Wednesday, 4 August 1875
If anyone had asked me at this very point what was one word that would promptly summarise my career, it would be the following: Opportunities. The world is full of them. Wherever I am, I don't hesitate to take hold of one. It is like what Alexander Graham Bell once said: "When one door closes another door opens, but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us."
So that's what I have done and am doing. And look what I have done as a result! Finally, after months of rigorous testing, I've created a substance, collodion, that maintains stability while not losing the explosive quality of dynamite. A mixture of nitrocellulose and ether was all it took to (excuse me if I'm being too pompous here) make 'Alfred Nobel' a household name.
I wrote to Mr Barbe today, Mr Paul Barbe – a good man he is. Remember travelling to France where I was first acquainted to him, and cannot forget that look that he gave me when he witnessed the power of my invention first-hand at a presentation many years ago. He's just only started to have a keen interest in chemistry.
So, a couple of years ago, Barbe approached me and proposed that we should enter a partnership. We struck a deal, and due to his connections in France, I began exporting dynamite to there. France was not only feared for its economy but its manufacturing of explosives. He's also extended his hand to help my brothers with their business.
I never considered him a friend, though. Yes, he might be cooperative, clever and all of that, but I didn't think of him as a companion outside my work. Don't think we ever worked that well together,. He, in my words, was a person "with excellent capacity for work, but whose conscience is more elastic than rubber." Pity, since his combination of sense and energy are so rare.
Back then, I had my suspicions that my work was being used in war, but never so much as now. Which is why I wasn't so elated that I'd created blasting gelatin. With a man like Paul, putting himself into the chaos made it even worse.
I hope that maybe things will calm down just this once.
Yours, Alfred Nobel
Sunday, 6 December 1896
Four a.m.- been sitting up all night thinking. Not thinking about my inventions, business, and all the like. I’ve been pondering about this: What legacy will I leave behind? I know what you’re thinking. “Sunday’s a day of rest!” I hear you say. Well, it’s time I need to muse about these matters. I haven’t got enough life left in me – the doctors have determined that someday, someday soon I’m likely to have a fatal stroke.
About time now. I know, just know, that our times on this planet are ephemeral. We are like snowflakes– short-lived, full of fragility. When winter comes, the ground conceals itself in its soft white robes of snow, and snowflakes dance in the breeze. As spring approaches, we begin to melt and disappear. This endless, almost infinite cycle of living and dying, in the eyes of the Earth, is so passing. We come in and then leave this world in a fleeting time.
At least I’m luckier than most. I still remember my brother Emil, on that fateful, fateful day at the factory. And Ludvig. Dear, dear, Ludvig. As soon as I write his name down here, I begin thinking about the mistaken obituary. ‘Merchant of Death’, it proclaimed. ‘Alfred Nobel, who became rich by finding ways to kill more people faster than ever before, died yesterday.’ This has brought me back to my initial thought: What is the legacy I’ll leave behind? My eyes begin to weep when I read what I’ve written. The Merchant of Death - is this the way I want to be remembered? Is this the way that I want to be forgotten? Is this my fate?
Legacy, what is a legacy? It is as if you were planting the very first seeds in a garden and you’ll never live to see them grow. I hoped, hoped with all my dear, dear heart that what I did would help the world for the better. But that was not so. My inventions, my creations, my innovations that I thought would help humankind, were used in that unspeakable, despicable creation of mankind: War.
Funny, how things can turn out.
I asked for my apprentice Ragnar, a good chap he is, a good chap. Even in my hardest times, he’s always there, right beside me, to comfort me. He was saddened to hear of my afflictions. I think he really liked me, not as a mentor but as a friend.
'Friend.' What a pathetic word to describe my pathetic predicament. Throughout my life, I'd never been this infamous before. Not that 'popularity' was what I was aiming for, mind you. If you ask me, I would rather prefer to be a world-changer than be renowned. But even that seems impossible to me, for not only are my days numbered but my explosives are being shipped by the thousand for war. I am being laughed upon, jeered upon. Barely anyone these days takes a moment to pity me.
I've just added the finishing touches to my will. I have my doubts that the prizes will ever be executed, but it’s still worth a try. As I conclude my final entry, I can only hope the world would realise that I never intended my inventions to be used in this way. If only they could understand me.
If only there was some more peace left in the world.
Yours, Alfred Nobel