I knew the profane old woman would not be at all concerned as to
whether they had been bought with stolen money or not, and my only
regret was that I had not had an opportunity to steal a larger sum so
that I might have bought more chrysanthemums without inconveniencing
my purse.
But as it was they filled her dirty little dwelling with perfume
and color.
Long ago, when I was six, I was a thief--only I was not then, as
now, a graceful, light-fingered thief--I had not the philosophy of
stealing.
When I would steal a copper cent out of my mother’s pocketbook I
would feel a dreadful, suffocating sinking in my bad heart, and for
days and nights afterwards--long after I had eaten the chocolate
mouse--the copper cent would haunt me and haunt me, and oh, how I
wished it back in that pocketbook with the clasp shut tight and
the bureau drawer locked!
And so, is it not finer to be nineteen and a thief, with the
philosophy of stealing--than to be six and haunted day and night
by a copper cent?
For now always my only regret is, when I have stolen five dollars,
that I did not steal ten while I was about it.
It is a long time ago since I was six.
February 17.
To-day I walked over the hill where the sun vanishes down in the
afternoon.
I followed the sun so far as I could, but two even very good legs
can do no more than carry one into the midst of the sunshine--and
then one may stand and take leave, lovingly, of it.
I stood in the valley below the hill and looked away at the
gold-yellow mountains that rise into the cloudy blue, and at the
long gray stretches of rolling sand. It all reminded me of the
Devil and the Happiness he will bring me.
Some day the Devil will come to me and say: “Come with me.”
And I will answer: “Yes.”
And he will take me away with him to a place where it is wet and
green--where the yellow, yellow sunshine falls on heaven-kissing
hills, and misty, cloudy masses float over the valleys.
And for days I shall be happy--happy--happy!
For _days_! The Devil and I will love each other intensely,
perfectly--for days! He will be incarnate, but he will not be a man.
He will be the man-devil, and his soul will take mine to itself
and they will be one--for days.
Imagine me raised out of my misery and obscurity, dullness and
Nothingness, into the full, brilliant life of the Devil--for days!
The love of the man-devil will enter into my barren, barren life
and melt all the cold, hard things, and water the barrenness, and
a million little green growing plants will start out of it; and
a clear, sparkling spring will flow over it--through the dreary,
sandy stretches of my bitterness, among the false stony roadways
of my pain and hatred. And a great rushing, flashing cataract of
melting love will flow over my weariness and unrest and wash it
away forever. My soul will be fully awakened and there will be a
million little sweet new souls in the green growing things. And they
will fill my life with everything that is beautiful--tenderness, and
divineness, and compassion, and exaltation, and uplifting grace,
and light, and rest, and gentleness, and triumph, and truth, and
peace. My life will be borne far out of self, and self will sink
quietly out of sight--and I shall see it farther and farther away,
until it disappears.
“It is the last--the _last_--of that Mary MacLane,” I will say,
and I will feel a long, sighing, quivering farewell.
A thousand years of misery--and now a million years of Happiness.
When the sun is setting in the valley and the crests of those
heaven-kissing hills are painted violet and purple, and the
valley itself is reeking and swimming in yellow-gold light, the
man-devil--whom I love more than all--and I will go out into it.
We will be saturated in the yellow light of the sun and the gold
light of Love.
The man-devil will say to me: “Look, you little creature, at this
beautiful picture of Joy and Happiness. It is the picture of your
life as it will be while I am with you--and I am with you for days.”
Ah, yes, I will take a last, long farewell of this Mary MacLane.
Not one faint shadow of her weary wretched Nothingness will remain.
There will be instead a brilliant, buoyant, joyous creature--transformed,
adorned, garlanded by the love of the Devil.
My mind will be a treasure-house of art, swept and garnished and
strong and at its best.
My barren, hungry heart will come at last to its own. The red
flames of the man-devil’s love will burn out forever its pitiable,
distorted, wooden quality, and he will take it and cherish it--and
give me his.
My young woman’s-body likewise will be metamorphosed, and I shall
feel it developing and filled with myriads of little contentments
and pleasures. Always my young woman’s-body is a great and important
part of me, and when I am married to the Devil its finely-organized
nerve-power and intricate sensibility will be culminated to marvelous
completeness. My soul--upon my soul will descend consciously the
light that never was on land or sea.
This will be for days--for days.
No matter what came before, I will say; no matter what comes
afterward. Just now it is the man-devil, my best-beloved, and I,
living in the yellow light.
Think of living with the Devil in a bare little house, in the midst
of green wetness and sweetness and yellow light--for days!
In the gray dawn it will be ineffably sweet and beautiful, with
shining leaves and the gray, unfathomable air, and the wet grass,
and all.
“Be happy now, my weary little wife,” the Devil will say.
And the long, long yellow-gold day will be filled with the music
of Real Life.
My grandest possibility will be realized. The world contains a
great many things--and this is my grandest possibility realized!