"And it is this bird of prey that you now wish to give to me? Have
you exhausted your feed? You want my liver, too, in addition to my
billions?"
But Magnus had already calmed himself. Subduing his excitement and the
drunkenness which had imperceptibly come upon him, he returned to his
place without haste and ordered politely:
"I will answer you in a moment, Mr. Wondergood. Please withdraw to
your room Maria. I have something to say to Mr. Wondergood. And I
would ask you, too, my honorable Mr. Toppi, to depart. You may join my
friends in the salon."
"If Mr. Wondergood will so command...." replied Toppi, dryly, without
rising.
I nodded and, without looking at Magnus, my secretary obediently made
his exit. Maria, too, left the room. To tell the truth, I again felt
like clinging to his vest and weeping in the first few moments of my
tête-à-tête with Magnus: after all, this thief was my friend! But I
satisfied myself with merely swallowing my tears. Then followed a
moment of brief desperation at the _departure_ of Maria. And slowly,
as if from the realm of remote recollection, blind and wild anger and
the need of beating and destroying began to fill my heart. Let me
add, too, that I was extremely provoked by my torn sleeve that kept
slipping constantly: it was necessary for me to be stern and austere
and this made me seem ridiculous...ah, on what trifles does the
result of the greatest events depend on this earth! I lighted a cigar
and with studied gruffness hurled into the calm and hateful face of
Magnus:
"Now, you! Enough of comedy and charlatanism. Tell me what you want.
So you want me to surrender to that bird of prey of yours?"
Magnus replied calmly, although his eyes were burning with anger:
"Yes. That is the trial I wanted to subject you to, Wondergood.
I fear that I have succumbed slightly to the emotion of useless
and vain revenge and spoke more heatedly than was necessary in
Maria's presence. The thing is, Wondergood, that all that I have so
picturesquely described to you, all this passion and despair and
all these sufferings of...Prometheus really belong to the past. I
now look upon Maria without pain and even with a certain amount of
pleasure, as upon a beautiful and useful little beast...useful for
domestic considerations. You understand? What after all, is the liver
of Prometheus? It is all nonsense! In reality, I should be thankful to
Maria. She gnawed out with her little teeth my silly _faith_ and gave
me that clear, firm and realistic outlook upon life which permits of
no deceptions and...sentimentalisms. You, too, ought to experience
and grasp it, Wondergood, if you would follow Magnus Ergo."
I remained silent, lazily chewing my cigar. Magnus lowered his eyes
and continued still more calmly and dryly:
"Desert pilgrims, to accustom themselves to death, used to sleep in
coffins: let Maria be your coffin and when you feel like going to
church, kissing a woman and stretching your hand to a friend, just
look at Maria and her _father_, Thomas Magnus. Take her, Wondergood,
and you will soon convince yourself of the value of my gift. I don't
need her any longer. And when your humiliated soul shall become
inflamed with truly inextinguishable, human hatred and not with weak
contempt, come to me and I shall welcome you into the ranks of my
yeomanry, which will very soon.... Are you hesitating? Well, then go,
catch other lies, but be careful to avoid scoundrels and Madonnas, my
gentleman from Illinois!"
He broke into loud laughter and swallowed a glass of wine at one gulp.
His swollen calm evaporated. Little flames of intoxication, now merry,
now ludicrous, like the lights of a carnival, now triumphant, now dim,
like funeral torches at a grave, again sprang forth in his bloodshot
eyes. The scoundrel was drunk but held himself firmly, merely swaying
his branches, like an oak before a south wind. Rising and facing me,
he straightened his body cynically, as if trying to reveal himself in
his entirety, and well nigh spat these words at me:
"Well? How long do you intend to think about it, you ass? Come, quick,
or I'll kick you out! Quick! I'm tired of you! What's the use of my
wasting words? What are you thinking of?"
My head buzzed. Madly pulling up that accursed sleeve of mine, I
replied:
"I am thinking that you are an evil, contemptible, stupid and
repulsive beast! I am thinking in what springs of life or hell itself
I could find for you the punishment you deserve! Yes, I came upon this
earth to play and to laugh. Yes, I myself was ready to embrace any
evil. I myself lied and pretended, but you, hairy worm, you crawled
into my very heart and bit me. You took advantage of the fact that my
heart was human and bit me, you hairy worm. How dared you deceive me?
I will punish you."
"You? Me?"
I am glad to say that Magnus was astonished and taken aback. His eyes
widened and grew round and his open mouth naïvely displayed a set of
white teeth. Breathing with difficulty, he repeated:
"You? Me?"
"Yes. I--you."
"Police?"
"You are not afraid of it? Very well. Let all your courts be
powerless, remain unpunished on this earth, you evil conscienceless
creature! The day will come when the sea of falsehood, which
constitutes your life, will part and all your falsehood, too, will
give way and disappear. Let there be no foot upon this earth to crush
you, hairy worm. Let! I, too, am powerless here. But the day will come
when you will depart from this earth. And when you come to _Me_ and
fall under the shadow of my kingdom...."
"Your kingdom? Hold on, Wondergood. Who are you, then?"
And right at this point there occurred the most shameful event of my
entire earthly life. Tell me: is it not ridiculously funny when Satan,
even in human form, bends his knee in prayer to a prostitute and is
stripped naked by the very first man he meets? Yes, this is extremely
ridiculous and shameful of Satan, who bears with him the breath of
eternity. But what would you say of Satan when he turned into a
powerless and pitiful liar and pasted upon his head with a great
flourish the paper crown of a theatrical czar? I am ashamed, old man.
Give me one of your blows, the kind on which you feed your friends and
hired clowns. Or has this torn sleeve brought me to this senseless,
pitiful wrath? Or was this the last act of my human masquerade, when
man's spirit descends to the mire and sweeps the dust and dirt with
its breath? Or has the _ruin_ of Madonna, which I witnessed, dragged
Satan, too, into the same abyss?
But this was--think of it!--this was what I answered Magnus. Thrusting
out my chest, barely covered with my torn shirt, stealthily pulling
up my sleeve, so that it might not slip off entirely, and looking
sternly and angrily directly into the stupid, and as they seemed to
me, frightened eyes of the scoundrel Magnus, I replied _triumphantly_:
"I am--Satan!"
Magnus was silent for a moment--and then broke out into all the
laughter that a drunken, repulsive, human belly can contain. Of
course you, old man, expected that, but I did not. I swear by eternal
salvation, I did not! I shouted something but the brazen laughter of
this beast drowned my voice. Finally, taking advantage of a moment's
interval between his thundering peals of laughter, I exclaimed quickly
and modestly...like a footnote at the bottom of a page, like a
commentary of a publisher:
"Don't you understand: I am Satan. I have donned the human form! I
have donned the human form!"
He heard me with his eyes bulging, and with fresh thunderous roars of
laughter, the outbursts shaking his entire frame, he moved toward the
door, flung it open and shouted:
"Here! Come here! Here is Satan! In human...human garb!"
And he disappeared behind the door.
Oh, if I could only have fallen through the floor, disappeared or
flown away, like a real devil, on wings, in that endless moment,
during which he was gathering the _public_ for an extraordinary
spectacle. And now they came--all of them, damn them: Maria and all
the six _aides_ and my miserable Toppi, and Magnus himself, and
completing the procession--His Eminence, Cardinal X.! The cursed,
shaven monkey walked with great dignity and even bowed to me, after
which he sat down, just as dignified, in an armchair and carefully
covered his knees with his robes. All were wondering, not knowing yet
what it was all about, and glanced now at me and now at Magnus, who
tried hard to look serious.
"What's the trouble, Signor Magnus?" asked the Cardinal in a
benevolent tone.
"Permit me to report the following, your Eminence: Mr. Henry
Wondergood has just informed me that he is--Satan. Yes, Satan, and
that he has merely donned the human form. And thus our assumption that
he is an American from Illinois falls. Mr. Wondergood is Satan and
apparently has but recently deigned to arrive from Hell. What shall
we do about it, Your Eminence?"
Silence might have saved me. But how could I restrain this maddened
Wondergood, whose heart was aflame with insult! Like a lackey who
has appropriated his celebrated master's name and who faintly senses
something of his grandeur, power and connections--Wondergood stepped
forward and said with an ironic bow:
"Yes, I am Satan. But I must add to the speech of Signor Magnus that
not only do I wear the human form but also that I have been robbed.
Are those _two_ scoundrels who have robbed me known to you, Your
Eminence? And are you, perhaps, one of them, Your Eminence?"
Magnus alone continued to smile. The rest, it seemed to me, grew
serious and awaited the Cardinal's reply. It followed. The shaven
monkey, it developed, was not a bad actor. Pretending to be startled,
the Cardinal raised his right hand and said with an expression of
extreme goodness, contrasting sharply with his words and gesture:
"Vade Petro Satanas!"
I am not going to describe to you how they laughed. You can imagine
it. Even Maria's teeth parted slightly. Almost losing consciousness
from anger and impotence, I turned to Toppi for sympathy and aid. But
Toppi, covering his face with his hands, was cringing in the corner,
silent. Amid general laughter, and ringing far above it, came the
heavy voice of Magnus, laden with infinite ridicule:
"Look at the plucked rooster. That is Satan!"
And again there came an outburst of laughter. His Eminence
continuously shook, as though flapping his wings, and choked and
whined. The monkey's gullet could hardly pass the cascades of
laughter. I tore off that accursed sleeve madly and waving it like
a flag, I ventured into a sea of falsehood, with full sails set. I
knew that somewhere ahead there were rocks against which I might be
shattered but the tempest of impotence and anger bore me on like a
chip of wood.
I am ashamed to repeat my speech here. Every word of it was trembling
and wailing with impotency. Like a village vicar, frightening his
ignorant parishioners, I threatened them with _Hell_ and with all the
Dantean tortures of literary fame. Oh, I did know something that I
might really have frightened them with but how could I express the
_extraordinary_ which is inexpressible in their language? And so I
prattled on of eternal fire. Of eternal torture. Of unquenchable
thirst. Of the gnashing of teeth. Of the fruitlessness of tears
and pleading. And what else? Ah, even of red hot forks I prattled,
maddened more and more by the indifference and shamelessness of these
shallow faces, these small eyes, these mediocre souls, regarding
themselves above punishment. But they remained unmoved and smug, as
if in a fortress, beyond the walls of their mediocrity and fatal
blindness. And all my words were shattered against their impenetrable
skulls! And think of it, the only one who was really frightened was
my Toppi! And yet he alone could _know_ that all my words were lies!
It was so unbearably ridiculous when I met his pleading frightened
eyes, that I abruptly ended my speech, suddenly, at its very climax.
Silently, I waved my torn sleeve, which served me as a standard,
once or twice, and hurled it into the corner. For a moment it seemed
to me that the shaven monkey, too, was frightened: the blue of his
cheeks seemed to stand out sharply upon the pale, square face and
the little coals of his eyes were glowing suspiciously beneath his
black, bushy eyebrows. But he slowly raised his hand and the same
sacrilegiously-jesting voice broke the general silence:
"Vade Petro Satanas!"
Or did the Cardinal try to hide behind this jest his actual fright? I
do not know. I know nothing. If I could not destroy them, like Sodom
and Gomorrah, is it worth while speaking of cold shivers and goose
flesh? A mere glass of wine can conquer them.
And Magnus, like the skilled healer of souls that he was, said calmly:
"Will you have a glass of wine, Your Eminence?"
"With pleasure," replied the Cardinal.
"But none for Satan," added Magnus jestingly, pouring out the wine.
But he could speak and do anything he pleased now: Wondergood was
squeezed dry and hung like a rag upon the arm of the chair.
After the wine had been drunk, Magnus lit a cigarette (he smokes
cigarettes), cast his eye over the audience, like a lecturer before a
lecture, motioned pleasantly to Toppi, now grown quite pale, and said
the following...although he was obviously drunk and his eyes were
bloodshot, his voice was firm and his speech flowed with measured calm:
"I must say, Wondergood, that I listened to you very attentively and
your passionate tirade created upon me, I may say, a great, artistic
impression...at certain points you reminded me of the best passages
of Brother Geronimo Savanarola. Don't you also find the same striking
resemblance, Your Eminence? But alas! You are slightly behind the
times. Those threats of hell and eternal torture with which you might
have driven the beautiful and merry Florence to panic ring extremely
unconvincing in the atmosphere of contemporary Rome. The sinners have
long since departed from the earth, Mr. Wondergood. Have not you
noticed that? And as for criminals, and, as you have expressed it,
scoundrels,--a plain commissary of police is much more alarming to
them than Beelzebub himself with his whole staff of devils. I must
also confess that your reference to the court of history and posterity
was rather strange when contrasted with the picture you painted of
the tortures of hell and your reference to eternity. But here, too,
you failed to rise to the height of contemporary thought: every fool
nowadays knows that history records with equal impartiality both
the names of saints and of rogues. The whole point, Mr. Wondergood,
which you, as an American, should be particularly familiar with,
is in the scope with which history treats its respective subjects
and heroes. The lashings history administers to its great criminals
differ but little from her laurels--when viewed at a distance and
this little distinction eventually becomes quite invisible--I assure
you, Wondergood. In fact, it disappears entirely! And in so far as
the biped strives to find a place in history--and we are all animated
by this desire, Mr. Wondergood--it need not be particular through
which door it enters: I beg the indulgence of His Eminence, but no
prostitute received a new guest with greater welcome than does history
a new...hero. I fear, Wondergood, that your references to hell as
well as those to history have fallen flat. Ah, I fear your hope in the
police will prove equally ill-founded: I have failed to tell you that
His Eminence has received a certain share of those billions which you
have transferred to me in such a perfectly legal manner, while his
connections...you understand?"
Poor Toppi: all he could do was to keep on blinking! The _aides_ broke
into loud laughter, but the Cardinal mumbled angrily, casting upon me
the burning little coals of his eyes:
"He is indeed a brazen fellow. He said he is Satan. Throw him out,
Signor Magnus. This is sacrilege!"
"Is that so?" smiled Magnus politely: "I did not know that Satan, too,
belonged to the heavenly chair...."
"Satan is a fallen angel," said the Cardinal in an instructive tone.
"And as such he is in your service? I understand," Magnus bowed his
head politely in acceptance of this truth and turned smilingly to me:
"Do you hear, Wondergood? His Eminence is irritated by your audacity."
I was silent. Magnus winked at me slyly and continued with an air of
artificial importance:
"I believe, Your Eminence, that there must be some sort of
misunderstanding here. I know the modesty and well-informed mind of
Mr. Wondergood and I suppose that he utilized the name of Satan merely
as an artistic gesture. Does Satan ever threaten people with the
police? But my unfortunate friend did. And, in general, has anybody
ever seen _such_ a Satan?"
He stretched his hand out to me in an effective gesture--and the reply
to this was another outburst of laughter. The Cardinal, too, laughed,
and Toppi alone shook his wise head, as if to say:
"Idiots!"...
I think Magnus must have noticed that. Or else he fell into
intoxication. Or was it because that spirit of murder with which his
soul was aflame could not remain passive and was tearing at the leash.
He threateningly shook his heavy, explosive head and shouted:
"Enough of this laughter! It is silly. Why are you so sure of
yourselves? It is stupid, I tell you. I believe in nothing and that
is why I admit _everything_. Press my hand, Wondergood: they are all
fools and I am quite ready to admit that you are Satan. Only you have
fallen into a bad mess, friend Satan. Because it will not save you. I
will soon throw you out anyhow! Do you hear...devil?"
He shook his finger at me threateningly and then lapsed into thought,
dropping his head low and heavily, with his red eyes ablaze, like
those of a bull, ready to hurl himself upon his enemy. The _aides_ and
the insulted Cardinal were silent with confusion. Magnus again shook
his finger at me significantly and said:
"If you are Satan, then you've come here too late. Do you understand?
What did you come here for, anyway? To play, you say? To tempt? To
laugh at us human beings? To invent some sort of a new, evil game? To
make us dance to your tune? Well,--you're too late. You should have
come earlier, for the earth is grown now and no longer needs your
talents. I speak not of myself, who deceived you so easily and took
away your money: I, Thomas Ergo. I speak not of Maria. But look at
these modest little friends of mine: where in your hell will you find
such charming, fearless devils, ready for any task? And yet they are
so small,--they will not even find a place in history."
It was after this that Thomas Magnus blew me up, in the holy city of
Rome, in the Palazzo Orsini, when I still belonged to the American
billionaire, Henry Wondergood. Do you remember that genial American
with his cigar and patent gold teeth? Alas! He is no longer with us.
He died suddenly and you will do well if you order a requiem mass for
him: his Illinois soul is in need of your prayers.
Let us receive the last breath of Henry Wondergood, blown up by the
culprit Thomas Magnus, and buried by Maria in the evening, when the
moon was shining brightly.