Satan’s Diary Leonid Andreyev (ebook reader play store TXT) 📖

it from the realms of Eternity? Thou, who art divine, hast thou recognized a friend in him who has become human? Thou, who art above, dost thou pity him who is below? Oh, Madonna, lay thy hand upon my dark head that I may recognize thee by thy touch!⁠ ⁠…”

But hear what further transpired that night.

“I know not why Maria has fallen in love with you. That is a secret of her soul, too much for my understanding. No, I do not know, but I bow to her will as to her frankness. What are my human eyes before her all-penetrating gaze, Mr. Wondergood!⁠ ⁠…”

(The latter, too, was saying the same thing.)

“A moment ago, in a fit of excitement,” continued Magnus, “I said something about murder and death.⁠ ⁠… No, Mr. Wondergood, you may rest secure forever: the chosen one of Maria enjoys complete immunity as far as I am concerned. He is protected by more than the law⁠—her pure love is his armor. Of course, I shall have to ask you to leave us at once. And I believe in your honest intention, Wondergood, to place the ocean between us.⁠ ⁠…”

“But.⁠ ⁠…”

Magnus moved forward towards me and shouted angrily:

“Not another word!⁠ ⁠… I cannot kill you but if you dare to mention the word ‘marriage,’ I!⁠ ⁠…”

He slowly dropped his uplifted hand, and continued calmly:

“I see that I will have to beg your pardon again for my fit of passion, but it is better than falsehood, examples of which we have had from you. Do not defend yourself, Wondergood. It is quite unnecessary. And of marriage let me speak: it will ring less insulting to Maria than it would from your lips. It is quite unthinkable. Remember that. I am a sober realist: I see nothing but mere coincidence in that fatal resemblance of Maria and I am not at all taken aback by the thought that my daughter, with all her unusual qualities, may some day become a wife and mother.⁠ ⁠… My categorical opposition to this marriage was simply another means of warning you. Yes, I am accustomed to look soberly upon things, Mr. Wondergood. It is not you who is destined to be Maria’s life partner! You do not know me at all and now I am compelled to raise slightly the curtain behind which I am hiding these many years: my idleness is merely rest. I am not at all a peaceful villager or a book philosopher. I am a man of struggle. I am a warrior on the battlefield of life! And my Maria will be the gift only of a hero, if⁠—if I should ever find a hero.”

I said:

“You may rest assured, Signor Magnus, that I will not permit myself to utter a single word in regard to Signorina Maria. You know that I am not a hero. But I should think it permissible to ask of you: how am I to reconcile your present remarks with your former contempt for man? I recollect that you spoke seriously of gallows and prisons.”

Magnus laughed loudly:

“And do you remember what you said about your love for man? Ah, my dear Wondergood: I would be a bad warrior and politician if my education did not embrace the art of lying a little. We were both playing, that’s all!”

“You played better,” I admitted quite gloomily.

“And you played very badly, my friend⁠—do not be offended. But what am I to do when there suddenly appears before me a gentleman all loaded with gold like.⁠ ⁠…”

“Like an ass. Continue.”

“And begins to reveal to me his love for humanity, while his confidence in his success is equal only to the quantity of the dollars in his pocket? The main fault of your play, Mr. Wondergood, is that you are too eager for success and seek immediate results. This makes the spectator cold and less credulous. To be sure, I really did not think you were merely acting⁠—the worst play is better than sincere assininity⁠—and I must again crave your pardon: you seemed to me just one of those foolish Yankees who really take their own bombastic and contemptible tirades seriously and⁠ ⁠… you understand?”

“Quite fully. I beg you to continue.”

“Only one phrase of yours⁠—something about war and revolution purchasable with your billions⁠—seemed to me to possess a modicum of interest, but the rest of the drivel proved that that, too, was a mere slip of the tongue, an accidental excerpt of someone else’s text. Your newspaper triumphs, your flippancy in serious matters⁠—remember Cardinal X.!⁠—your cheap philanthropy are of a quite different tone.⁠ ⁠… No, Mr. Wondergood, you are not fit for serious drama! And your prattling today, despite its cynicism, made a better impression than your flamboyant circus pathos. I say frankly: were it not for Maria I would gladly have had a good laugh at your expense, and, without the slightest compunction would have raised the farewell cup!”

“Just one correction, Magnus: I earnestly desired that you should take part.⁠ ⁠…”

“In what? In your play? Yes, your play lacked the creative factor and you earnestly desired to saddle me with your poverty of spirit. Just as you hire your artists to paint and decorate your palaces so you wanted to hire my will and my imagination, my power and my love!”

“But your hatred for man.⁠ ⁠…”

Up to this point Magnus had maintained his tone of irony and subtle ridicule: my remark, however, seemed to change him entirely. He grew pale, his white hands moved convulsively over his body as if they were searching for a weapon, and his face became threatening and even horrible. As if fearing the power of his own voice, he lowered it almost to a whisper; as if fearing that his words would break their leash and run off at a wild pace, he tried desperately to hold them in check and in order.

“Hatred? Be silent, sir. Or have you no conscience at all or any common sense? My contempt! My hatred! They were my reply, not to your theatrical love, but to your sincere and dead indifference. You were insulting me as