February 21, 1914.Rome, Villa Orsini.
February 21, 1914.Rome, Villa Orsini.
Cardinal X., the closest friend and confidante of the Pope, has paid me a visit. He was accompanied by two abbés. In general, he is a personage whose attentions to me have brought me no small measure of prestige.
I met His Eminence in the reception hall of my new palace. Toppi was dancing all about the priests, snatching their blessings quicker than a lover does the kisses of his mistress. Six devout hands hardly managed to handle one Devil, grown pious, and before we had reached the threshold of my study, he actually contrived to touch the belly of the Cardinal. What ecstasy!
Cardinal X. speaks all the European languages and, out of respect for the Stars and Stripes and my billions, he spoke English. He began the conversation by congratulating me upon the acquisition of the Villa Orsini and told me its history in detail for the past 200 years. This was quite unexpected, very long, at times confusing and unintelligible, so that I was compelled, like a realAmerican ass, to blink constantly...but this gave me an opportunity to study my distinguished and eminent visitor.
He is not at all old. He is broad shouldered, well built and in good health. He has a large, almost square face, an olive skin, with a bluish tinge upon his shaven cheeks, and his thin, but beautiful hands reveal his Spanish blood. Before he dedicated himself to God, Cardinal X. was a Spanish grandee and duke. But his dark eyes are too small and too deeply set beneath his thick eyebrows and the distance between the short nose and the thin lips is too long.... All this reminds me of some one. But of whom? And what is this curious habit I have of being reminded of some one? Probably a saint?
For a moment the cardinal was lost in thought and suddenly I recalled: Yes, this is simply a shavenmonkey! This must be its sad, boundless pensiveness,itsevil gleam within the narrow pupil!
But in a moment the Cardinal laughed, jested and gesticulated like a Neapolitan lazzarone—he was no longer telling me the history of the palace. He was playing, he was interpreting it in facial expression and dramatic monologue! He has short fingers, not at all like those of a monkey, and when he gesticulates he rather resembles apenguin while his voice reminds me of a talking parrot—Who are you, anyhow?
No, a monkey! He is laughing again and I observe that he really does not know how to laugh. It is as if he had learned the human art of laughter but yesterday. He likes it but experiences considerable difficulty in extracting it from his throat. The sounds seem to choke him. It is impossible not to echo this strange contagious laughter. But it seems to break one’s jaws and teeth and to petrify the muscles.
It was really remarkable. I was fascinated when Cardinal X. suddenly cut short his lecture on the Villa Orsini by a fit of groaning laughter which left him calm and silent. His thin fingers played with his rosary, he remained quiet and gazed at me with a mien of deepest reverence and gentle love: something akin to tears glistened in his dark eyes. I had made an impression upon him. He loved me!
What was I to do? I gazed into his square, ape-like face. Kindliness turned to love, love into passion, and still we maintained the silence...another moment and I would have stifled him in my embrace!
“Well, here you are in Rome, Mr. Wondergood,” sweetly sang the old monkey, without altering his loving gaze.
“Here I am in Rome,” I agreed obediently, continuing to gaze upon him with the same sinful passion.
“And do you know, Mr. Wondergood, why I came here, i.e., in addition, of course, to the pleasure I anticipated in making your acquaintance?”
I thought and with my gaze unchanged, replied:
“For money, Your Eminence?”
The Cardinal shook, as though flapping his wings, laughed, and slapped his knee—and again lost himself in loving contemplation of my nose. This dumb reverence, to which I replied with redoubled zest, began to wield a peculiar influence upon me. I purposely tell you all this in detail in order that you may understand my wish at that moment: to begin cavorting about, to sing like a cock, to tell my best Arkansas anecdote, or simply to invite His Eminence to remove his regalia and play a game of poker!
“Your Eminence....”
“I love Americans, Mr. Wondergood.”
“Your Eminence! In Arkansas they tell a story....”
“Ah, I see, you want to get down to business? I understand your impatience. Money matters should never be postponed. Is that not so?”
“It depends entirely upon one’s concern in these matters, Your Eminence.”
The square face of the Cardinal grew serious, and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a ray of loving reproach:
“I hope you are not vexed at my long dissertation, Mr. Wondergood. I love so much the history of our great city that I could not forego the pleasure...the things you see before you are not Rome. There is no Rome, Mr. Wondergood. Once upon a time it was the Eternal City, but to-day it is simply a large city and the greater it grows the further it is from eternity. Where is that great Spirit which once illumined it?”
I shall not narrate to you all the prattle of this purple parrot, his gently-cannibal look, his grimaces and his laughter. All that the old shaven monkey told me when it finally grew weary was:
“Your misfortune is that you love your fellow beings too much....”
“Love your neighbor....”
“Well, let neighbors love each other. Go on teaching that but why doyouwant to do it? When one loves too well one is blind to the shortcomings of the beloved and still worse: one elevates these faults to virtues. How can you reform people and make them happy without realizing their shortcomings or by ignoring their vices? When one loves, one pities and pity is the death of power. You see, I am quite frank withyou, Mr. Wondergood, and I repeat: love is weakness. Love will get the money out of your pocket and will squander it...on rouge! Leave love to the lower classes. Let them love each other. Demand it of them, but you, you have risen to greater heights, gifted with such power!...”
“But what can I do, Your Eminence? I am at a loss to understand it all. From my childhood on, especially in church, I have had it drummed into me that one must love his neighbor, and I believed it. And so....”
The Cardinal grew pensive. Like laughter, pensiveness was becoming to him and rendered his square face immovable, filling it with dignity and lonely grief. Leaning forward with his lips compressed and supporting his chin upon his hand, he fixed his sharp, sleepy eyes upon me. There was much sorrow in them. He seemed to be waiting for the conclusion of my remark, and not having patience to do so, sighed and blinked.
“Childhood, yes”...he mumbled, still blinking sorrowfully. “Children, yes. But you are no longer a child. Forget this lesson. You must acquire the heavenly gift of forgetfulness, you know.”
He gnashed his white teeth and significantly scratched his nose with his thin finger, continuing seriously:
“But it’s all the same, Mr. Wondergood. You, yourself cannot accomplish much.... Yes, yes! One mustknowpeople to make them happy. Isn’t that your noble aim? But the Church aloneknowspeople. She has been a mother and teacher for thousands of years. Herexperienceis the only one worth while, and, I may say, the only reliable one. As far as I know your career, Mr. Wondergood, you are an experienced cattle man. And you know, of course, whatexperiencemeans even in the matter of handling such simple creatures as....”
“As swine....”
He was startled—and suddenly began to bark, to cough, to whine: he was laughing again.
“Swine? that’s fine, that’s splendid, Mr. Wondergood, but do not forget that one finds the devil, too, in swine!”
Ceasing his laughter he proceeded:
“In teaching others, we learn ourselves. I do not contend that all the methods of education and training employed by the Church were equally successful. No, we often made mistakes, but every one of our mistakes served to improve our methods...we are approaching perfection, Mr. Wondergood, we are approaching perfection!”
I hinted at the rapid growth of rationalism which, it seemed to me, threatened to destroy the“perfection” of the Church, but Cardinal X. again flapped his wings and almost screeched with laughter.
“Rationalism! You are a most talented humorist, Mr. Wondergood! Tell me, was not the celebrated Mark Twain a countryman of yours? Yes, yes! Rationalism! Just think a moment. From what root is this word derived and what does it mean—ratio?An nescis, mi filis quantilla sapientia rigitur orbis?Ah, my dear Wondergood! To speak of ratio on this earth is more out of place than it would be to speak of a rope in the home of a man who has just been hanged!”
I watched the old monkey enjoying himself and I enjoyed myself too. I studied this mixture of a monkey, parrot, penguin, fox, wolf—and what not? And it was really funny: I love merry suicides. For a long time we continued our fun at the expense ofratiountil His Eminence calmed himself and assumed the tone of a teacher:
“As anti-Semitism is the Socialism of fools....”
“And are you familiar...?”
“I told you we are approaching perfection!... So is rationalism the wisdom of fools. The wise man goes further. The ratio constitutes the holiday dress of a fool. It is the coat he dons in the presence of others, but he really lives,sleeps, works, loves and dies without any ratio at all. Do you fear death, Mr. Wondergood?”
I did not feel like replying and remained silent.
“You need not feel ashamed, Mr. Wondergood: one should fear death. As long as there isdeath....”
The features of the monkey’s face suddenly contracted and in his eyes there appeared horror and wrath: as if some one had seized him by the back of his neck and thrust him into the darkness and terror of a primeval forest. Hefeareddeath and his terror was dark, evil and boundless. I needed no words of explanation and no other evidence: One look upon this distorted, befogged and confusedhumanface was sufficient to compel reverence for the Great Irrational! And how weak istheirsteadiness: My Wondergood also grew pale and cringed...ah, the rogue! He wasnowseeking protection and help from Me!
“Will you have some wine, Your Eminence?”
But His Eminence was himself again. He curved his thin lips into a smile and shook his head in the negative. And suddenly he broke out again with surprising fury:
“And as long as there is death, the Church is unshakable! Let all of you who seek to undermine her, tear her, and blow her up—you cannot conquer her. And even if you should succeed indestroying her, the first to perish beneath her ruins would be yourselves. Who will then defend you against death? Who will give you sweet faith in immortality, in eternal life, in everlasting bliss?... Believe me, Mr. Wondergood, the world is not seeking your ratio. It is all a misunderstanding!”
“But what does it seek, Your Eminence?”
“What does it want?Mundus vult decipi...you know our Latin? the world wants to be fooled!”
And the old monkey again grew merry, begun to wink, to beam with satisfaction, slapped his knee and burst into laughter. I also laughed. The rascal was so funny!
“And is it you,” said I, “who wants to fool it?”
The Cardinal again grew serious and replied sadly:
“The Holy See needs funds, Mr. Wondergood. The world, while it has not grown rational, has become weaker in its faith and it is somewhat difficult to manage it.”
He signed and continued:
“You are not a Socialist, Mr. Wondergood? Ah, do not be ashamed. We are all Socialists now. We are all on the side of the hungry: the more satisfied they will be, the more they will feardeath. You understand?”
He flung out his arms and drew them in again, like a net filled with fish and said:
“We are fishermen, Mr. Wondergood, humble fishermen!... And tell me: do you regard the desire forlibertyas a virtue or a vice?”
“The entire civilized world regards the desire for liberty as a virtue,” I replied angrily.
“I expected no other reply from a citizen of the United States. But don’t you personally believe that he who will give man limitlessfreedomwill also bring himdeath?Deathalone releases all earthly ties. And don’t you regard the words ‘freedom’ and ‘death’ as synonymous?”
“I speak of political liberty.”
“Of political liberty? Oh, we have no objection to that. You can have as much as you please of that! Of course, provided men themselves ask for it. Are you sure they really want it? If they do, please help yourself! It is all nonsense and calumny to say that the Holy See is in favor of reaction.... I had the honor to be present on the balcony of the Vatican when His Holiness blessed the first French aëroplane that appeared over Rome, and the next Pope, I am sure, will gladly bless the barricades. The time of Galileo has passed, Mr. Wondergood, and we all know now that the earth does move!”
He drew a circle in the air with his finger, indicating the revolution of the earth.
I said:
“You must permit me to think over your proposal, Your Eminence.”
Cardinal X. jumped up from his chair and gently touched my shoulder with two of his aristocratic fingers:
“Oh, I am not hurrying you, my good Mr. Wondergood. It was you who were hurrying me. I am even convinced that you will at first refuse me, but when, after some little experience, you will have realized the realneedsof man.... I, too, love man, Mr. Wondergood, to be sure, not so passionately and....”
He departed with the same grimaces, bearing himself with dignity and dispensing blessings all about him. I saw him again through the window at the entrance of the palace, while the coachman was bringing up the carriage: he was speaking into the ear of one of his abbés, whose face resembled a black plate. The Cardinal’s countenance no longer reminded me of a monkey: it was rather the face of a shaven, hungry, tired lion. This able actor needed no dressing room for his make-up! Behind him stood a tall lackey, all dressed in black, reminding one of an English baronet. Whenever His Eminence turned aboutin his direction, he would respectfully lift his faded silk hat.
Following the departure of His Eminence I was surrounded by a merry group of friends, with whom I had filled the spare rooms of my palace for the purpose of alleviating my loneliness and ennui. Toppi looked proud and happy: he was so satiated with blessings that he fairly bulged. The artists, decorators and others—whatever you call them—were greatly impressed by the Cardinal’s visit, and spoke with much glee of the remarkable expression of his face and the grandeur of his manner! The Pope himself.... But when I remarked with the naïveté of a Redskin that he reminded me of a monkey, the shrewd canailes burst into loud laughter and one of them immediately sketched a portrait of Cardinal X.—in a cage. I am not a moralist to judge other people for their petty sins: they will get what is due them on their Judgment Day—and I was much pleased by the cleverness of the laughing beasts. They do not appear to have much faith inlovefor one’sfellow beingsand if I should rummage about among their drawings, I would probably find a pretty good sketch of the ass Wondergood. I like that. I find relief in communion with mylittle, pleasant sinners, from the babbling of the great and disagreeable saints...whose hands are covered with blood.
Then Toppi asked me: “And how much does he want?”
“He wants all!”
Toppi said with determination:
“Don’t you give him all. He promised to make me a prelate, but, all the same, don’t you give him all. One should save his money.”
Every day I have unpleasant experiences with Toppi: people are constantly foisting counterfeit coin on him. When they first gave him some, he was greatly perturbed and was impressed with what I said to him.
“You really astonish me, Toppi,” I said, “it is ridiculous for an old devil like you to accept counterfeit money from human beings, and allow yourself to be fooled. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Toppi. I fear you will make a beggar of me.”
Now, however, Toppi, entangled in the mesh of the counterfeit and the genuine, seeks to preserve both the one and the other: he is quite clever in money matters and the Cardinal tried in vain to bribe him. Toppi—a prelate!...
But the shaven monkey does really want my three billions. Apparently the belly of the HolySee is rumbling with hunger. I gazed long at the well executed caricature of the Cardinal and the longer I gazed, the less I liked it: no, there was something missing. The artist had sensed the ridiculous pretty well, but I do not see that fire of spite and malice which is in constant play beneath the gray ashes of terror. The bestial and the human is here, but it is not molded into thatextraordinarymask which, now that a long distance separates me from the Cardinal and I no longer hear his heavy laughter, is beginning to exercise a most disagreeable influence over me. Or is it because the extraordinary is inexpressible through pencil?
In reality he is a cheap rascal, no better than a plain pickpocket, and told me nothing new: he is human enough and wise enough to cultivate that contemptuous laughter of his at the expense of the rational. But he revealedhimselfto me and do not take offense at my American rudeness, dear reader: somewhere behind his broad shoulders, cringing with terror, there gleamed also your dear countenance. It was like a dream, you understand: it was as if some one were strangling you, and you, in stifled voice, cried to heaven: Murder! Police! Ah, you do not know thatthird, which is neither life nor death, and I knowwhoit was that was strangling you with his bony fingers!
But do I know? Oh, laugh at him who is laughing at you, comrade. I fear your turn is coming to have some fun at my expense. Do I know? I came to you from the innermost depths, merry and serene, blessed in the consciousness of my Immortality.... And I am already hesitating. I am already trembling before this shaven monkey’s face which dares to express its own low horror in such audaciously grand style: Ah, I have not even sold my Immortality: I have simply crushed it in my sleep, as does a foolish mother her newborn babe. It has simply faded beneath your sun and rains. It has become a transparent cloth without design, unfit to cover the nakedness of a respectable gentleman! This reeking Wondergood swamp in which I am submerged to my eyes, envelops me with mire, befogs my consciousness and stifles me with the unbearable odors of decay. When do you usually begin to decay, my friend: on the second, the third day or does it depend upon the climate? I am already in the process of decay, and I am nauseated by the odor of my entrails. Or are you so used to the work of thewormsthat you take it for the elevation of thought and inspiration?
My God, I forgot that I may have some fair readers, too! I most humbly beg your pardon, worthy folk, for this uncalled for discussion ofodors. I am a most unpleasant conversationalist, milady, and as a perfumer I am worse...no, still worse: I am a disgusting mixture of Satan and an American bear, and I know not how to appreciate your good taste....
No, I am still Satan! I still know that I am immortal and when my will shall command me I will strangle myself with my own bony fingers. But if Ishould forget?
Then I shall distribute my wealth among the poor and with you, my friend, shall crawl up to the old shaven monkey. I shall cling with my American face to his soft slipper, emitting blessings. I shall weep. I shall rave with horror: “Save me from Death!” And the old monkey, brushing the hair from his face, reclining comfortably, gleaming with a holy light, illuminating all about it—and itself trembling with fear and horror—will hastily continue to fool the world, the world which so loves to be fooled!
But I am jesting. I wish to be serious now. I like Cardinal X. and I shall permit him to begild himself with my gold. I am weary. I must sleep. My bed and Wondergood await me. I shall extinguish the light and in the darkness I shall listen for a moment to the clicking of the counting machine within my breast. And then will come the great pianist, a drunken genius, andbegin drumming upon the black keys of my brain. He knows everything and has forgotten everything, this ingenious drunkard, and confuses the most inspiring landscapes with a swamp.
That is—a dream.
February 22.Rome, Villa Orsini.
February 22.Rome, Villa Orsini.
Magnus was not at home. I was received by Maria.
A glorious peace has suddenly descended upon me. In wondrous calm I breathe at this moment. Like a schooner, its sails lowered, I doze in the midday heat of the slumbering ocean. Not a stir. Not a ripple. I fear to move or to open wide my eyes, dazzled by the rays of the sun. I breathe silently, and I would not rouse the slightest wave upon the boundless smoothness of the sea. And quietly I lay down my pen.
February 23.Villa Orsini.
February 23.Villa Orsini.
Thomas Magnus was not at home and, to my great surprise, I was received by Maria.
I do not suppose you would be interested in how I greeted her and what I mumbled in the first few moments of our meeting. I can only say that Imumbled and that I felt a strong impulse to laugh. I could not lift my eyes to gaze upon Maria until my thoughts cast off their soiled garb and donned clean attire. As you see, I did not lose consciousness altogether! But in vain did I take these precautions:thattorture did not follow. Maria’s gaze was clear and simple and it contained neither searching, penetrating fire nor fatal forgiveness. It was calm and clear, like the sky of the Campagna and—I do not know how it happened—it penetrated my entire being.
She met me in the garden. We sat down by the gate, from which vantage point we had a good view of the Campagna. When you gaze at the Campagna you cannot prattle nonsense. No, it was she who gazed at the Campagna and I gazed into her eyes—clear to the seventh sky, where you end the count of your heavens. We were silent or—if you regard the following as conversation—we spoke:
“Are those mountains?”
“Yes, those are the mountains of Albania. And there—is Tivoli.”
She picked out little white houses in the distance and pointed them out to me and I felt a peculiar calm and joy in Maria’s gaze. The suspicious resemblance of Maria to the Madonna no longer troubled me: how can I possibly be troubled bythe fact that you resembleyourself? And came a moment when a great peace of mind descended uponme. I have no words of comparison whereby to reveal to you that great and bright calm.... I am forever conjuring up before me that accursed schooner with its lowered sails, on which I never really sailed, for I am afraid of seasickness! Or is it because on this night of my loneliness, my road is being illuminated by theStar of the Seas? Well, yes, I was a schooner, if you so desire it, and if this is not agreeable to you I wasAll. Besides I wasNothing. You see what nonsense emerges out of all this talk when Wondergood begins to seek words and comparisons.
I was so calm that I even soon began to gaze into Maria’s eyes: I simplybelievedthem. This is deeper than mere gazing. When necessary I shall find those eyes again. In the meantime I shall remain a schooner with sails lowered. I shall beAlland I shall beNothing. Only once did a slight breeze stir my sails, but only for a moment: that was when Maria pointed out the Tiberian road to me, cutting the green hills like a white thread, and asked whether I had ever traversed it before.
“Yes, occasionally, Signorina.”
“I often gaze upon this road and think that itmust be extremely pleasant to traverse it by automobile.”
“Have you a swift car, Signor?”
“Oh, yes, Signorina, very swift! But those,” I continued in gentle reproach, “who are themselves limitless distances and endlessness are in no need of any movement.”
Maria and an automobile! A winged angel entering a trolley car for the sake of speed! A swallow riding on a turtle! An arrow on the humpy back of a hod carrier! Ah, all comparisons lie: why speak of swallows and arrows, why speak of any movement for Maria, who embraces all distances! But it is only now that I thought of the trolley and the turtle. At that time I felt so calm and peaceful, I was deep in such bliss that I could think of nothing except that countenance of eternity and undying light!
A great calm came upon Me on that day and nothing could disturb my endless bliss. It was not long before Thomas Magnus returned, and a flying fish, gleaming for a moment above the ocean, could no more disturb its blue smoothness than did Magnus disturb me. Ireceivedhim into my heart. I swallowed him calmly and felt no heavier burden in my stomach than a whale does after swallowing a herring. It was gratifying to find Magnus hospitable and merry. He pressedmy hand and his eyes were bright and kind. Even his face seemed less pale and not as weary as usual.
I was invited to breakfast...lest it worry you, let me say right now that I remained until late in the evening. When Maria had retired I told Magnus of the visit of Cardinal X. His merry face darkened slightly and in his eyes appeared his former hostile flame.
“Cardinal X.? Hecameto see you?”
I narrated to him in detail my conversation with “the shaven monkey,” and remarked that he had impressed me as a scoundrel of no small caliber. Magnus frowned and said sternly:
“You laugh in vain, Mr. Wondergood. I have long known Cardinal X. and...I have been keeping a close eye on him. He is evil, cruel and dangerous. Despite his ridiculous exterior, he is as cunning, merciless and revengeful as Satan!”
And you, too, Magnus! Like Satan! This blue-faced, shaven orang-outang, this caressing gorilla, this monkey cavorting before a looking-glass! But I have exhausted my capacity for insult. Magnus’ remark fell like a stone to the bottom of my bliss. I listened further:
“His flirting with the Socialists, his jokes at the expense of Galileo are all lies. Just as the enemies of Cromwell hanged him after his death,so would Cardinal X. burn the bones of Galileo with immense satisfaction: to this day he regards the movement of the earth as a personal affront. It is an old school, Mr. Wondergood; he will stop at nothing to overcome obstacles, be it poison or murder, which he will take care to attribute to the misfortune of accident. You smile but I cannot discuss the Vatican smilingly, not so long as it contains such...and it will always produce some one like Cardinal X. Look out, Mr. Wondergood: You have landed within the sphere of his vision and interests, and, let me assure you, that scores of eyes are now watching you...perhaps me, too. Be on your guard, my friend!”
Magnus was quite excited. Fervently I shook his hand:
“Ah, Magnus!... But when will you agree to help me?”
“But you know that I do not like human beings. It isyouwho loves them Mr. Wondergood, not I.”
A gleam of irony appeared in his eyes.
“The Cardinal says that it is not at all necessary to love people in order to be happy.... The contrary, he says!”
“And who told you that I want to make people happy? Again, it isyouwho wants to do that,not I. Hand over your billions to Cardinal X. His recipe for happiness is not worse than other patent medicines. To be sure, his recipe has one disadvantage: while dispensinghappinessit destroyspeople...but is that important? You are too much of a business man, Mr. Wondergood, and I see that you are not sufficiently familiar with the world of our inventors of the Best Means for the Happiness of Mankind: These means are more numerous than the so-called best tonics for the growth of hair. I myself was a dreamer at one time and invented one or two in my youth...but I was short on chemistry and badly singed my hair in an explosion. I am very glad I did not come across your billions inthosedays. I am joking, Mr. Wondergood, but if you wish to be serious, here is my answer: keep on growing and multiplying your hogs, make four of your three billions, continue selling your conserves, provided they are not too rotten, and cease worrying about the happiness of Mankind. As long as the world likes good ham it will not deny you its love and admiration!”
“And how about those who have no means to buy ham?”
“What do you care about them? It is their belly—pardon me for the expression—that is rumbling with hunger, not yours. I congratulateyou upon your new home: I know the Villa Orsini very well. It is a magnificent relic of Old Rome.”
I balked at the prospect of another lecture on my palace! Yes, Magnus had again shoved me aside. He did it brusquely and roughly. But his voice lacked sternness and he gazed at me softly and kindly. Well, what of it? To the devil with humanity, its happiness and its ham! I shall try later to bore an entrance into Magnus’ brain. In the meantime leave me alone with my great peace and...Maria. Boundless peace and...Satan!—isn’t that a splendid touch in my play? And what kind of a liar is he who can fool only others? To lie to oneself and believe it—that is an art!
After breakfast allthreeof us walked over the downy hills and slopes of the Campagna. It was still early Spring and only little white flowers gently brightened the young, green earth. A soft breeze diffused the scents of the season, while little houses gleamed in distant Albano. Maria walked in front of us, stopping now and then and casting her heavenly eyes upon everything they could envisage. When I return to Rome I shall order my brush-pusher to paint Madonna thus: On a carpet of soft green and little white flowers. Magnus was so frank and merry that I again drew his attention to Maria’s resemblance to the Madonnaand told him of the miserable brush-pushers in search of a model. He laughed, agreed with me in my opinion of the aforementioned resemblance, and grew wistful.
“It is afatalresemblance, Mr. Wondergood. You remember that heavy moment when I spoke to you ofblood? Already there is blood at the feet of Maria...the blood of one noble youth whose memory Maria and I cherish. There are fatal faces, there are fatalresemblanceswhich confuse our souls and lead to the abyss of self destruction. I am the father of Maria, and yet I myself hardly dare to touch her brow with my lips. What insurmountable barriers does love raise for itself when it dares to lift its eyes upon Maria?”
This was the only moment of that happy day when my ocean became overcast with heavy clouds, as tangled as the beard of “Mad King Lear,” while a wild wind shook the sails of my schooner. But I lifted my eyes to Maria, I met her gaze. It was bright and calm, like the sky above us—and the wild wind disappeared without trace, bearing away with it fragments of the darkness. I do not know whether you understand these sea comparisons, which I consider quite inadequate. Let me explain: I again grew quite calm. What is that noble Roman youth to me,who himself unable to findcomparisonswas hurled over the head of his Pegasus? I am a white-winged schooner and beneath me is an entire ocean, and was it not written of Her: theIncomparable?
The day was long and quiet and I was charmed with the precision with which the sun rolled down from its height to the rim of the earth, with the measured pace with which the stars covered the heavens, the large stars first, then the little ones, until the whole sky sparkled and gleamed. Slowly grew the darkness. Then came the rosy moon, at first somewhat rusty, then brilliant, and swam majestically over the road made free and warm by the sun. But more than anything else did I and Magnus feel charmed when we sat in the half-darkened room and heard Maria: she played the harp and sang.
And listening to the strains of the harp I realized why man likes music produced by taut strings: I was myself a taut string and even when the finger no longer touched me, the sound continued to vibrate and died so slowly that I can still hear it in the depths of my soul. And suddenly I saw that the entire air was filled with taut and trembling strings: they extend from star to star, scatter themselves over the earth and penetrate my heart...like a network of telephonewires through a central station,—if you want more simple comparisons. And there wassomething elseI understood when I heardMaria’svoice....
No, you are simply an animal, Wondergood! When I recall your loud complaints against love and its songs, cursed with the curse of monotony—is that not your own expression?—I feel like sending you off to a barn. You are a dull and dirty animal and I am ashamed that for a whole hour I listened to your silly bellowing. You may hold words in contempt, you may curse your embraces, but do not touch Love, my friend: only through love has it been given to you to obtain a glimpse into Eternity! Away, my friend! Leave Satan to himself, he who in the very blackest depths of man has suddenly come upon new and unexpected flames. Away! You must not see thejoyandastonishmentof Satan!
The hour was late. The moon indicated midnight when I left Magnus and ordered the chauffeur to drive by way of the Numentinian road: I feared lest this great calm might slip away from me, and I wanted to overtake it in the depths of the Campagna. But the speed of the car broke the silence and I left my machine. It went to sleep at once beneath the light of the moon over its own shadow and looked like a huge, graystone barring the road. For the last time its lights gleamed upon Me and it became transformed into something invisible. I was left alone with my shadow.
We walked along the white road, I and my shadow, stopping occasionally and then again resuming our march. I sat down on a stone along the road and the black shadow hid behind my back. And here a great quiet descended upon the earth, upon the world. Upon my chilled brow I felt the cool touch of the moon’s kiss.
March 2.Rome, Villa Orsini.
March 2.Rome, Villa Orsini.
I pass my days in deep solitude. My earthly existence is beginning to trouble me. With every hour I seem toforgetwhat I have left behind the wall ofhumanthings. Myeyesightis weakening. I can hardly see behind that wall. The shadows behind it scarcely move and I can no longer distinguish their outline. With every second my sense ofhearinggrows duller. I hear the quiet squeak of a mouse, fussing beneath the floor but I am deaf to the thunders rolling above my head. The silence of delusion envelops me and I desperately strain my ears to catch the voices of frankness. I left them behind that impenetrablewall. With each momentTruthflees from Me. In vain my words try to overtake it: they merely shoot by. In vain I seek to surround it in the tight embraces of my thoughts and rivet it with chains: the prison disappears like air and my embraces envelop nothing but emptiness. Only yesterday it seemed to me that I had caught my prey. I imprisoned it and fastened it to the wall with a heavy chain, but when I came to view it in the morning—I found nothing but a shackled skeleton. The rusty chains dangled loosely from its neck while the skull was nodding to me in brazen laughter.
You see, I am again seeking comparisons, only to have theTruthescape me! But what can I do when I have left all my weapons athomeand must resort to your poor arsenal? Let God himself don this human form and He will immediately begin to speak to you in exquisite French or Yiddish and He will be unable to saymorethan it is possible to say in exquisite French or Yiddish. God! And I am only Satan, a modest, careless, human Devil!
Of course, it was careless of me. But when I looked uponyour humanlife frombeyond...no, wait: You and I have just been caught in a lie, old man! When I said fromBeyondyou understood at once it must have been very faraway. Yes? You may have already determined, perhaps, the approximate number of miles. Have you not at your disposal a limitless number of zeros? Ah, it is not true. My “Beyond” is as close as your “Here, ” and is no further away thanthisvery spot. You see what nonsense, what a lie you and I are pirouetting about! Cast away your meter and your scales and only listen as if behind your back there were no ticking of a clock and in your breast there were no counting machine. And so: when I looked upon your life fromBeyondit appeared to Me a great and merry game of immortal fragments.
Do you know what a puppets’ show is? When one doll breaks, its place is taken by another, but the play goes on. The music is not silenced, the auditors continue to applaud and it is all very interesting. Does the spectator concern himself about the fate of the fragments, thrust upon the scrap heap? He simply looks on in enjoyment. So it was with me, too. I heard the beat of the drums, and watched the antics of the clowns. And I so love immortal play that I felt like becoming an actor myself. Ah, I did not know then that it is not aplayat all. And that the scrap heap was terrible when one becomes a puppet himself and that the broken fragments reeked with blood. You deceived me, my friend!
But you are astonished. You knit your brow in contempt and ask: Who is this Satan who does notknowsuchsimplethings? You are accustomed to respect the Devil. You listen to the commonest dog as if he were speaking ex cathedra. You have surrendered to me your last dollar as if I were a professor of white and black magic and suddenly I reveal myself an ignoramus in the most elementary matters! I understand your disappointment. I myself have grown to respect mediums and cards. I am ashamed to confess that I cannot perform a single trick or kill a bedbug by simply casting my eye upon it, but even with my finger. But what matters most to me is truth: Yes, I did not know yoursimplestthings! Apparently the blame for this is for thatdividewhich separates us. Just as you do not knowmyreal Name and cannot pronounce a simple thing like that, so I did not knowyours, my earthly shadow, and only now, in great ecstasy do I begin to grasp the wealth that is in you. Think of it: such a simple matter as counting I had to learn from Wondergood. I would not even be able to button my attire if it were not for the experienced and dexterous fingers of that fine chap Wondergood!
Now I am human, like you. The limited sensation of my being I regard as myknowledgeandwith respect I now touch my own nose, when necessity arises: it is not merely a nose—it is an axiom! I am now myself a struggling doll in a theater of marionettes. My porcelain head moves to the right and to the left. My hands move up and down. I am merry, I am gay. I am at play. I know everything...except: whose hand it is that pulls the string behind Me. And in the distance I can see the scrap heap from which protrude two little feet clad in ball slippers....
No, this is not theplayof theImmortalthat I sought. It no more resembles merriment than do the convulsions of an epileptic a good negro dance! Here any one is what he is and here every one seeks not to be what he is. And it is this endless process of fraud that I mistook for a merry theater: what a mistake, how silly it was of “almighty, immortal”...Satan! Here every one is dragging every one else to court: the living are dragging the dead, the dead—the living. The history of the former is the history of the latter. And God, too, is History! And this endless nonsense, this dirty stream of false witnesses, of perjurers, of false judges and false scoundrels I mistook for theplayof immortals! Or have I landed in thewrongplace? Tell Me, stranger: whither doesthisroad lead? You are pale. Yourtrembling finger points in the direction of...ah, the scrap heap!
Yesterday, I questioned Toppi about his former life, the first time he donned the human form: I wanted to know how a doll feels when its head is cracking and the thread which moves it is severed. We lit our pipes and with steins of beer before us, like two good Germans, we ventured into the realm of philosophy. It developed, however, that this numbskull hasforgotteneverything and my questions only confused him.
“Is it possible that you have really forgotten everything, Toppi!”
“Wait till you die and you will learn all about it yourself. I do not like to think of it. What good is it?”
“Then it is not good?”
“And have you ever heard of any one praising it?”
“Quite true. No one has yet showered praises upon it.”
“And no one will, I know!”
We sat silent.
“And do you remember, Toppi, whence you have come?”
“From Illinois,—the same place you come from.”
“No, I am speaking ofsomething else. Do youremember whence you came? Do you recollect your real Name?”
Toppi looked at me strangely, paled slightly and proceeded to clean his pipe. Then he arose and without lifting his eyes, said:
“I beg you not to speak to methus, Mr. Wondergood. I am an honest citizen of the United States and I do not understand your insinuations.”
But he remembers. Not in vain did he grow pale. He is seeking to forget and will forget soon enough! This double play of earth and heaven is too much for him and he has surrendered entirely to the earth! There will come a time when he will take me off to an insane asylum or betray me to Cardinal X. if I dare to speak to him of Satan.
“I respect you, Toppi. You are quite a man,” I said and kissed his brow: I always kiss the brow of people I love.
Again I departed for the green Campagna desert: I follow the best models: when I am ill at ease I go into the desert. There I called for Satan and cursed his name but he would not answer me. I lay there long in the dust, pleading, when from somewhere in the depths of the desert I heard the muffled tread of feet, and a bright light helped Me to arise. And again I saw the Eden I had left behind, its green tents andunfading sunrise, its quiet lights upon the placid waters. And again Iheardthe silent murmurs of lips born of Immaculate Conception while toward my eyes I saw approaching Truth. And I stretched out my hands to Her and pleaded: Give me back my liberty!—
“Maria!”
Who called: Maria? Satan again departed, the lights upon the placid waters were extinguished and Truth, frightened, disappeared—and again I sit upon the earth wearing my human form and gazing dully upon the painted world. And on my knees rested my shackled hands.
“Maria!”
...It is painful for me to admit that all this is really an invention: the coming of Satan with his “light and ringing step,” the gardens of Eden and my shackled hands. But I needed your attention and I could not get it without these gardens of Eden and these chains, the two extremes of your life. The gardens of Eden—how beautiful! Chains—how terrible! Moreover, all this talk is much more entertaining than merely squatting on a hill, cigar in one’sfreehand, thinking lazily and yawning while awaiting the arrival of the chauffeur. And as far asMariais concerned, I brought her into the situation because from afar I could see the black cypress treesabove the Magnus home. An involuntary association of ideas...you understand.
Can a man with such sight really see Satan? Can a person of such dullearhear the so-called “murmurs” born of Immaculate Conception? Nonsense! And, please, I beg of you, call Me just Wondergood. Call me just Wondergood until the day when I crack my skull open with that plaything which opens themost narrowdoor intolimitlessspace. Call me just Henry Wondergood, of Illinois: you will find that I will respond promptly and obligingly.
But if, some day, you should find my head crushed, examine carefully itsfragments: there, in red ink will be engraved the proud name of Satan! Bend thy head, in reverence and bow to him—but do not do me the honor of accompanying my fragments to the scrap heap: one should never bow so respectfully to chains cast off!