Satan’s Diary, Leonid Andreyev [the beginning after the end read novel .TXT] 📗

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,