* * * * *
...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 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."