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

“And the Cardinal?”

“What Cardinal? Ah, yes!⁠ ⁠… Cardinal X. and my billions. I remember. But⁠—don’t gaze at me in such astonishment, Magnus. I am sick of it.”

“What are you sick of, Mr. Wondergood?”

“It. Six secretaries. Brainless old women, snuff, and my Dante Inferno, where they take me for my walks. Don’t look at me so sternly, Magnus. Probably one could have made better wine out of my billions, but I managed to produce only sour beer. Why did you refuse to help me? Of course, you hate human beings, I forgot.”

“But you love them?”

“What shall I say, Magnus? No, I am rather indifferent to them. Don’t look at me so⁠ ⁠… pityingly. By God, it isn’t worth it! Yes, I am indifferent to them. There are, there were and there will be so many of them that it isn’t really worth while.⁠ ⁠…”

“So I am to conclude that you lied?”

“Look not at me but at my packed trunks. No, I did not lie, not entirely. You know, I wanted to do something interesting for the sake of amusement and so I let loose this⁠ ⁠… this emotion.⁠ ⁠…”

“So it was only play?⁠ ⁠…”

I blinked again and shrugged my shoulders. I like this method of reply to complex questions. And this face of Signor Thomas Magnus appealed to me, too; his long, oval face recompensed me slightly for my theatrical failures and⁠ ⁠… Maria. I must add that by this time there was a fresh cigar in my mouth.

“You said that in your past there are some dark pages.⁠ ⁠… What’s the trouble, Mr. Wondergood?”

“Oh! it was a slight exaggeration. Nothing in particular, Magnus. I beg your pardon for disturbing you needlessly, but at that time I thought I should have spoken thus for the sake of style.⁠ ⁠…”

“Style?”

“Yes, and the laws of contrast. The present is always brighter with a dark past as a background⁠ ⁠… you understand? But I have already told you, Magnus, that my prank had little result. In the place I come from they have quite a mistaken conception of the pleasures of the game here. I shall have to disabuse them when I get back. For a moment I was taken in by the old monkey, but its method of fleecing people is rather ancient and too certain⁠ ⁠… like a counting house. I prefer an element of risk.”

“Fleecing people?”

“Don’t we despise them, Magnus? And if the game has failed, let us not at least deny ourselves the pleasure of speaking frankly. I am very glad. But I am tired of this prattle and, with your permission, I will take another glass of wine.”

There was not even the resemblance of a smile on Thomas Magnus’ face. I mention the smile for the sake of⁠ ⁠… style. We passed the next half hour in silence, broken only by the shrieks and yells of Mad Mars and the even pacing of Magnus. With his hands behind him and disregarding me entirely he paced the room with even step: eight steps forward, eight steps backward. Apparently he must have been in jail at one time and for quite a while: for he had the knack of the experienced prisoner of creating distances out of a few meters. I permitted myself to yawn slightly and thus drew the attention of my host back to myself. But Magnus kept quiet for another moment, until the following words rang out through the air and well nigh hurled me out of my seat:

“But Maria loves you. Of course, you do not know that?”

I arose.

“Yes, that is the truth: Maria loves you. I did not expect this misfortune. I failed to kill you, Mr. Wondergood. I should have done that at the very beginning and now I do not know what to do with you. What do you think about it?”

I stretched and⁠ ⁠…

… Maria loves Me!

I once witnessed in Philadelphia an unsuccessful electrocution of a prisoner. I saw at “La Scala” in Milan my colleague Mephisto cringing and hopping all over the stage when the supers moved upon him with their crosses⁠—and my silent reply to Magnus was an artistic improvisation of both the first and the second trick: ah, at that moment I could think of nothing better to imitate! I swear by eternal salvation that never before had I been permeated by so many deadly currents, never did I drink such bitter wine, never was my soul seized with such uncontrollable laughter!

Now I no longer laugh or cringe, like a cheap actor. I am alone and only my own seriousness can hear and see Me. But in that moment of triumph I needed all my strength to control my laughter so that I might not deal ringing blows to the face of this stern and honest man hurling the Madonna into the embraces of⁠ ⁠… the Devil. Do you really think so? No? Or are you merely thinking of Wondergood, the American, with his goatee and wet cigar between his gold teeth! Hatred and contempt, love and anguish, wrath and laughter⁠—these filled to the brim the cup presented to Me⁠ ⁠… no, still worse, still more bitter, still more deadly! What do I care about the deceived Magnus or the stupidity of his eyes and brain? But how could the pure eyes of Maria have been deceived?

Or am I really such a clever Don Juan that I can turn the head of an innocent and trusting girl by a few simple, silent meetings? Madonna, where art Thou? Or, has she discovered a resemblance between myself and one of her saints, like Toppi’s. But I do not carry with me a traveling prayer book! Madonna, where art Thou? Are thy lips stretching out to mine? Madonna, where art Thou? Or?⁠ ⁠…

And yet I cringed like an actor. I sought to stifle in respectful mumbling my hatred and my contempt when this new “or” suddenly filled me with new confusion and such love⁠ ⁠… ah, such love!

“Or,” thought I, “has Thy immortality, Madonna, echoed the immortality of Satan and is it now stretching forth this gentle hand to