Леонид Андреев
Satan's Diary
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.
“The Cardinal told me so. That is very praiseworthy, Mr. Wondergood. But if you do love people you will certainly give me money. I don’t doubt that in the least. They must have a king. The newspapers are merely prattling nonsense. Why do they have a king in Germany, a king in England, a king in Italy, and a hundred other kings? And don’t we need a king too?”
The adjutant mumbled:
“A misunderstanding…”
“Of course a misunderstanding. The Marquis is quite right. The newspapers call it a revolution, but believe me, I know my people; it is simply a misunderstanding. They are now weeping themselves. How can they get along without a king? There would be no kings at all then. You understand? What nonsense! They now talk of no God, too. No, we must do a little shooting, a little shooting!”
He rose quickly and this time shook my hand with a patronizing smile and bowed to Magnus.
“Good-by, good-by, my dear Wondergood. You have a magnificent figure… Oh, what a splendid fellow! The Marquis will drop in to see you one of these days. There was something more I wanted to say. Oh, yes: I hope that you in America will have a king, too, in the near future…that is very essential, my friend. Moreover, that’s bound to be the end! Au revoir!”
We escorted His Majesty with the same ceremony. The Marquis followed and his bowed head, divided into two halves by the part in his reddish hair, and his red face bore the expression of hunger and constant failure… Ah, he has so frequently and so fruitlessly orated about that ‘misunderstanding’! The King, apparently, also recalled at that moment his vain knocking about at other thresholds: his bloodless face again filled with grayish ennui and in reply to my parting bow, he opened wide his eyes, as if in astonishment, with the expression: what more does this fool want? Ah, yes, he has money. And lazily he asked:
“And so, you’ll not forget, Mr…friend!” And his automobile was magnificent and just as magnificent was the huge chauffeur, resembling a gendarme, attired for the new rôle. When we had reascended the stairs (our respectful lackeys meanwhile gazing upon me as on a royal personage) and entered our apartments, Magnus fell into a long, ironic silence. I asked:
“How old is this creature?”
“Didn’t you know, Wondergood? That’s bad. He is 32 years old. Perhaps less.”
“Did the Cardinal really speak of him and ask you to give him money?”
“Yes, – from what you may have left after the Cardinal’s wants are attended to.”
“That is probably due to the fact that the monarchist form of government is also in vogue in heaven. Can you conceive of a republic of saints and the administration of the world on the basis of popular representation? Think of it: even devils will then receive the vote. A King is most necessary, Wondergood. Believe me.”
“Nonsense! This is not worthy even of a jest.”
“I am not jesting. You are mistaken. And pardon me for being so direct, my friend: in his discussion about kings he was above you, this time. You saw only a creature, a countenance of purely material limitations and ridiculous. He conceived himself to be a symbol. That is why he is so calm and there is no doubt that he will return to his beloved people.”
“And will do a little shooting.”
“And will do a little shooting. And will throw a little scare into them. Ah, Wondergood, how stubborn you are in your refusal to part with the multiplication table! Your republic is a simple table, while a king – do you realize it? – is a miracle! What can there be simpler, sillier and more hopeless than a million bearded men, governing themselves, – and how wonderful, how miraculous when this million of bearded fellows are governed by a creature! That is a miracle! And what possibilities it gives rise to! It seemed very funny to me when you spoke with so much warmth about the law, this dream of the devil. A king is necessary for the precise purpose of breaking the law, in order that the will may be above the law!”
“But laws change, Magnus.”
“To change is only to submit to necessity and to new law, which was unknown to you before. Only by breaking the law do you elevate the will. Prove to me that God himself is subject to his own laws, i.e., to put it simply, that he cannot perform miracles, and to-morrow your shaven monkey will share the fate of loneliness and all the churches will be turned into horse stables. The miracle, Wondergood, the miracle – that is what holds human beings on this cursed earth!”
Magnus emphasized these words by banging the table with his fist. His face was gloomy. In his dark eyes there flickered unusual excitement. Speaking as if he were threatening some one, he continued: