Satan's Diary

“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?”