Chapter III (1)

March 29
Rome.

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 my _To-day_.

_Ave, Cæsar, moriturus te salutat!_

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 become my 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 upon _our_ life. 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 alone there 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. Let _bystanders_ accuse 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 I have 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 the _words_ spoken by man from the day of his birth and you will think: this is God! Look at all the _deeds_ of 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 the _final_ judge 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: I go 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, the _moment_, when before my very death itself I shall suddenly find myself immortal and broader than life itself. It is strange, 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 alone and 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 of _silence_ when I come upon the _extraordinary_, 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 is _clear_, 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 have _experienced_ at 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 your _indifference_: you have become, much more nervous and energetic. But whence comes this immeasurable terror in your eyes? Collect yourself, Wondergood!"

I laughed.

"Thank you. I am quite collected. Apparently it is the _slave_, 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 me _how_ this 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 the _very 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 from _katorga_, and after long and painful wandering over the Siberian forests, he found refuge 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 innocent _lamb_, 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 the _mother_ was 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 his _own_ hand, 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: _how_ do you like it? I am off to work. In the meantime, devote yourself to discerning the _boundary_ of 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 with _us_?"

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 with _reverence_ and find _joy_ in his caress! This is not true of me before, but now, in every conversation, I perceive that this man can go _further_ than I in everything.

I fear I _hate_ him. 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 the _father_ of 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 the glassy ocean; as if I held all answers in my hand and were merely too lazy to open it and read therein, as if _immortality_ had returned to me...ah, I can speak no more, oh, man! Let me press your hand?

April 6, 1914.

The good Toppi approves _all_ my actions. He amuses me greatly, this good Toppi. As I expected, he has _completely_ forgotten 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 to _him_, 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 of _Maria_: 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 Magnus _knows_. 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 that _play_? 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 ago and 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 find _something_ for 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! But _what_ was 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 had come 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 material weight, of the complete disappearance of _body_, when I felt myself a speeding thought, a flying gaze....

But still less can I tell you of _Maria_. 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 the _whole 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 the _sun_, coming down from its course just one line were to come closer to you by that distance? Would you not consider it a _miracle_?

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 the world. 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 and daring 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 reverence with 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 this king 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 am _quite_ serious, 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. And I, 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 a _man_.... 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 think _that is_ not 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 what _great evil_ is? Perhaps it is really _great good_? In my recent contemplations, there...came to me a strange thought: Who is of greater _use_ to 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 his eyes, 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 of _nothing_, Mr. Wondergood?"

"I think _not_."

"And murder...many murders?"

"You remember the point you made in your story about the boy of the _boundary_ of 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 powder demands 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 new _dynamite_ does 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 is _man_. 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 capricious Devil. 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 discuss _man_."

Magnus laughed:

"And was it not of him I have just spoken? Is not the history of this piece of soap the history of your _man_, 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 with _something_--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 that moment that human blood was already upon them. And is it really necessary for _man_ to remember that? After a pause commensurate with the respect due to the subject, I asked:

"And do you know how to make a _man_ explode?"

"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 some _miracle_."

"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 dead _did not arise_. How about the living?"

"Who _knows_? _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 which _man_, 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 of _play_ and 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! With this 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. _But_ war precedes the belief in the kingdom of _miracles_. You understand: we have lived too long in simple faith in the multiplication table, _we_ are tired of the multiplication table, _we_ are 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 wants _an 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 conscious of the fact, but they will know it well enough when I apply the torch. Can you imagine the sight when _my_ dynamite 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 of _blood_ with 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, if _this_ gives you fear, it is not too late."

I replied resolutely:

"I fear _nothing_. As I have already said, I shall follow you everywhere. It is _my_ blood that is 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 your _Maria_ a 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.

April 8, Rome.

Before knocking at my door, His Majesty, the ex-King E. had knocked at no small number of entrances in Europe. True to the example of his apostolic ancestors, who believed in the gold of Israel, he particularly liked to approach Jewish bankers; I believe that the honor done me by his visit was based upon his firm conviction that I was a Jew. Although His Majesty was visiting Rome incognito, I, warned of his visit, met him at the foot of the stairs and bowed low to him--I think that is the requirement of etiquette. Then, also in accordance with etiquette, we introduced ourselves, he--his adjutant, I--Thomas Magnus.

I confess I had not a very flattering opinion of the former king and that is why he astonished me all the more with his high opinion of himself. He gave me his hand politely but with such haughty indifference, he looked at me with such complete self-confidence, as if he were gazing at a being of a lower order, he walked ahead of me so naturally, sat down without invitation, gazed upon the walls and furniture in such frankly royal manner, that my entire uneasiness due to my unfamiliarity with etiquette disappeared immediately. It was only necessary to follow this fellow, who appeared to know everything so well. In appearance he was quite a young man, with fresh complexion and magnificent coiffure, somewhat worn out but sufficiently well-preserved, with colorless eyes and a calm, brazenly protruding lower lip. His hands were beautiful. He did not try to conceal that he was bored by my American face, which appeared Jewish to him, and by the necessity of asking me for money: he yawned slightly after seating himself and said:

"Sit down, gentlemen."

And with a slight command of the hand he ordered the adjutant to state the nature of his proposal. He paid no attention to Magnus at all, and while the fat, red and obliging adjutant was stealthily narrating the story of the "misunderstanding" which caused the departure of His Majesty from his country--His Majesty was nonchalantly examining his feet. Finally, he interrupted his representative's speech with the impatient remark:

"Briefer, Marquis. Mr.... Wondergood is as well familiar with this history as we are. In a word, these fools kicked me out. How do you regard it, dear Wondergood?"

"How do I regard it?" I bowed low:

"I am glad to be of service to Your Majesty."

"Well, yes, that's what they all say. But will you give me any money? Continue, Marquis."

The Marquis, smiling gently at me and Magnus (despite his obesity he looked quite hungry) continued to weave his thin flimsy web about the misunderstanding, until the bored king again interrupted him:

"You understand: these fools thought that I was responsible for all their misfortunes. Wasn't that silly, Mr. Wondergood? And now they are worse off than ever and they write: 'Come back, for God's sake. We are perishing!' Read the letters, Marquis."

At first the king spoke with a trace of excitement but apparently any effort soon wearied him. The Marquis obediently took a packet of papers from the portfolio and tortured us with the complaints of the orphaned subjects, begging their lord to return. I looked at the king: he was no less bored than we were. It was so clear to him that the people could not exist without him that all confirmations of this seemed superfluous.... And I felt so strange: whence does this miserable man get so much happy confidence? There was no doubt that this bird, unable to find a crumb for himself, sincerely believed in the peculiar qualities of his personage, capable of bestowing upon a whole people marvelous benefactions. Stupidity? Training? Habit? At that moment the marquis was reading the plea of some correspondent, in which, through the web of official mediocrity and the lies of swollen phrases, gleamed the very same confidence and sincere call. Was that, too, stupidity and habit?

"And so forth, and so forth," interrupted the king listlessly: "that will do, Marquis, you may close your portfolio. Well, what you think of it, dear Mr. Wondergood?"

"I will be bold enough to say to Your Majesty that I am a representative of an old, democratic republic and...."

"Stop, Wondergood! Republic, democracy! That's nonsense. You know well enough yourself that a king is a necessity. You, in America, will have a king, too, some day. How can you get along without a king: who will be responsible for them before God? No, that's foolish."

This creature was actually getting ready to answer for the people before God! And he continued with the same calm audacity:

"The king can do everything. And what can a president do? Nothing. Do you understand, Wondergood--_Nothing!_ Why, then, do you want a president who can do nothing?"--he deigned to twist his lower lip into a sarcastic smile.--"It is all nonsense, invented by the newspapers. Would you, for example, take your president seriously, Mr. Wondergood?"

"But representative government...."

"Fi! Excuse me, Mr. Wondergood (he recalled my name with great difficulty) but what fool will pay any attention to the representatives of the people? Citizen A will pay heed to Citizen B and Citizen B will pay heed to Citizen A--is that not so? But who will compel their obedience if both of them are wise? No, I, too, have studied logic, Mr. Wondergood and you will permit me to indulge in a laugh!"

He laughed slightly and said with his usual gesture:

"Continue, Marquis.... No, let me do it. The King can do _everything_, Wondergood, you understand?"

"But the law...."

"Ah, this fellow, too, speaks of law. Do you hear, Marquis? No, I really can't understand what you want this law for! That all may suffer equitably! However, if you are so keen on having law, law you shall have. But who will give it to you, if not I?"

"But the representatives of the people...."

The king directed his colorless eyes upon me, almost in despair:

"Ah, again citizen A and B! But can't you understand, dear Wondergood? What kind of a law is it if they themselves make it? What wise man will agree to obey it? No, that's nonsense. Is it possible that you yourself obey this law, Wondergood?"

"Not only I, Your Majesty, but the whole of America...."

His eyes measured me with sympathy.

"Pardon me, but I don't believe it. The whole of America! Well, in that case they simply don't understand what law is--do you hear, Marquis, the whole of America! But that's not the thing. I must return, Wondergood. You've heard what the poor devils write?"

"I am happy to see that the road is open for you, my lord."

"Open? You think so? Hm! No, I need money. Some write and others don't, you understand?"

"Perhaps they don't know how to write, my lord?"

"They? Oh! You should have seen what they wrote against me. I was quite flustered. What they need is the firing squad."

"All of them?"

"Why all of them? Some of them will be enough. The rest of them will simply be scared to death. You understand, Wondergood, they have simply stolen my power from me and now, of course, will simply refuse to return it. You can't expect me to see to it that no one robs me. And these gentlemen,"--he indicated the blushing Marquis--"to my sorrow did not manage to guard my interests."

The Marquis mumbled confusedly:

"Sire!"

"Now, now, I know your devotion, but you were asleep at the switch just the same? And now there is so much trouble, so much trouble!"--he sighed lightly. "Did not Cardinal X. tell you I needed money, Mr. Wondergood? He promised to. Of course I will return it all and...however, you should take this matter up with the Marquis. I have heard that you love people very much, Mr. Wondergood?"

A faint smile flitted over the dim face of Magnus. I bowed slightly.