Satan’s Diary, Leonid Andreyev [the beginning after the end read novel .TXT] 📗

be it poison or murder, which he will take care to attribute to the misfortune of accident. You smile but I cannot discuss the Vatican smilingly, not so long as it contains such⁠ ⁠… and it will always produce someone like Cardinal X. Look out, Mr. Wondergood: You have landed within the sphere of his vision and interests, and, let me assure you, that scores of eyes are now watching you⁠ ⁠… perhaps me, too. Be on your guard, my friend!”

Magnus was quite excited. Fervently I shook his hand:

“Ah, Magnus!⁠ ⁠… But when will you agree to help me?”

“But you know that I do not like human beings. It is you who loves them Mr. Wondergood, not I.”

A gleam of irony appeared in his eyes.

“The Cardinal says that it is not at all necessary to love people in order to be happy.⁠ ⁠… The contrary, he says!”

“And who told you that I want to make people happy? Again, it is you who wants to do that, not I. Hand over your billions to Cardinal X. His recipe for happiness is not worse than other patent medicines. To be sure, his recipe has one disadvantage: while dispensing happiness it destroys people⁠ ⁠… but is that important? You are too much of a business man, Mr. Wondergood, and I see that you are not sufficiently familiar with the world of our inventors of the Best Means for the Happiness of Mankind: These means are more numerous than the so-called best tonics for the growth of hair. I myself was a dreamer at one time and invented one or two in my youth⁠ ⁠… but I was short on chemistry and badly singed my hair in an explosion. I am very glad I did not come across your billions in those days. I am joking, Mr. Wondergood, but if you wish to be serious, here is my answer: keep on growing and multiplying your hogs, make four of your three billions, continue selling your conserves, provided they are not too rotten, and cease worrying about the happiness of Mankind. As long as the world likes good ham it will not deny you its love and admiration!”

“And how about those who have no means to buy ham?”

“What do you care about them? It is their belly⁠—pardon me for the expression⁠—that is rumbling with hunger, not yours. I congratulate you upon your new home: I know the Villa Orsini very well. It is a magnificent relic of Old Rome.”

I balked at the prospect of another lecture on my palace! Yes, Magnus had again shoved me aside. He did it brusquely and roughly. But his voice lacked sternness and he gazed at me softly and kindly. Well, what of it? To the devil with humanity, its happiness and its ham! I shall try later to bore an entrance into Magnus’ brain. In the meantime leave me alone with my great peace and⁠ ⁠… Maria. Boundless peace and⁠ ⁠… Satan!⁠—isn’t that a splendid touch in my play? And what kind of a liar is he who can fool only others? To lie to oneself and believe it⁠—that is an art!

After breakfast all three of us walked over the downy hills and slopes of the Campagna. It was still early Spring and only little white flowers gently brightened the young, green earth. A soft breeze diffused the scents of the season, while little houses gleamed in distant Albano. Maria walked in front of us, stopping now and then and casting her heavenly eyes upon everything they could envisage. When I return to Rome I shall order my brush-pusher to paint Madonna thus: On a carpet of soft green and little white flowers. Magnus was so frank and merry that I again drew his attention to Maria’s resemblance to the Madonna and told him of the miserable brush-pushers in search of a model. He laughed, agreed with me in my opinion of the aforementioned resemblance, and grew wistful.

“It is a fatal resemblance, Mr. Wondergood. You remember that heavy moment when I spoke to you of blood? Already there is blood at the feet of Maria⁠ ⁠… the blood of one noble youth whose memory Maria and I cherish. There are fatal faces, there are fatal resemblances which confuse our souls and lead to the abyss of self destruction. I am the father of Maria, and yet I myself hardly dare to touch her brow with my lips. What insurmountable barriers does love raise for itself when it dares to lift its eyes upon Maria?”

This was the only moment of that happy day when my ocean became overcast with heavy clouds, as tangled as the beard of “Mad King Lear,” while a wild wind shook the sails of my schooner. But I lifted my eyes to Maria, I met her gaze. It was bright and calm, like the sky above us⁠—and the wild wind disappeared without trace, bearing away with it fragments of the darkness. I do not know whether you understand these sea comparisons, which I consider quite inadequate. Let me explain: I again grew quite calm. What is that noble Roman youth to me, who himself unable to find comparisons was hurled over the head of his Pegasus? I am a white-winged schooner and beneath me is an entire ocean, and was it not written of Her: the Incomparable?

The day was long and quiet and I was charmed with the precision with which the sun rolled down from its height to the rim of the earth, with the measured pace with which the stars covered the heavens, the large stars first, then the little ones, until the whole sky sparkled and gleamed. Slowly grew the darkness. Then came the rosy moon, at first somewhat rusty, then brilliant, and swam majestically over the road made free and warm by the sun. But more than anything else did I and Magnus feel charmed when we sat in the half-darkened room and heard Maria: she played the harp and sang.

And listening to the strains of the harp I realized why man