You see, I am again seeking comparisons, only to have the _Truth_ escape me! But what can I do when I have left all my weapons at _home_ and must resort to your poor arsenal? Let God himself don this human form and He will immediately begin to speak to you in exquisite French or Yiddish and He will be unable to say _more_ than it is possible to say in exquisite French or Yiddish. God! And I am only Satan, a modest, careless, human Devil!
Of course, it was careless of me. But when I looked upon _your human_ life from _beyond_...no, wait: You and I have just been caught in a lie, old man! When I said from _Beyond_ you understood at once it must have been very far away. Yes? You may have already determined, perhaps, the approximate number of miles. Have you not at your disposal a limitless number of zeros? Ah, it is not true. My "_Beyond_" is as close as your "_Here_," and is no further away than _this_ very spot. You see what nonsense, what a lie you and I are pirouetting about! Cast away your meter and your scales and only listen as if behind your back there were no ticking of a clock and in your breast there were no counting machine. And so: when I looked upon your life from _Beyond_ it appeared to Me a great and merry game of immortal fragments.
Do you know what a puppets' show is? When one doll breaks, its place is taken by another, but the play goes on. The music is not silenced, the auditors continue to applaud and it is all very interesting. Does the spectator concern himself about the fate of the fragments, thrust upon the scrap heap? He simply looks on in enjoyment. So it was with me, too. I heard the beat of the drums, and watched the antics of the clowns. And I so love immortal play that I felt like becoming an actor myself. Ah, I did not know then that it is not a _play_ at all. And that the scrap heap was terrible when one becomes a puppet himself and that the broken fragments reeked with blood. You deceived me, my friend!
But you are astonished. You knit your brow in contempt and ask: Who is this Satan who does not _know_ such _simple_ things? You are accustomed to respect the Devil. You listen to the commonest dog as if he were speaking ex cathedra. You have surrendered to me your last dollar as if I were a professor of white and black magic and suddenly I reveal myself an ignoramus in the most elementary matters! I understand your disappointment. I myself have grown to respect mediums and cards. I am ashamed to confess that I cannot perform a single trick or kill a bedbug by simply casting my eye upon it, but even with my finger. But what matters most to me is truth: Yes, I did not know your _simplest_ things! Apparently the blame for this is for that _divide_ which separates us. Just as you do not know _my_ real Name and cannot pronounce a simple thing like that, so I did not know _yours_, my earthly shadow, and only now, in great ecstasy do I begin to grasp the wealth that is in you. Think of it: such a simple matter as counting I had to learn from Wondergood. I would not even be able to button my attire if it were not for the experienced and dexterous fingers of that fine chap Wondergood!