"I fear _nothing_. As I have already said, I shall follow you
everywhere. It is _my_ blood that is protesting--you understand?--not
my consciousness or will. Apparently I shall be the first to be fooled
by you: I, too, seek a miracle. Is not your _Maria_ a miracle? I have
been repeating the multiplication table night and day and I have grown
to hate it like the bars of a prison. From the point of view of your
chemistry, I am quite loaded and I ask but one thing: blow me up as
quickly as possible!"
Magnus agreed sternly:
"Very well. In about two weeks. Are you satisfied?"
"Thank you. I hope that Signorina Maria will then become my wife?"
Magnus laughed.
"Madonna?"
"Oh, I don't understand your smile...and, I must say, my hope is
altogether in conformity with the regard I bear for your daughter,
Signor Magnus."
"Don't excite yourself, Wondergood. My smile was not about Maria but
about your faith in miracles. You are a splendid fellow, Wondergood.
I am beginning to love you like a son. In two weeks you will receive
everything and then we shall conclude a new and strong pact. Your
hand, comrade!"
For the first time he shook my hand in a strong, comradely fashion. I
would have kissed him if there had been a simple human head instead of
a bomb upon his shoulders. But to touch a bomb! Not even in the face
of my utmost respect for him!
That was the first night that I slept like one slain and the stone
walls of the palace did not press upon me. The walls were brushed by
the explosive power of Magnus' speech, while the roof melted away
beneath the starry coverlet of Maria: my soul departed into the realms
of her calm love and refuge. The mountain Tivoli and its fires--that
was what I saw as I fell into slumber.
April 8, Rome.
Before knocking at my door, His Majesty, the ex-King E. had knocked
at no small number of entrances in Europe. True to the example of
his apostolic ancestors, who believed in the gold of Israel, he
particularly liked to approach Jewish bankers; I believe that the
honor done me by his visit was based upon his firm conviction that
I was a Jew. Although His Majesty was visiting Rome incognito, I,
warned of his visit, met him at the foot of the stairs and bowed low
to him--I think that is the requirement of etiquette. Then, also in
accordance with etiquette, we introduced ourselves, he--his adjutant,
I--Thomas Magnus.
I confess I had not a very flattering opinion of the former king
and that is why he astonished me all the more with his high opinion
of himself. He gave me his hand politely but with such haughty
indifference, he looked at me with such complete self-confidence, as
if he were gazing at a being of a lower order, he walked ahead of me
so naturally, sat down without invitation, gazed upon the walls and
furniture in such frankly royal manner, that my entire uneasiness due
to my unfamiliarity with etiquette disappeared immediately. It was
only necessary to follow this fellow, who appeared to know everything
so well. In appearance he was quite a young man, with fresh complexion
and magnificent coiffure, somewhat worn out but sufficiently
well-preserved, with colorless eyes and a calm, brazenly protruding
lower lip. His hands were beautiful. He did not try to conceal that he
was bored by my American face, which appeared Jewish to him, and by
the necessity of asking me for money: he yawned slightly after seating
himself and said:
"Sit down, gentlemen."
And with a slight command of the hand he ordered the adjutant to state
the nature of his proposal. He paid no attention to Magnus at all,
and while the fat, red and obliging adjutant was stealthily narrating
the story of the "misunderstanding" which caused the departure of His
Majesty from his country--His Majesty was nonchalantly examining his
feet. Finally, he interrupted his representative's speech with the
impatient remark:
"Briefer, Marquis. Mr.... Wondergood is as well familiar with this
history as we are. In a word, these fools kicked me out. How do you
regard it, dear Wondergood?"
"How do I regard it?" I bowed low:
"I am glad to be of service to Your Majesty."
"Well, yes, that's what they all say. But will you give me any money?
Continue, Marquis."
The Marquis, smiling gently at me and Magnus (despite his obesity he
looked quite hungry) continued to weave his thin flimsy web about the
misunderstanding, until the bored king again interrupted him:
"You understand: these fools thought that I was responsible for all
their misfortunes. Wasn't that silly, Mr. Wondergood? And now they are
worse off than ever and they write: 'Come back, for God's sake. We are
perishing!' Read the letters, Marquis."
At first the king spoke with a trace of excitement but apparently
any effort soon wearied him. The Marquis obediently took a packet
of papers from the portfolio and tortured us with the complaints of
the orphaned subjects, begging their lord to return. I looked at the
king: he was no less bored than we were. It was so clear to him that
the people could not exist without him that all confirmations of
this seemed superfluous.... And I felt so strange: whence does this
miserable man get so much happy confidence? There was no doubt that
this bird, unable to find a crumb for himself, sincerely believed in
the peculiar qualities of his personage, capable of bestowing upon a
whole people marvelous benefactions. Stupidity? Training? Habit? At
that moment the marquis was reading the plea of some correspondent, in
which, through the web of official mediocrity and the lies of swollen
phrases, gleamed the very same confidence and sincere call. Was that,
too, stupidity and habit?
"And so forth, and so forth," interrupted the king listlessly: "that
will do, Marquis, you may close your portfolio. Well, what you think
of it, dear Mr. Wondergood?"
"I will be bold enough to say to Your Majesty that I am a
representative of an old, democratic republic and...."
"Stop, Wondergood! Republic, democracy! That's nonsense. You know well
enough yourself that a king is a necessity. You, in America, will
have a king, too, some day. How can you get along without a king: who
will be responsible for them before God? No, that's foolish."
This creature was actually getting ready to answer for the people
before God! And he continued with the same calm audacity:
"The king can do everything. And what can a president do? Nothing.
Do you understand, Wondergood--_Nothing!_ Why, then, do you want a
president who can do nothing?"--he deigned to twist his lower lip into
a sarcastic smile.--"It is all nonsense, invented by the newspapers.
Would you, for example, take your president seriously, Mr. Wondergood?"
"But representative government...."
"Fi! Excuse me, Mr. Wondergood (he recalled my name with
great difficulty) but what fool will pay any attention to the
representatives of the people? Citizen A will pay heed to Citizen B
and Citizen B will pay heed to Citizen A--is that not so? But who will
compel their obedience if both of them are wise? No, I, too, have
studied logic, Mr. Wondergood and you will permit me to indulge in a
laugh!"
He laughed slightly and said with his usual gesture:
"Continue, Marquis.... No, let me do it. The King can do
_everything_, Wondergood, you understand?"
"But the law...."
"Ah, this fellow, too, speaks of law. Do you hear, Marquis? No, I
really can't understand what you want this law for! That all may
suffer equitably! However, if you are so keen on having law, law you
shall have. But who will give it to you, if not I?"
"But the representatives of the people...."
The king directed his colorless eyes upon me, almost in despair:
"Ah, again citizen A and B! But can't you understand, dear Wondergood?
What kind of a law is it if they themselves make it? What wise man
will agree to obey it? No, that's nonsense. Is it possible that you
yourself obey this law, Wondergood?"
"Not only I, Your Majesty, but the whole of America...."
His eyes measured me with sympathy.
"Pardon me, but I don't believe it. The whole of America! Well, in
that case they simply don't understand what law is--do you hear,
Marquis, the whole of America! But that's not the thing. I must
return, Wondergood. You've heard what the poor devils write?"
"I am happy to see that the road is open for you, my lord."
"Open? You think so? Hm! No, I need money. Some write and others
don't, you understand?"
"Perhaps they don't know how to write, my lord?"
"They? Oh! You should have seen what they wrote against me. I was
quite flustered. What they need is the firing squad."
"All of them?"
"Why all of them? Some of them will be enough. The rest of them will
simply be scared to death. You understand, Wondergood, they have
simply stolen my power from me and now, of course, will simply refuse
to return it. You can't expect me to see to it that no one robs me.
And these gentlemen,"--he indicated the blushing Marquis--"to my
sorrow did not manage to guard my interests."
The Marquis mumbled confusedly:
"Sire!"
"Now, now, I know your devotion, but you were asleep at the switch
just the same? And now there is so much trouble, so much trouble!"--he
sighed lightly. "Did not Cardinal X. tell you I needed money,
Mr. Wondergood? He promised to. Of course I will return it all
and...however, you should take this matter up with the Marquis. I have
heard that you love people very much, Mr. Wondergood?"
A faint smile flitted over the dim face of Magnus. I bowed slightly.
"The Cardinal told me so. That is very praiseworthy, Mr. Wondergood.
But if you do love people you will certainly give me money. I don't
doubt that in the least. They must have a king. The newspapers are
merely prattling nonsense. Why do they have a king in Germany, a king
in England, a king in Italy, and a hundred other kings? And don't we
need a king too?"
The adjutant mumbled:
"A misunderstanding...."
"Of course a misunderstanding. The Marquis is quite right. The
newspapers call it a revolution, but believe me, I know my people; it
is simply a misunderstanding. They are now weeping themselves. How can
they get along without a king? There would be no kings at all then.
You understand? What nonsense! They now talk of no God, too. No, we
must do a little shooting, a little shooting!"
He rose quickly and this time shook my hand with a patronizing smile
and bowed to Magnus.
"Good-by, good-by, my dear Wondergood. You have a magnificent
figure.... Oh, what a splendid fellow! The Marquis will drop in to
see you one of these days. There was something more I wanted to say.
Oh, yes: I hope that you in America will have a king, too, in the near
future...that is very essential, my friend. Moreover, that's bound
to be the end! Au revoir!"
We escorted His Majesty with the same ceremony. The Marquis followed
and his bowed head, divided into two halves by the part in his reddish
hair, and his red face bore the expression of hunger and constant
failure.... Ah, he has so frequently and so fruitlessly orated about
that 'misunderstanding'! The King, apparently, also recalled at that
moment his vain knocking about at other thresholds: his bloodless face
again filled with grayish ennui and in reply to my parting bow, he
opened wide his eyes, as if in astonishment, with the expression: what
more does this fool want? Ah, yes, he has money. And lazily he asked:
"And so, you'll not forget, Mr....friend!" And his automobile was
magnificent and just as magnificent was the huge chauffeur, resembling
a gendarme, attired for the new rôle. When we had reascended the
stairs (our respectful lackeys meanwhile gazing upon me as on a royal
personage) and entered our apartments, Magnus fell into a long, ironic
silence. I asked:
"How old is this creature?"
"Didn't you know, Wondergood? That's bad. He is 32 years old. Perhaps
less."
"Did the Cardinal really speak of him and ask you to give him money?"
"Yes,--from what you may have left after the Cardinal's wants are
attended to."
"That is probably due to the fact that the monarchist form of
government is also in vogue in heaven. Can you conceive of a republic
of saints and the administration of the world on the basis of popular
representation? Think of it: even devils will then receive the vote. A
King is most necessary, Wondergood. Believe me."
"Nonsense! This is not worthy even of a jest."
"I am not jesting. You are mistaken. And pardon me for being so
direct, my friend: in his discussion about kings _he_ was above you,
this time. You saw only a creature, a countenance of purely material
limitations and ridiculous. _He_ conceived himself to be a symbol.
That is why he is so calm and there is no doubt that he will return to
his beloved people."
"And will do a little shooting."
"And will do a little shooting. And will throw a little scare into
them. Ah, Wondergood, how stubborn you are in your refusal to part
with the multiplication table! Your republic is a simple table, while
a king--do you realize it?--is a _miracle_! What can there be simpler,
sillier and more hopeless than a million bearded men, governing
themselves,--and how wonderful, how miraculous when this million of
bearded fellows are governed by a creature! That is a miracle! And
what possibilities it gives rise to! It seemed very funny to me when
you spoke with so much warmth about the law, this dream of the devil.
A king is necessary for the precise purpose of _breaking_ the law, in
order that the _will_ may be _above_ the law!"
"But laws change, Magnus."
"To change is only to submit to necessity and to new law, which was
unknown to you before. Only by breaking the law do you elevate the
_will_. Prove to me that God himself is subject to his own laws, i.e.,
to put it simply, that he cannot perform miracles, and to-morrow your
shaven monkey will share the fate of loneliness and all the churches
will be turned into horse stables. The miracle, Wondergood, the
miracle--that is what holds human beings on this cursed earth!"
Magnus emphasized these words by banging the table with his fist. His
face was gloomy. In his dark eyes there flickered unusual excitement.
Speaking as if he were threatening some one, he continued:
"_He_ believes in miracles and I envy him. He is insignificant, he is
really what you might call a creature, but he believes in miracles.
And he has already been a king and will be a king again! And we!..."
He waved his hand contemptuously and began to pace the carpet like an
angry captain on the deck of _his_ vessel. With much respect I gazed
upon his heavy, explosive head and blazing eyes: for the first time I
realized what _Satanic_ ambitions there were concealed in this strange
gentlemen. "And we!" Magnus noticed my gaze and shouted angrily:
"Why do you look at me like that, Wondergood? It's silly! You are
thinking of my ambition? That's foolish, Wondergood! Would not _you_,
a gentleman of Illinois, also like to be...well, at least, Emperor
of _Russia_, where the _will_ is still above the law?"
"And on what particular throne have you your eye, Magnus?" I replied,
no longer concealing my irony.
"If you are pleased to think of me so flatteringly, Wondergood, I will
tell you that I _aim_ much higher. Nonsense, my friend! Only bloodless
moralists have never dreamt of a crown, just as only eunuchs have
never tempted themselves with the thought of woman. Nonsense! But I do
not seek a throne--not even the Russian throne: it is too cramping."
"But there is another throne, Signor Magnus: the throne of God."
"But why only the throne of God? And have you forgotten Satan's, Mr.
Wondergood?"
And this he said to Me...or did the whole street know that my throne
was vacant? I bowed my head respectfully and said:
"Permit me to be the first to greet you...Your Majesty."
Magnus turned on me in wild wrath, gnashing his teeth, like a dog over
a contested bone. And this angry atom wants to be Satan! This handful
of earth, hardly enough for one whiff for the Devil, is dreaming to
be crowned with my crown! I bowed my head still lower and dropped
my eyes: I felt the gleaming flame of contempt and divine laughter
blazing forth within them. I realized that it must not be given to
my honored ward to know this _laughter_. I do not know how long we
remained silent, but when our eyes met again they were clear, pure and
innocent, like two bright rays in the shade. Magnus was the first to
speak:
"And so?" he said.
"And so?" I replied.
"Will you order money for the king?"
"The money is at your disposal, my dear friend."
Magnus looked at me thoughtfully.
"It's not worth while," he decided. "This miracle is old stuff. It
requires too many police to compel belief. We shall perform a better
miracle."
"Oh, undoubtedly. We shall contrive a better device. In two weeks?"
"Yes, about that!" replied Magnus cordially.
We shook hands warmly in parting and in about two hours the gracious
king sent each of us a decoration: some sort of a star for me and
something else for Magnus. I rather pitied the poor idiot who
continued to play his lone hand.
April 16, Rome.
Maria is somewhat indisposed and I hardly see her. Magnus informed me
of her illness--and lied about it: for some reason he does not want me
to see her. Does he fear anything?
Again Cardinal X. called on him in my absence. Nothing is being said
to me about the "miracle."
But I am patient,--and I wait. At first this was rather boresome but
recently I have found a new pastime and now I am quite content. It is
the Roman museums, where I spend my mornings, like a conscientious
American who has just learned to distinguish between a painting
and a piece of sculpture. But I have no Baedecker with me and I am
strangely happy that I don't understand a thing about it all: marble
and painting. I merely like it.
I like the odor of the sea in the museums. Why the sea?--I do not
know: the sea is far away and I rather expected the odor of decay.
And it is so spacious here--much more spacious than the Campagna. In
the Campagna I see only space, over which run trains and automobiles.
Here I swim in time. There is so much time here! Then, too, I rather
like the fact that here they preserve with great care a chip of a
marble foot or a stony sole with a bit of the heel. Like an ass from
Illinois, I simply cannot understand what value there is in this, but
I already believe that it is valuable and I am touched by your careful
thrift, little man! Preserve it! Go on breaking the feet of live men.
That is nothing. But these you must preserve. It is good, indeed, when
living, dying, ever changing men, for the space of 2000 years, take
such good care of a chip of marble foot.
When I enter the narrow museum from the Roman street, where every
stone is drowned in the light of the April sun, its transparent and
even shadow seems to me a peculiar light, more durable than the
expensive rays of the sun. As far as I _recollect_ it is thus that
eternity doth shine. And these marbles! They have swallowed as much
sunlight as an Englishman whiskey before they were driven into this
place that they do not fear night at all.... And I, too, do not fear
the night when I am near them. Take care of them, man!
If _this_ is what you call art, what an ass you are, Wondergood. Of
course, you are cultured, you look upon art with reverence as upon
religion and you have understood as much of it as that ass did on
which the Messiah entered Jerusalem. And what if there should be a
fire? Yesterday this thought troubled me all day and I went with it to
Magnus. But he seems extremely occupied with something and could not,
at first, understand what I was driving at.
"What's the trouble, Wondergood? You want to insure the Vatican--or
something else? Make it clearer?"
"Oh! to insure!" I exclaimed in anger: "you are a barbarian, Thomas
Magnus!"
At last he understood. Smiling cordially, he stretched, yawned and
laid some paper before me.
"You really are a gentleman from Mars, dear Wondergood. Don't
contradict, and sign this paper. It is the last one."
"I will sign, but under one condition. Your explosion must not touch
the Vatican."
He laughed again:
"Would you be sorry? Then you had better not sign. In general, if you
are sorry about anything--about anything at all--it would be better
for us to part before it is too late. There is no room for pity in my
game and my play is not for sentimental American girls."
"If you please...." I signed the paper and threw it aside. "But it
seems as if you have earnestly entered upon the duties of Satan, dear
Magnus!"
"And does Satan have duties? Poor Satan! Then I don't want to be
Satan!"
"Neither duties nor obligations?"
"Neither duties nor obligations."
"And what then?"
He glanced at me quickly with his gleaming eyes and replied with one
short word, which cut the air before my face:
"_Will._"
"And...the current of high pressure?"
Magnus smiled patronizingly:
"I am very glad that you remember my words so well, Wondergood. They
may be of use to you some day."
Cursed dog. I felt so much like striking him that I--bowed
particularly low and politely. But he restrained me with a gracious
gesture, pointing to a chair:
"Where are you going, Wondergood? Sit down. We have seen so little of
each other of late. How is your health?"
"Fine, thank you. And how is the health of Signorina Maria?"
"Not particularly good. But it's a trifle. A few more days of waiting
and you.... So you like the museums, Wondergood? There was a time
when I, too, gave them much time and feeling. Yes, I remember, I
remember.... Don't you find, Wondergood, that man, in mass, is a
repulsive being?"