"I do not quite understand this change of subject, Magnus. On the
contrary, the museums have revealed to me a new and more attractive
side of man...."
He laughed.
"Love for mankind?... Well, well, do not take offense at the
jest, Wondergood. You see: everything that man does in crayon is
wonderful--but repulsive in painting. Take the sketch of Christianity,
with its sermon on the Mount, its lilies and its ears of corn, how
marvelous it is! And how ugly is its picture with its sextons, its
funeral pyres and its Cardinal X.! A genius begins the work and an
idiot, an animal, completes it. The pure and fresh wave of the ocean
tide strikes the dirty shore--and returns dirty, bearing back with
it corks and shells. The beginning of love, the beginning of the
Roman Empire and the great revolution--how good are all beginnings!
And their end? And even if a man here and there has managed to die
as beautifully as he was born, the masses, the masses, Wondergood,
invariably end the liturgy in shamelessness!"
"Oh, but what about the causes, Magnus?"
"The causes? Apparently we find concealed here the very _substance_
of man, of animal, evil and limited in the mass, inclined to madness,
easily inoculated with all sorts of disease and crowning the widest
possible road with a standstill. And that is why Art is so much above
Man!"
"I do not understand."
"_What_ is there incomprehensible about it? In art it is the genius
who begins and the genius completes. You understand: the genius! the
fool, the imitator or the critic is quite powerless to change or mar
the paintings of Velasquez, the sculpture of Angelo or the verse of
Homer. He can destroy, smash, break, burn or deface, but he is quite
powerless to bring them down to his own level--and that is why he so
detests real art. You understand, Wondergood? His paw is helpless!"
Magnus waved his white hand and laughed.
"But why does he guard and protect it so assiduously?"
"It is not _he_ who guards and protects. This is done by a special
species of _faithful watchmen_"--Magnus laughed again: "and did you
observe how uncomfortable they feel in the museum?"
"Who--they?"
"Well, those who came to view the things! But the most ridiculous
phase of the whole business is not that the fool is a fool but that
the genius unswervedly worships the fool as a neighbor and fellow
being and anxiously seeks his devastating love. As if he were a savage
himself, the genius does not understand that _his_ true neighbor is a
genius similar to himself and he is eternally opening his embraces to
the near--human...who eagerly crawls into them in order to abstract
the watch from his vest pocket! Yes, my dear Wondergood, it is a most
laughable point and I fear...."
He lapsed into thought, fixing his eyes upon the floor: thus
apparently do human beings gaze into the depths of their own graves.
And I understood just what this genius feared, and once again I bowed
before the Satanic mind which in all the world recognized only itself
and its own will. Here was a god who would not share his power with
Olympus! And what a contempt for mankind! And what open contempt for
me! Here was a grain of earth that could make the devil himself sneeze!
And do you know how I concluded that evening? I took my pious Toppi by
the neck and threatened to shoot him if he did not get drunk with me.
And drunk we did get! We began in some dirty little café and continued
in some night taverns where I generously filled some black-eyed
bandits with liquor, mandolin players and singers, who sang to me
of Maria: I drank like a farm hand who had just arrived in the city
after a year of sober labor. Away with the museums! I remember that
I shouted much and waved my hands--but never did I love my _Maria_
so tenderly, so sweetly and so painfully as in that smoke of drink,
permeated with the odor of wine, oranges and some burning fat, in this
wide circle of black bearded stealthy faces and rapaciously gleaming
eyes, amid the melodious strains of mandolins which opened for me the
very vestibules of heaven and hell!
I vaguely remember some very accommodating but pompous murderers, whom
I kissed and forgave in the name of Maria. I remember that I proposed
that all of us go to drink in the Coliseum, in the very place where
martyrs used to die but I do not know why we did not do it--I believe
there were technical difficulties. And how splendid Toppi was! At
first he drank long and silently, like an archbishop. Then he suddenly
began to perform interesting feats. He put a bottle of Chianti on
his nose, the wine running all over him. He tried to perform some
tricks with cards but was immediately caught by the affable bandits
who brilliantly repeated the same trick. He walked on all fours and
sang some religious verses through his nose. He cried and suddenly
announced frankly that he was a devil.
We walked home staggering along the street, bumping into walls and
lampposts and hilariously enjoying ourselves like two students. Toppi
tried to pick a quarrel with some policemen, but, touched by their
politeness, he ended by conferring his stern blessing upon them,
saying gloomily:
"Go and sin no more."
Then he confessed with tears that he was in love with a certain
signorina, that his love was requited and that he must therefore
resign his spiritual calling. Saying this, he lay down upon a stony
threshold and fell into a stubborn sleep. And thus I left him.
Maria, Maria, how you tempt me! Not once have I touched your lips.
Yesterday I kissed only red wine...but whence come these burning
traces on my lips? But yesterday I stood upon my knees, Madonna, and
covered you with flowers: but yesterday I timidly laid hands upon
the hem of your garment, and to-day you are only a woman and I want
you. My hands are trembling. The obstacles, the halls, the paces and
the thresholds separating us drive me mad. I want you! I did not
recognize my own eyes in the mirror: there is a thick shadow upon
them. I breathe heavily and irregularly, and all day long my thoughts
are wandering lustfully about your naked breast. I have forgotten
everything.
In whose power am I? It bends me like soft, heated iron. I am
deafened, I am blinded by my own heat and sparks. What do you do,
man, when _that_ happens to you? Do you simply go and take the woman?
Do you violate her? Think: it is night now and Maria is so close by.
I can approach her room without a sound...and I want to hear her
cries! But suppose Magnus bars the road for me? I will kill Magnus.
Nonsense.
No, tell me, in whose power am I? You ought to know that man? To-day,
just before evening, as I was seeking to escape from myself and Maria,
I wandered about the streets, but it was worse there: everywhere I
saw men and women, men and women. As if I had never seen them before!
They all appeared naked to me. I stood long at Monte-Picio and tried
to grasp what a sunset was but could not: before me there passed by in
endless procession those men and women, gazing into each other's eyes.
Tell me--what is Woman? I saw one--very beautiful--in an automobile.
The sunset threw a rosy glow upon her pale face and in her ears there
glistened two diamond sparks. She gazed upon the sunset and the sunset
gazed on her, but I could not endure it: sorrow and love gripped my
heart, as if I were dying. There behind her were trees, green, almost
black.
Maria! Maria!
April 19, Isle of Capri.
Perfect calm reigned upon the sea. From a high precipice I gazed long
upon a little schooner, motionless in the blue expanse. Its white
sails were rigidly still and it seemed as happy as on that memorable
day. And, again, great calm descended upon me, while the holy name of
_Maria_ resounded purely and peacefully, like the Sabbath bells on the
distant shore.
There I lay upon the grass, my face toward the sky. The good earth
warmed my back, while my eyes were pierced with warm light, as if
I had thrust my face into the sun. Not more than three paces away
there lay an abyss, a steep precipice, a dizzying wall, and it was
delightful to imbibe the odor of grass and the Spring flowers of
Capri. There was also the odor of Toppi, who was lying beside me:
when he is heated by the sun he emits the smell of fur. He was all
sunburned, just as if he had been smeared with coal. In general, he is
a very amiable old Devil.
The place where we lay is called Anacapri and constitutes the elevated
part of the island. The sun had already set when we began our trip
downward and a half moon had risen in the sky. But there was the same
quiet and warmth and from somewhere came the strains of mandolins in
love, calling to Maria. Maria everywhere! But my love breathed with
great calm, bathed in the pure moonlight rays, like the little white
houses below. In such a house, at one time, did Maria live, and into
just such a house I will take her in about four days.
A high wall along which the road ran, concealed the moon from us and
here we beheld the statue of an old Madonna, standing in a niche,
high above the road and the surrounding bushes. Before her burned
with a weak flame the light of an image-lamp, and she seemed so alive
in her watchful silence that my heart grew cold with sweet terror.
Toppi bowed his head and mumbled a prayer, while I removed my hat and
thought:
How high above this earthly vessel, filled with moonlit twilight and
mysterious charms, you stand. Thus does _Maria_ stand above my soul....
Enough! Here again the extraordinary begins and I must pause. We
shall soon drink some champagne and then we shall go to the café. I
understand they expect some mandolin players from Naples there to-day.
Toppi would rather be shot than follow me: his conscience troubles him
to this day. But it is good that I will be alone.
April 23--Rome,
Palazzo Orsini.
...Night. My palace is dead and silent, as if it were one of the
ruins of ancient Rome. Beyond the large window lies the garden: it
is transparent and white with the rays of the moon and the vaporous
pole of the fountain resembles a headless vision in a silver veil. Its
splash is scarcely heard through the thick window-pane--as if it were
the sleepy mumbling of the night guard.
Yes, this is all beautiful and...how do you put it?--it breathes
with love. Of course, it would be good to walk beside Maria over the
blue sand of the garden path and to trample upon her shadow. But I
am disturbed and my disquiet is wider than love. In my attempts to
walk lightly I wander about the room, lean against the wall, recline
in silence in the corners, and all the time I seem to hear something.
Something far away, a thousand kilometers from here. Or is this all
lodged in my memory--that which I strain my ear to catch? And the
thousand kilometers--are they the thousand years of my life?
You would be astonished if you saw how I was dressed. My fine
American costume had suddenly become unbearably heavy, so I put on
my bathing suit. This made me appear thin, tall and wiry. I tried to
test my nimbleness by crawling about the floor, suddenly changing the
direction, like a noiseless bat. But it is not I who am restless. It
is my muscles that are filled with this unrest, and I know not what
they want. Then I began to feel cold. I dressed and sat down to write.
I drank some wine and drew down the curtains to shut the white garden
from my eyes. Then I examined and fixed my Browning. I intend to take
it with me to-morrow for a friendly chat with Magnus.
You see, Thomas Magnus has some _collaborators_. That is what he calls
those gentlemen unknown to me who respectfully get out of my way when
we meet, but never greet me, as if we were meeting in the street and
not in my house. There were two of them when I went to Capri. Now they
are six, according to what Toppi tells me, and they live here. Toppi
does not like them. Neither do I. They seem to have no _faces_. I
could not see them. I happened to think of that just now when I tried
to recall them.
"These are my assistants," Magnus told me to-day without trying in the
least to conceal his ridicule.
"Well, I must say, Magnus, they have had bad training. They never
greet me when we meet."
"On the contrary, dear Wondergood! They are very well-mannered.
They simply cannot bring themselves to greet you without a proper
introduction. They are...extremely correct people. However, you will
learn all to-morrow. Don't frown. Be patient, Wondergood! Just one
more night!"
"How is Signorina Maria's health?"
"_To-morrow_ she will be well." He placed his hand upon my shoulder
and brought his dark, evil, brazen eyes closer to my face: "The
passion of love, eh?"