"I _want_ to do something, but I _know_ not what to do. I shall
probably never get down to business until you, Magnus, agree to come
to my aid."
He frowned, at his own large, motionless, white hands and then at me:
"You are too credulous, Mr. Wondergood. This is a great fault when
one has three billions. No, I am of no use to you. Our roads are far
apart."
"But, dear Magnus!..."
I expected him to strike me for this gentle _dear_, which I uttered
in my best possible falsetto. But I ventured to continue. With all
the sweetness I managed to accumulate in Rome, I looked upon the dim
physiognomy of my friend and in a still gentler falsetto, I asked:
"And of what nationality are you, my _dear_...Signor Magnus? I
suspect for some reason that you are not Italian?"
He replied calmly:
"No, I am not Italian."
"But where is your country?----"
"My country?... Omne solum liberam libero patria. I suppose you do
not know Latin? It means: Where freedom is there is the fatherland of
every free man. Will you take breakfast with me?"
The invitation was couched in such icy tones and Maria's absence
was so strongly implied therein that I was compelled to decline it
politely. The devil take this man! I was not at all in a merry mood
that morning. I fervently wished to weep upon his breast while he
mercilessly threw cold showers upon my noblest transports. I sighed
and changed my pose. I assumed a pose prepared especially for Maria.
Speaking in a low voice, I said:
"I want to be frank with you, Signor Magnus. My past...contains many
dark pages, which I should like to redeem. I...."
He quickly interrupted me:
"There are dark pages in everybody's past, Mr. Wondergood. I myself am
not so clear of reproach as to accept the confession of such a worthy
gentleman."
"I am a poor spiritual father," he added with a most unpleasant laugh:
"_I never pardon sinners_ and, in view of that, what pleasure could
there be for you in your confession. Better tell me something more
about your nephew. Is he young?"
We spoke about my nephew--and Magnus smiled. A pause ensued. Then
Magnus asked whether I had visited the Vatican gallery and I bade him
good-by, requesting him to transmit my compliments to Maria. I confess
I was a sorry sight and felt deeply indebted to Magnus when he said in
bidding me farewell:
"Do not be angry with me, Mr. Wondergood. I am not altogether well
to-day and...am rather worried about my affairs. That's all. I hope
to be more pleasant when we meet again, but be so kind as to excuse me
this morning. I shall see that Maria gets your compliments."
If this blackbearded fellow were only _playing_, I confess I would
have found a worthy partner.
A dozen pickaninnies could not have licked off the honeyed expression
my face assumed at Magnus' promise to transmit my greetings to Maria.
All the way back to my hotel I smiled idiotically at the coachman's
back and afterwards bestowed a kiss on Toppi's brow--the canaile still
maintains an odor of fur, like a young devil.
"I see there was profit in your visit," said Toppi significantly. "How
is Magnus'...daughter? You understand?"
"Splendid, Toppi, splendid! She said that my beauty and wisdom
reminded her of Solomon's!"
Toppi smiled condescendingly at my unsuccessful jest. The honeyed
expression left my face and rust and vinegar took the place of the
sugar. I locked myself in my room and for a long time continued to
curse Satan for falling in love with a woman.
You consider yourself original, my earthly friend, when you fall in
love with a woman and begin to quiver all over with the fever of love.
And I do not. I can see the legions of couples, from Adam and Eve on;
I can see their kisses and caresses; I can hear the words so cursedly
monotonous, and I begin to detest my own lips daring to mumble the
mumbling of others, my eyes, simulating the gaze of others, my heart,
surrendering obediently to the click of the lock of a house of shame.
I can see all these excited animals in their groaning and their
caresses and I cry with revulsion at my own mass of bones and flesh
and nerves! Take care, Satan in human form, Deceit is coming over You!
Won't you take Maria for yourself, my earthly friend? Take her. She is
yours, not mine. Ah, if Maria were my slave, I would put a rope around
her neck and would take her, naked, to the market place: Who will buy?
Who will pay the most for this unearthly beauty? Ah, do not hurt the
poor blind merchant: open wide your purses, jingle louder your gold,
generous gentlemen!...
What, she will not go? Fear not, Signor, she will come and she will
love you.... This is simply her maidenly modesty, Sir! Shall I tie the
other end of the rope about her and lead her to your bed, kind sir?
Take the rope along with you. I charge nothing for that. Only rid me
of this heavenly beauty! She has the face of the radiant Madonna. She
is the daughter of the honorable Thomas Magnus and both of them are
thieves: he stole his white hands and she--her pristine face! Ah....
But I am beginning to play with you, dear reader? That is a mistake:
I have simply taken the wrong note book. No, it is not a mistake. It
is worse. I play because my loneliness is very great, very deep--I
fear it has no bottom at all! I stand on the edge of an abyss and hurl
words, many heavy words, into it, but they fall without a sound. I
hurl into it laughter, threats and moans. I spit into it. I fling into
it heaps of stones and rocks. I throw mountains into it--and still it
remains silent and empty. No, really, there is no bottom to this abyss
and we toil in vain, you and I, my friend!
...But I see your smile and your cunning laugh: you _understand_ why
I spoke so sourly of loneliness.... Ah, 'tis love! And you want to ask
whether I have a mistress?
Yes: there are two. One is a Russian countess. The other, an Italian
countess. They differ only in the kind of perfume they use. But this
is such an immaterial matter that I love them both equally.
You probably wish to ask also whether I shall ever visit Magnus again?
Yes, I shall go to Magnus. I love him very much. It matters little
that his name is false and that his daughter has the audacity to
resemble the Madonna. I haven't enough of Wondergood in me to be
particular about a name--and I am too _human_ not to forgive the
efforts of others to appear _divine_.