Satan's Diary

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 it from the realms of Eternity? Thou, who art divine, hast thou recognized a friend in him who has become human? Thou, who art above, dost thou pity him who is below? Oh, Madonna, lay thy hand upon my dark head that I may recognize thee by thy touch!..”

But hear what further transpired that night.

“I know not why Maria has fallen in love with you. That is a secret of her soul, too much for my understanding. No, I do not know, but I bow to her will as to her frankness. What are my human eyes before her all-penetrating gaze, Mr. Wondergood!..”

(The latter, too, was saying the same thing.)

“A moment ago, in a fit of excitement,” continued Magnus, “I said something about murder and death… No, Mr. Wondergood, you may rest secure forever: the chosen one of Maria enjoys complete immunity as far as I am concerned. He is protected by more than the law – her pure love is his armor. Of course, I shall have to ask you to leave us at once. And I believe in your honest intention, Wondergood, to place the ocean between us…”

“But…”

Magnus moved forward towards me and shouted angrily:

“Not another word!.. I cannot kill you but if you dare to mention the word ‘marriage,’ I!..”

He slowly dropped his uplifted hand, and continued calmly:

“I see that I will have to beg your pardon again for my fit of passion, but it is better than falsehood, examples of which we have had from you. Do not defend yourself, Wondergood. It is quite unnecessary. And of marriage let me speak: it will ring less insulting to Maria than it would from your lips. It is quite unthinkable. Remember that. I am a sober realist: I see nothing but mere coincidence in that fatal resemblance of Maria and I am not at all taken aback by the thought that my daughter, with all her unusual qualities, may some day become a wife and mother… My categorical opposition to this marriage was simply another means of warning you. Yes, I am accustomed to look soberly upon things, Mr. Wondergood. It is not you who is destined to be Maria’s life partner! You do not know me at all and now I am compelled to raise slightly the curtain behind which I am hiding these many years: my idleness is merely rest. I am not at all a peaceful villager or a book philosopher. I am a man of struggle. I am a warrior on the battlefield of life! And my Maria will be the gift only of a hero, if – if I should ever find a hero.”

I said:

“You may rest assured, Signor Magnus, that I will not permit myself to utter a single word in regard to Signorina Maria. You know that I am not a hero. But I should think it permissible to ask of you: how am I to reconcile your present remarks with your former contempt for man? I recollect that you spoke seriously of gallows and prisons.”

Magnus laughed loudly:

“And do you remember what you said about your love for man? Ah, my dear Wondergood: I would be a bad warrior and politician if my education did not embrace the art of lying a little. We were both playing, that’s all!”

“You played better,” I admitted quite gloomily.

“And you played very badly, my friend, – do not be offended. But what am I to do when there suddenly appears before me a gentleman all loaded with gold like…”

“Like an ass. Continue.”

“And begins to reveal to me his love for humanity, while his confidence in his success is equal only to the quantity of the dollars in his pocket? The main fault of your play, Mr. Wondergood, is that you are too eager for success and seek immediate results. This makes the spectator cold and less credulous. To be sure, I really did not think you were merely acting – the worst play is better than sincere assininity – and I must again crave your pardon: you seemed to me just one of those foolish Yankees who really take their own bombastic and contemptible tirades seriously and…you understand?”

“Quite fully. I beg you to continue.”

“Only one phrase of yours, – something about war and revolution purchasable with your billions – seemed to me to possess a modicum of interest, but the rest of the drivel proved that that, too, was a mere slip of the tongue, an accidental excerpt of some one else’s text. Your newspaper triumphs, your flippancy in serious matters – remember Cardinal X! – your cheap philanthropy are of a quite different tone… No, Mr. Wondergood, you are not fit for serious drama! And your prattling to-day, despite its cynicism, made a better impression than your flamboyant circus pathos. I say frankly: were it not for Maria I would gladly have had a good laugh at your expense, and, without the slightest compunction would have raised the farewell cup!”

“Just one correction, Magnus: I earnestly desired that you should take part…”

“In what? In your play? Yes, your play lacked the creative factor and you earnestly desired to saddle me with your poverty of spirit. Just as you hire your artists to paint and decorate your palaces so you wanted to hire my will and my imagination, my power and my love!”

“But your hatred for man…”

Up to this point Magnus had maintained his tone of irony and subtle ridicule: my remark, however, seemed to change him entirely. He grew pale, his white hands moved convulsively over his body as if they were searching for a weapon, and his face became threatening and even horrible. As if fearing the power of his own voice, he lowered it almost to a whisper; as if fearing that his words would break their leash and run off at a wild pace, he tried desperately to hold them in check and in order.

“Hatred? Be silent, sir. Or have you no conscience at all or any common sense? My contempt! My hatred! They were my reply, not to your theatrical love, but to your sincere and dead indifference. You were insulting me as a human being by your indifference: You were insulting life by your indifference. It was in your voice, it gleamed savagely out of your eyes, and more than once was I seized by terror…terror, sir! – when I pierced deeper the mysterious emptiness of your pupils. If your past has no dark pages, which, as you say, you merely added for the sake of style, then there is something worse than that in it: there are white pages in it. And I cannot read them!..”

“Oh, oh!”

“When I look at your eternal cigar, and see your self-satisfied but handsome and energetic face; when I view your unassuming manner, in which the simplicity of the grog shop is elevated to the heights of Puritanism, I fully understand your naïve game. But I need only meet the pupil of your eye…or its white rim and I am immediately hurled into a void, I am seized with alarm and I no longer see either your cigar or your gold teeth and I am ready to exclaim: who are you that you dare to bear yourself with such indifference?”

The situation was becoming interesting. Madonna loves Me and this creature is about ready to utter my Name at any moment! Is he the son of my Father? How could he unravel the great mystery of my boundless indifference: I tried so carefully to conceal it, even from you!

“Here! here!” shouted Magnus, in great excitement, “again there are two little tears in your eyes, as I have noticed before. They are a lie, Wondergood! There is no source of tears behind them. They have fallen from somewhere above, from the clouds, like dew. Rather laugh: behind your laughter I see merely a bad man, but behind your tears there are white pages, white pages!.. or has Maria read them?”

Without taking his eyes off me, as if fearing that I might run away, Magnus paced the room, finally seating himself opposite Me. His face grew dim and his voice seemed tired, when he said:

“But it seems to me that I am exciting myself in vain…”

“Do not forget, Magnus, that to-day I myself spoke to you of indifference.”

He waved his hand wearily and carelessly.

“Yes, you did speak. But there is something else involved here, Wondergood. There is nothing insulting in the indifference, but in the other…I sensed it immediately upon your appearance with your billions. I do not know whether you will understand what I mean, but I immediately felt like shouting of hatred and to demand gallows and blood. The gallows is a gloomy thing but the curious jostling about the gallows, Mr. Wondergood, are quite unbearable! I do not know what they think of our game here in the ‘place’ you come from, but we pay for it with our lives, and when there suddenly appears before us some curious gentleman in a top hat, cigar in mouth, one feels, you understand, like seizing him by the back of his neck and…he never stays to the end of the performance, anyway. Have you, too, Mr. Wondergood, dropped in on us for a brief visit?”

With what a long sigh I uttered the name of Maria!.. And I no longer played, I no longer lied, when I replied to this gloomy man:

“Yes, I have dropped in on you for a brief visit, Signor Magnus. You have guessed right. For certain very valid reasons I can reveal nothing to you of the white pages of my life, the existence of which behind my leather binding you have likewise guessed. But on one of them was written: death-departure. That was not a top hat in the hands of the curious visitor, but a revolver…you understand: I look on as long as it is interesting and after that I make my bow and depart. Let me put it clearer and simpler, out of deference to your realism: in a few days, perhaps to-morrow, I depart for the other world… No, that is not clear enough: in a few days or to-morrow I shall shoot myself, kill myself with a revolver. I at first planned to aim at my heart but have decided that the brain would be more reliable. I have planned all this long ago, at the very beginning…of my appearance before you, and was it not in this readiness of mine to depart that you have detected ‘inhuman’ indifference? Isn’t it true that when one eye is directed upon the other world, it is hardly possible to maintain any particularly bright flame in the eye directed upon this world?.. I refer to the kind of flame I see in your eyes. O! you have wonderful eyes, Signor Magnus.”

Magnus remained silent for a few moments and then said:

“And Maria?”

“Permit me to reply. I prize Signorina Maria too highly not to regard her love for me as a fatal mistake.”

“But you wanted that love?”

“It is very difficult for me to answer that question. At first, perhaps – when I indulged in dreams for a while – but the more I perceived this fatal resemblance…”

“That is mere resemblance,” Magnus hastened to assure me: “But you mustn’t be a child, Wondergood! Maria’s soul is lofty and beautiful, but she is human, made of flesh and bone. She probably has her own little sins, too…”

“And how about my top hat, Magnus? How about my free departure? I need only buy a seat to gaze upon Maria and her fatal resemblance – admitting that it is only resemblance! – but how must I pay for love?”

Magnus said sternly:

“Only with your life.”

“You see: only with my life! How, then, did you expect me to desire such love?”