"I daresay you are right,"--I said--"I can grasp the vengeful position
thoroughly! But the management of a magazine would be too much trouble
to me,--too much of a tie."
"_Don't_ manage it! Follow the example of all the big editors, and live
out of the business altogether,--but take the profits! You never see the
real editor of a leading daily newspaper you know,--you can only
interview the sub. The real man is, according to the seasons of the
year, at Ascot, in Scotland, at Newmarket, or wintering in Egypt,--he is
supposed to be responsible for everything in his journal, but he is
generally the last person who knows anything about it. He relies on his
'staff'--a very bad crutch at times,--and when his 'staff' are in a
difficulty, they get out of it by saying they are unable to decide
without the editor. Meanwhile the editor is miles away, comfortably free
from worry. You could bamboozle the public in that way if you liked."
"I could, but I shouldn't care to do so," I answered--"If I had a
business I would not neglect it. I believe in doing things thoroughly."
"So do I!" responded Rimânez promptly. "I am a very thorough-going
fellow myself, and whatever my hand findeth to do, I do it with my
might!--excuse me for quoting Scripture!" He smiled, a little ironically
I thought, then resumed--"Well, in what, at present does your idea of
enjoying your heritage consist?"
"In publishing my book," I answered. "That very book I could get no one
to accept,--I tell you, I will make it the talk of London!"
"Possibly you will"--he said, looking at me through half-closed eyes and
a cloud of smoke,--"London easily talks. Particularly on unsavoury and
questionable subjects. Therefore,--as I have already hinted,--if your
book were a judicious mixture of Zola, Huysmans and Baudelaire, or had
for its heroine a 'modest' maid who considered honourable marriage a
'degradation,' it would be quite sure of success in these days of new
Sodom and Gomorrah." Here he suddenly sprang up, and flinging away his
cigar, confronted me. "Why do not the heavens rain fire on this accursed
city! It is ripe for punishment,--full of abhorrent creatures not worth
the torturing in hell to which it is said liars and hypocrites are
condemned! Tempest, if there is one human being more than another that I
utterly abhor, it is the type of man so common to the present time, the
man who huddles his own loathly vices under a cloak of assumed
broad-mindedness and virtue. Such an one will even deify the loss of
chastity in woman by the name of 'purity,'--because he knows that it is
by her moral and physical ruin alone that he can gratify his brutal
lusts. Rather than be such a sanctimonious coward I would openly
proclaim myself vile!"
"That is because yours is a noble nature"--I said--"You are an exception
to the rule."
"An exception? I?"--and he laughed bitterly--"Yes, you are right; I am
an exception among men perhaps,--but I am one with the beasts in
honesty! The lion does not assume the manners of the dove,--he loudly
announces his own ferocity. The very cobra, stealthy though its
movements be, evinces its meaning by a warning hiss or rattle. The
hungry wolf's bay is heard far down the wind, intimidating the hurrying
traveller among the wastes of snow. But man gives no clue to his
intent--more malignant than the lion, more treacherous than the snake,
more greedy than the wolf, he takes his fellow-man's hand in pretended
friendship, and an hour later defames his character behind his
back,--with a smiling face he hides a false and selfish heart,--flinging
his pigmy mockery at the riddle of the Universe, he stands gibing at
God, feebly a-straddle on his own earth-grave--Heavens!"--here he
stopped short with a passionate gesture--"What should the Eternities do
with such a thankless, blind worm as he!"
His voice rang out with singular emphasis,--his eyes glowed with a fiery
ardour; startled by his impressive manner I let my cigar die out and
stared at him in mute amazement. What an inspired countenance!--what an
imposing figure!--how sovereignly supreme and almost god-like in his
looks he seemed at the moment;--and yet there was something terrifying
in his attitude of protest and defiance. He caught my wondering
glance,--the glow of passion faded from his face,--he laughed and
shrugged his shoulders.
"I think I was born to be an actor"--he said carelessly--"Now and then
the love of declamation masters me. Then I speak--as Prime Ministers and
men in Parliament speak--to suit the humour of the hour, and without
meaning a single word I say!"
"I cannot accept that statement"--I answered him, smiling a little--"You
do mean what you say,--though I fancy you are rather a creature of
impulse."
"Do you really!" he exclaimed--"How wise of you!--good Geoffrey Tempest,
how very wise of you! But you are wrong. There never was a being created
who was less impulsive, or more charged with set purpose than I. Believe
me or not as you like,--belief is a sentiment that cannot be forced. If
I told you that I am a dangerous companion,--that I like evil things
better than good,--that I am not a safe guide for any man, what would
you think?"
"I should think you were whimsically fond of under-estimating your own
qualities"--I said, re-lighting my cigar, and feeling somewhat amused by
his earnestness--"And I should like you just as well as I do
now,--perhaps better,--though that would be difficult."
At these words, he seated himself, bending his steadfast dark eyes full
upon me.
"Tempest, you follow the fashion of the prettiest women about
town,--they always like the greatest scoundrels!"
"But you are not a scoundrel;"--I rejoined, smoking peacefully.
"No,--I'm not a scoundrel, but there's a good deal of the devil in me."
"All the better!" I said, stretching myself out in my chair with lazy
comfort--"I hope there's something of him in me too."
"Do you believe in him?" asked Rimânez smiling.
"The devil? of course not!"
"He is a very fascinating legendary personage;"--continued the prince,
lighting another cigar and beginning to puff at it slowly--"And he is
the subject of many a fine story. Picture his fall from
heaven!--'Lucifer Son of the Morning'--what a title, and what a
birthright! To be born of the morning implies to be a creature formed of
translucent light undefiled, with all the warm rose of a million orbs of
day colouring his bright essence, and all the lustre of fiery planets
flaming in his eyes. Splendid and supreme, at the right hand of Deity
itself he stood, this majestic Arch-angel, and before his unwearied
vision rolled the grandest creative splendours of God's thoughts and
dreams. All at once he perceived in the vista of embryonic things a new
small world, and on it a being forming itself slowly as it were into the
Angelic likeness,--a being weak yet strong, sublime yet foolish,--a
strange paradox, destined to work its way through all the phases of
life, till imbibing the very breath and soul of the Creator it should
touch Conscious Immortality,--Eternal Joy. Then Lucifer, full of wrath,
turned on the Master of the Spheres, and flung forth his reckless
defiance, crying aloud--'Wilt thou make of this slight poor creature an
Angel even as I? I do protest against thee and condemn! Lo, if thou
makest Man in Our image I will destroy him utterly, as unfit to share
with me the splendours of Thy Wisdom,--the glory of Thy love!' And the
Voice Supreme in accents terrible and beautiful replied; 'Lucifer, Son
of the Morning, full well dost thou know that never can an idle or
wasted word be spoken before Me. For Free-will is the gift of the
Immortals; therefore what thou sayest, thou must needs do! Fall, proud
Spirit from thy high estate!--thou and thy companions with thee!--and
return no more till Man himself redeem thee! Each human soul that yields
unto thy tempting shall be a new barrier set between thee and heaven;
each one that of its own choice doth repel and overcome thee, shall lift
thee nearer thy lost home! When the world rejects thee, I will pardon
and again receive thee,--but _not till then_.'"
"I never heard exactly that version of the legend before,"--I
said,--"The idea that Man should redeem the devil is quite new to me."
"Is it?" and he looked at me fixedly--"Well--it is one form of the
story, and by no means the most unpoetical. Poor Lucifer! His punishment
is of course eternal, and the distance between himself and Heaven must
be rapidly increasing every day,--for Man will never assist him to
retrieve his error. Man will reject God fast enough and gladly
enough--but never the devil. Judge then, how, under the peculiar
circumstances of his doom, this 'Lucifer, Son of the Morning,' Satan, or
whatever else he is called, must hate Humanity!"
I smiled. "Well he has one remedy left to him"--I observed--"He need not
tempt anybody."
"You forget!--he is bound to keep his word, according to the
legend"--said Rimânez--"He swore before God that he would destroy Man
utterly,--he must therefore fulfil that oath, if he can. Angels, it
would seem, may not swear before the Eternal without endeavouring at
least to fulfil their vows,--men swear in the name of God every day
without the slightest intention of carrying out their promises."
"But it's all the veriest nonsense,"--I said somewhat impatiently--"All
these old legends are rubbish. You tell the story well, and almost as if
you believed in it,--that is because you have the gift of speaking with
eloquence. Nowadays no one believes in either devils or angels;--I, for
example, do not even believe in the soul."
"I know you do not"--he answered suavely--"And your scepticism is very
comfortable because it relieves you of all personal responsibility. I
envy you! For--I regret to say, I am compelled to believe in the soul."
"Compelled!" I echoed--"That is absurd--no one can compel you to accept
a mere theory."
He looked at me with a flitting smile that darkened rather than
lightened his face.
"True! very true! There is no compelling force in the whole
Universe,--Man is the supreme and independent creature,--master of all
he surveys and owning no other dominion save his personal desire.
True--I forgot! Let us avoid theology, please, and psychology also,--let
us talk about the only subject that has any sense or interest in
it--namely, Money. I perceive your present plans are definite,--you wish
to publish a book that shall create a stir and make you famous. It seems
a modest enough campaign! Have you no wider ambitions? There are several
ways, you know, of getting talked about. Shall I enumerate them for your
consideration?"