. . . . . . . .

It is said that death always comes in due time.  Evidently, that time had not yet arrived for Max, for he remained alive—­that is, he ate, drank, walked, borrowed money and did not return it, and altogether he showed by a series of psycho-physiological acts that he was a living being, possessing a stomach, a will, and a mind—­but his soul was dead, or, to be more exact, it was absorbed in lethargic sleep.  The sound of human speech reached his ears, his eyes saw tears and laughter, but all that did not stir a single echo, a single emotion in his soul.  I do not know what space of time had elapsed.  It may have been one year, and it may have been ten years, for the length of such intermissions in life depends on how quickly the actor succeeds in changing his costume.

One beautiful day—­it was Wednesday or Thursday—­Max awakened completely.  A careful and guarded liquidation of his spiritual property made it clear that a fair piece of Max’s soul, the part which contained his love for woman and for his friends, was dead, like a paralysis-stricken hand or foot.  But what remained was, nevertheless, enough for life.  That was love for and faith in mankind.  Then Max, having renounced personal happiness, started to work for the happiness of others.

That was a new phase—­he believed.

All the evil that is tormenting the world seemed to him to be concentrated in a “red flower,” in one red flower.  It was but necessary to tear it down, and the incessant, heart-rending cries and moans which rise to the indifferent sky from all points of the earth, like its natural breathing, would be silenced.  The evil of the world, he believed, lay in the evil will and in the madness of the people.  They themselves were to blame for being unhappy, and they could be happy if they wished.  This seemed so clear and simple that Max was dumfounded in his amazement at human stupidity.  Humanity reminded him of a crowd huddled together in a spacious temple and panic-stricken at the cry of “Fire!”

Instead of passing calmly through the wide doors and saving themselves, the maddened people, with the cruelty of frenzied beasts, cry and roar, crush one another and perish—­not from the fire (for it is only imaginary), but from their own madness.  It is enough sometimes when one sensible, firm word is uttered to this crowd—­the crowd calms down and imminent death is thus averted.  Let, then, a hundred calm, rational voices be raised to mankind, showing them where to escape and where the danger lies—­and heaven will be established on earth, if not immediately, then at least within a very brief time.