"Yes, I am the gentleman."
Toppi shook his head in affirmation--the ass:
"Yes, we are the gentlemen."
Magnus bowed and said with a tinge of irony in his voice:
"Humanity is awaiting you, Mr. Wondergood. Judging by the Roman
newspapers it is extremely impatient. But I must crave your pardon for
this very modest meal: I did not know...."
I seized his large, strangely warm hand and shaking it violently, in
American fashion, I said:
"Nonsense, Signor Magnus. I was a swine-herd before I became a
billionaire, while you are a straightforward, honest and noble
gentleman, whose hand I press with the utmost respect. The devil take
it, not a single human face has yet aroused in me as much sympathy as
yours!"
Magnus said....
Magnus said nothing! I cannot continue this: "I said," "he
said,"--This cursed consistency is deadly to my inspiration. It
transforms me into a silly romanticist of a boulevard sheet and makes
me lie like a mediocrity. I have five senses. I am a complete human
being and yet I speak only of the hearing. And how about the sight? I
assure you it did not remain idle. And this sensation of the earth,
of Italy, of My existence which I now perceive with a new and sweet
strength! You imagine that all I did was to listen to wise Thomas
Magnus. He speaks and I gaze, understand, answer, while I think: what
a beautiful earth, what a beautiful Campagna di Roma! I persisted in
penetrating the recesses of the house, into its locked silent rooms.
With every moment my joy mounted at the thought that I am alive, that
I can speak and play and, suddenly, I rather liked the idea of being
human.
I remember that I held out my card to Magnus. "Henry Wondergood." He
was surprised, but laid the card politely on the table. I felt like
implanting a kiss on his brow for this politeness, for the fact
that he too was human. I, too, am human. I was particularly proud
of my foot encased in a fine, tan leather shoe and I persisted in
swinging it: swing on beautiful, human, American foot! I was extremely
emotional that evening! I even wanted to weep: to look my host
straight in the eyes and to squeeze out of my own eyes, so full of
love and goodness, two little tears. I actually did it, for at that
moment I felt a little pleasant sting in my nose, as if it had been
hit by a spurt of lemonade. I observed that my two little tears made
an impression upon Magnus.
But Toppi!--While I experienced this wondrous poem of feeling human
and even of weeping,--he slept like a dead one at the very same table.
I was rather angered. This was really going too far. I wanted to shout
at him, but Magnus restrained me:
"He has had a good deal of excitement and is weary, Mr. Wondergood."
The hour had really grown late. We had been talking and arguing with
Magnus for two hours when Toppi fell asleep. I sent him off to bed
while we continued to talk and drink for quite a while. I drank more
wine, but Magnus restrained himself. There was a dimness about his
face. I was beginning to develop an admiration for his grim and, at
times, evil, secretive countenance. He said:
"I believe in your altruistic passion, Mr. Wondergood. But I do not
believe that you, a man of wisdom and of action, and, it seems to me,
somewhat cold, could place any serious hopes upon your money----"
"Three billion dollars--that is a mighty power, Magnus!"
"Yes, three billion dollars, a mighty power, indeed," he agreed,
rather unwillingly--"but what will you do with it?"