were brushed by the explosive power of Magnus’ speech, while the roof melted away beneath the starry coverlet of Maria: my soul departed into the realms of her calm love and refuge. The mountain Tivoli and its fires—that was what I saw as I fell into slumber.