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

your outlook upon men. I know it is very difficult and I sympathize with you, but it is essential that you do it, old friend. Listen! Listen! I misled you: Maria is not my daughter⁠ ⁠… I have no children. Neither is she a⁠ ⁠… Madonna. She is my mistress and she was that as recently as last night.⁠ ⁠…”

Now I understand that Magnus was merciful in his own way and was intentionally submerging me slowly into darkness. But at that time I did not realize this and slowly stifling, my breath gradually dying, I lost consciousness. And when with Magnus’ last words the light fled from me and impenetrable night enveloped my being, I whipped out my revolver and fired at Magnus several times in succession. I do not know how many shots I fired. I remember only a series of laughing, flickering flames and the movements of my hand, pushing the weapon forward. I cannot remember at all how and when his aides rushed in and disarmed me. When I regained my senses this was the picture I saw: the aides were gone. I was sitting deep in my chair before the dark fireplace, my hair was wet, while above my left eyebrow there was a bandage soaked in blood. My collar was gone and my shirt was torn, my left sleeve was almost entirely torn off, so that I had to keep jerking it up constantly. Maria stood on the same spot, in the same pose, as if she had not moved at all during the struggle. I was surprised to see Toppi, who sat in a corner and gazed at me strangely. At the table, with his back to me, stood Magnus. He was pouring out some wine for himself.

When I heaved a particularly deep sigh, Magnus turned quickly and said in a strangely familiar tone:

“Do you want some wine, Wondergood? You may have a glass now. Here, drink.⁠ ⁠… You see you failed to hit me. I do not know whether to be glad or not, but I am alive. To your health, old man!”

I touched my brow with my finger and mumbled:

“Blood.⁠ ⁠…”

“A mere trifle, just a little scratch. It won’t matter. Don’t touch it.”

“It smells.”

“With powder? Yes, that’ll soon pass, too. Toppi is here. Do you see him? He asked permission to stay here. You won’t object if your secretary remains while we continue our conversation? He is extremely devoted to you.”

I looked at Toppi and smiled. Toppi made a grimace and sighed gently:

“Mr. Wondergood! It is I, your Toppi.”

And he burst into tears. This old devil, still emitting the odor of fur, this old clown in black, this sexton with hanging nose, this seducer of little girls⁠—burst into tears! But still worse was it when, blinking my eyes, I, too, began to weep, I, “the wise, immortal, almighty!” Thus we both wept, two deceived devils who happened to drop in upon this earth, and human beings⁠—I am happy to give them their due!⁠—looked on with deep sympathy for our tears. Weeping and laughing at the same time, I asked:

“It’s difficult to be a man, Toppi?”

And Toppi, sobbing, replied obediently:

“Very difficult, Mr. Wondergood.”

But here I happened to look at Maria and my sentimental tears immediately dried. In general, that evening is memorable for the sudden and ludicrous transformations of my moods. You probably know them, old man? Now I wept and beat the lyre, like a weeping post, now I became permeated with a stony calm and a sense of unconquerable power, or I began to chatter nonsense, like a parrot scared to death by a dog, and kept up my chatter, louder, sillier and more and more unbearable, until a new mood bore me off into a deep and inexpressible sadness. Magnus caught my look at Maria and smiled involuntarily. I adjusted the collar of my torn shirt and said dryly:

“I do not know whether to be glad or sorry that I failed to kill you, old friend. I am quite calm now, however, and would like you to tell me everything about⁠ ⁠… that woman. But as you are a liar, let me question her first. Signorina Maria, you were my bride? And in a few days I hoped to call you my wife. But tell me the truth: are you really⁠ ⁠… this man’s mistress?”

“Yes, signor.”

“And⁠ ⁠… how long?”

“Five years, signor.”

“And how old are you now.”

“Nineteen, signor.”

“That means you were fourteen.⁠ ⁠… Now you may continue, Magnus.”

“Oh, my God!”

(It was Toppi who exclaimed.)

“Sit down, Maria.⁠—As you see, Wondergood,”⁠—began Magnus in a dry and calm tone, as if he were demonstrating not himself but some sort of a chemical compound⁠—“this mistress of mine is quite an extraordinary phenomenon. With all her unusual resemblance to the Madonna, capable of deceiving men better versed than you or I in religion, with all her really unearthly beauty, chastity and charm⁠—she is a licentious and quite shameless creature, ready to sell herself from head to foot.⁠ ⁠…”

“Magnus!”

“Calm yourself. You see how she listens to me? Even your old Toppi is cringing and blushing while she⁠—her gaze is clear and all her features are filled with placid harmony⁠ ⁠… did you notice how clear Maria’s gaze is? Do you hear me?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Would you like wine or an orange? Take it. There it is on the table. Incidentally, observe her graceful walk: she seems to be always stepping lightly as if on flowers or clouds. What extraordinary beauty and litheness! As an old lover of hers, I may also add the following detail which you have not learned yet: she herself, her body, has the fragrance of some flowers. Now as to her spiritual qualities, as the psychologists put it. If I were to speak of them in ordinary language, I would say she was as stupid as a goose⁠—quite a hopeless fool. But she is cunning. And a liar. Very avaricious as regards money but she likes it only in gold. Everything she told you she learned from me, memorizing the more difficult lines⁠ ⁠… and I had quite a