CORNELL 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY - 
 
 FROM 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PG 3452.06E5 1920 
 
 Satan's dial 
 
 3 1924 026 685 119 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/cletails/cu31924026685119 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ! ■ 
 
SATAN'S DIARY 
 
 BY 
 
 LEONID ANDREYEV 
 
 Authorized Translation 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 
 HERMAN BERNSTEIN 
 
 BdNI AND LIVERIGHT 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
COPTBIGHT, 1920, BT 
 
 BONI & LrVERIGHT, Inc. 
 
 Printed in the United Stales of America 
 
u \ 
 
 ^(! 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 SATAN'S DIAEY," Leonid Andreyev's last 
 work, was completed by the great Russian a 
 few days before be died in Finland, in Sep- 
 tember, 1919. But a few years ago the most pop- 
 ular and successful of Eussian writers, Andreyev 
 died almost penniless, a sad, tragic figure, disil- 
 lusioned, broken-hearted over the tragedy of 
 Russia. 
 
 A year ago Leonid Andreyev wrote me that he 
 was eager to come to America, to study this coun- 
 try and familiarize Americans with the fate of his 
 unfortunate countrymen. I arranged for his visit 
 to this country and informed him of this by cable. 
 But on the very day I sent my cable the sad news 
 came from Finland announcing that Leonid An- 
 dreyev died of heart failure. 
 
 In "Satan's Diary" Andreyev summed up his 
 boundless disillusionment in an absorbing satire 
 on human life. Fearlessly and mercilessly he 
 hurled the falsehoods and hypocrisies into the 
 face of life. He portrayed Satan coming to this 
 earth to amuse himself and play. Having as- 
 sumed the form of an American multi-millionaire, 
 Satan set out on a tour through Europe in quest 
 of amusement and adventure. Before him passed 
 various forms of spurious virtues, hypocrisies, 
 
Frejaxx 
 
 the ruthless cruelty of man and the often deceptive 
 innocence of wcJman. Within a short time Satan 
 finds himself outwitted, deceived, relieved of his 
 millions, mocked, humiliated, beaten by man iu his 
 own devilish devices. 
 
 The story of Andreyev's beginning as a writer 
 is best told in his autobiography which he gave 
 me in 1908. 
 
 "I was bom," he said, "in Oryol, in 1871, and 
 studied there at the gymnasium. I studied poor- 
 ly; while in the seventh class I was for a whole 
 year known as the worst student, and my mark 
 for conduct was never higher than 4, sometimes 3. 
 The most pleasant time I spent at school, which 
 I recall to this day with pleasure, was recess time 
 between lessons, and also the rare occasions when 
 I was sent out from the classroom. . . . The sun- 
 beams, the free sunbeams, which penetrated some 
 cleft and which played with the dust in the hall- 
 way — all this was so mysterious, so interesting, so 
 full of a peculiar, hidden meaning. 
 
 "When I* studied at the gymnasium my father, 
 an engineer, died. As a university student I was 
 in dire need. During my first course in St. Peters- 
 burg I even starved — not so much out of real ne- 
 cessity as because of my youth, inexperience, and 
 my inability to utilize the unnecessary parts of 
 my costume. I am to this day ashamed to think 
 that I went two days without food at a time when 
 I had two or three pairs of trousers and two over- 
 coats which I could have sold. 
 
 vi 
 
Preface 
 
 "It was then that I wrote my first story — about 
 a starving student. I cried when I wrote it, and 
 the editor, who returned my manuscript, laughed. 
 That story of mine remained unpublished. . . . 
 In 1894, in January, I made an unsuccessful at- 
 tempt to kill myself by shooting. As a result of 
 this unsuccessful attempt I was forced by the au- 
 thorities into religious penitence, and I contracted 
 heart trouble, though not of a serious nature, yet 
 very annoying. During this time I made one or 
 two unsuccessful attempts at writing; I devoted 
 myself with greater pleasure and success to paint- 
 ing, which I loved from childhood on. I made por- 
 traits to order at 3 and 5 rubles a piece. 
 
 ' ' In 1897 I received my diploma and became an 
 assistant attorney, but I was at the very outset 
 sidetracked. I was offered a position on The 
 Courier, for which I was to report court proceed- 
 ings. I did not succeed in getting any practice 
 as a lawyer. I had only one case and lost it at 
 every point. 
 
 "In 1898 I wrote my first story — for the Easter 
 number — and since that time I have devoted my- 
 self exclusively to literature. Maxim Gorky 
 helped me considerably in my literary work by 
 his always practical advice and suggestions." 
 
 Andreyev's first steps in literature, his first" 
 short stories, attracted but little attention at the 
 time of their appearance. It was only when Coun- 
 tess Tolstoy, the wife of Leo Tolstoy, in a letter 
 to the Novoye Vremya, came out in "defense of 
 artistic purity and moral power in contemporary 
 
 vii 
 
Preface 
 
 literature," declaring that Eussian society, in- 
 stead of buying, reading and making famous the 
 works of the Andreyevs, should "rise against 
 such filth with indignation," that almost every- 
 body who knew how to read in Eussia turned to 
 the little volume of the young writer. 
 
 In her attack upon Andreyev, Countess Tolstoy 
 said as follows: 
 
 "The poor new writers, like Andreyev, suc- 
 ceeded only in concentrating their attention on the 
 filthy point of human degradation and uttered a 
 cry to the undeveloped, half-intelligent, reading 
 public, inviting them to see and to examine the 
 decomposed corpse of human degradation and to 
 close their eyes to God's wonderful, vast world, 
 with the beauties of nature, with the majesty of 
 art, with the lofty yearnings of the human soul, 
 with the religious and moral struggles and the 
 great ideals of goodness — even with the down- 
 fall, misfortunes and weaknesses of such people 
 as Dostoyevsky depicted. ... In describing all 
 these every true artist should illumine clearly be- 
 fore humanity not the side of filth and vice, but 
 should struggle against them by illumining the 
 highest ideals of good, truth, and the triumph over 
 evil, weakness, and the vices of mankind. ... I 
 should like to cry out loudly to the whole world 
 in order to help those unfortunate people whose 
 wings, given to each of them for high flights to- 
 ward the understanding of the spiritual light, 
 beauty, kindness, and God, are clipped by these 
 Andreyevs." 
 
 viii 
 
Pref(we 
 
 TMs letter of Countess Tolstoy called forth a 
 stoma of protest in tlie Eussian press, and, strange 
 to say, the representatives of the fair sex were 
 among the warmest defenders of the young au- 
 thor. Answering the attack, many women, in 
 their letters to the press, pointed out that the 
 author of "Anna Karenina" had been abused in 
 almost the same manner for his "Kreutzer Son- 
 ata," and that Tolstoy himself had been accused 
 of exerting just such an influence as the Countess 
 attributed to Andreyev over the youth of Russia. 
 Since the publication of Countess Tolstoy's con- 
 demnation, Andreyev has produced a series of 
 masterpieces, such as "The Life of Father Vas- 
 sily," a powerful psychological study; "Eed 
 Laughter," a war story, "written with the blood 
 of Eussia"; "The Life of Man," a striking mo- 
 rality presentation in five acts; "Anathema," his 
 greatest drama, and "The Seven "Who Were 
 Hanged," in which the horrors of Eussian life 
 under the Tsar were delineated with such beau- 
 tiful simplicity and power that Turgenev, or Tol- 
 stoy himself, would have signed his name to this 
 masterpiece. 
 
 Thus the first accusations against Andreyev 
 were disarmed by his artistic productions, per- 
 meated with sincere, profound love for all that i^ 
 pure in life. Dostoyevsky and Maupassant de- 
 picted more subjects, such as that treated in ' ' The 
 Abyss," than Andreyev. But with them these 
 stories are lost in the great mass of their other 
 works, while m Andreyev, who at that time had 
 
 ix 
 
Pr^aee 
 
 as yet produoed but a few short stories, works 
 like "The Abyss" stood out in bold relief. 
 
 I recall my first meeting with Leonid Andreyev 
 in 1908, two weeks after my visit to Count Leo 
 Tolstoy at Yasnaya Polyana. At that time he had 
 already become the most popular Eussian writer, 
 his popularity having overshadowed even that of 
 Maxim Gorky. 
 
 As I drove from Terioki to Andreyev's house, 
 along the dust-covered road, the stem and taciturn 
 little Finnish driver suddenly broke the silence 
 by saying to me in broken Eussian : 
 
 "Andreyev is a good writer. . . . Although he 
 is a Eussian, he is a very good man. He is build- 
 ing a beautiful house here in Finland, and he 
 gives employment to many of our people." 
 
 We were soon at the gate of Andreyev's beau- 
 tiful villa — a fantastic structure, weird-looking, 
 original in design, something like the conception 
 of the architect in the "Life of Man." 
 
 "My son is out rowing with his wife in the 
 Gulf of Finland," Andreyev's mother told me. 
 "They will be back in half an hour. " 
 
 As I waited I watched the seething activity 
 everywhere on Andreyev's estate. In Yasnaya 
 Polyana, the home of Count Tolstoy, everything 
 seemed long established, fixed, well-regulated, se- 
 renely beautiful. Andreyev's estate was astir 
 with vigorous life. Young, strong men were 
 building the House of Man. More than thirty of 
 them were working on the roof and in the yard, 
 and a little distance away, in the meadows, young 
 women and girls, bright-eyed and red faced, were 
 
Preface 
 
 haying. Youth, strength, vigor everywhere, afid 
 above all the ringing laughter of little children 
 at play. I could see from the window the "Black 
 Little Eiver," which sparkled in the sun hundreds 
 of foet below. The constant noise of the work- 
 men's axes and hammers was so loud that I did 
 not notice when Leonid Andreyev entered the 
 room where I was waiting for him. 
 
 "Pardon my manner of dressing," he said, as 
 we shook hands. "In the summer I lead a lazy 
 life, and do not write a line. I am afraid I am 
 forgetting even to sign my name." 
 
 I had seen numerous photographs of Leonid 
 'Andreyev, but he did not look like any of them. 
 Instead of a pale-faced, sickly-lookiag young man, 
 there stood before me a strong, handsome, well- 
 built man, with wonderful eyes. He wore a gray- 
 ish blouse, black, wide pantaloons up to his knees, 
 and no shoes or stockings. 
 
 We soon spoke of Eussian literature at the time, 
 particularly of the drama. 
 
 "We have no real drama in Eussia," said An- 
 dreyev. "Eussia has not yet produced anything 
 that could justly be called a great drama. Per- 
 haps 'The Storm,' by Ostrovsky, is the only Eus- 
 sian play that may be classed as a drama. Tol- 
 stoy's plays cannot be placed in this category. 
 Of the later writers, Anton Chekhov came nearest 
 to giving real dramas to Eussia, but, unfortu- 
 nately, he was taken from us ia the prime of hia 
 life." 
 
 "What do you consider your own 'Life of Han' 
 and 'To the Stars'?" I asked. 
 
 xi 
 
Preface 
 
 /' "They are not dramas; they are merely pre- 
 [ sentations in so many acts," answered Andreyev, 
 \ and, after some hesitation, added: "I have not 
 written any dramas, hut it is possible that I will 
 write one." At this point Andreyev's wife came 
 in, dressed in a Eussian blouse. The conversa- 
 tion turned to America, and to the treatment ac- 
 corded to Maxim Gorky in New York. 
 
 "When I was a child I loved America," re- 
 marked Andreyev. "Perhaps Cooper and Mayne 
 Eeid, my favorite authors in my childhood days, 
 were responsible for this. I was always planning 
 to run away to America. I am anxious even now 
 to visit America, but I am afraid — I may get as 
 bad a reception as my friend Gorky got." 
 
 He laughed as he glanced at his wife. After a 
 brief pause, he said : 
 
 "The most remarkable thing about the Gorky 
 incident is that while in his stories and articles 
 about America Gorky wrote nothing but the very 
 worst that could be said about that country he 
 never told me anything but the very best about 
 America. Some day he will probably describe 
 his impressions of America as he related them 
 to me." 
 
 It was a very warm day. The sun was burning 
 mercilessly in the large room. Mme. Andreyev 
 suggested that it would be more pleasant to go 
 down to a shady place near the Black Little River. 
 
 On the way down the hill Andreyev inquired 
 about Tolstoy's health and was eager to know 
 his views on contemporary matters. 
 
 xii 
 
Preface 
 
 "If Tolstoy were young now he would have 
 been with us," he said. 
 
 We stepped into a boat, Mme. Andreyev took up 
 the oars and began to row. We resumed our con- 
 versation. 
 
 "The decadent movement in Russian litera- 
 ture," said Andreyev, "started to make itself felt 
 about ten or fifteen years ago. At first it was 
 looked upon as mere child's play, as a curiosity. 
 Now it is regarded more seriously. Although I 
 do not belong to that school, I do not consider 
 it worthless. The fault with it is that it has but 
 few talented people in its ranks, and these few 
 direct the criticism of the decadent school. They 
 are the writers and also the critics'. And they 
 praise whatever they write. Of the younger men, 
 Alexander Blok is perhaps the most gifted. But 
 in Eussia our clothes change quickly nowadays, 
 and it is hard to tell what the future will tell us 
 — ^in our literature and our life. 
 
 "How do I picture to myself this future?" con- 
 tinued Andreyev, in answer to a question of mine. 
 "I cannot know even the fate and future of my 
 own child ; how can I foretell the future of such a 
 great country as Russia? But I believe that the 
 Russian people have a great future before them 
 — in life and in literature — for they are a great 
 people, rich in talents, kind and freedom-loving. 
 Savage as yet, it is true, very ignorant, but on the 
 whole they do not differ so much from other Euro- 
 pean nations." 
 
 Suddenly the author of "Red Laughter" looked 
 upon me intently, and asked : "How is it that the 
 
 xiii • 
 
Preface 
 
 European and the American press has ceased to 
 interest itself in our struggle for emancipation? 
 Is it possible that the reaction in Russia appeals 
 to them more than our people's yearnings for 
 freedom, simply because the reaction happens to 
 he stronger at the present time? In that event, 
 they are probably sympathizing with the Shah of 
 Persia ! Eussia to-day is a lunatic asylum. The 
 people who are hanged are not the people who 
 should be hanged. Everywhere else honest peo- 
 ple are at large and only criminals are in prison. 
 In Eussia the honest people are in prison and the 
 criminals are at large. The Eussian Government 
 is composed of a band of criminals, and Nicholas 
 II is not the greatest of them. There are stiU 
 greater ones. I do not hold that the Russian Gov- 
 ernment alone is guilty of these horrors. The Eu- 
 ropean nations and the Americans are just as 
 much to blame, for they look on in silence while 
 the most despicable crimes are committed. The 
 murderer usually has at least courage, while he 
 who looks on silently when murder is committed 
 is a contemptible weakling. England and Prance, 
 who have become so friendly to our Government, 
 are surely watching with compassion the poor 
 Shah, who hangs the constitutional leaders. Per- 
 haps I do not know international law. Perhaps 
 I am not speaking as a practical man. One na- 
 tion must not interfere with the internal affairs 
 of another nation. But why do they interfere with 
 our movement for freedom? France helped the 
 Russian Government in its war against the peo- 
 ple by giving money to Russia, Germany also 
 
 xiv 
 
Preface 
 
 helped — ^seoretly. In well-regulated countries 
 each individual must behave decently. When a 
 man murders, robs, dishonors women he is thrown 
 into prison. But when the Eussian Government is 
 murdering helpless men and women and children 
 the other Governments look on indifferently. And 
 yet they speak of God. If this had happened in 
 the Middle Ages a crusade would have been start- 
 ed by civilized peoples who would have marched 
 to Eussia to free the women and the children 
 from the claws of the Government.''' 
 
 Andreyev became silent. His wife kept rowing 
 for some time slowly, without saying a word. We 
 soon reached the shore and returned silently to 
 the house. That was twelve years ago. 
 
 I met him several times after that. The last 
 time I visited him in Petrograd during the July 
 riots in 191L 
 
 A literary friend thus describes the funeral of 
 Leonid Andreyev, which gives a picture of the 
 tragedy of Eussia : 
 
 "In the morning a decision had ]to be reached 
 as to the day of the funeral. It was necessary 
 to see to the purchase and the delivery of the 
 coflBn from Viborg, and to undertake all those un- 
 avoidable, hard duties which are so painful to the 
 family. 
 
 "It appeared that the Eussian exiles living in 
 our village had no permits from the Finnish Gov- 
 ernment to go to Viborg, nor the money for that 
 expense. It further appeared that the family of 
 Leonid Andreyev had left at their disposal only 
 
 XV 
 
Preface 
 
 one hundred marks (about 6 dollars), which the 
 doctor who had come from the station after An- 
 dreyev's death declined to take from the widow 
 for his visit. 
 
 "This was all the family possessed. _ It was 
 necessary to charge a Russian exile living in a 
 neighboring village, who had a pass for Viborg, 
 with the sad commission of finding among some 
 wealthy people in Viborg who had known Andre- 
 yev the means required for the funeral. 
 
 "On the following day mass was read. Floral 
 tributes and wreaths from Viborg, with black in- 
 scriptions made hastily in ink on white ribbons, 
 began to arrive. They were all from private in- 
 dividuals. The local refugees brought garlands 
 of autumn foliage, bouquets of late flowers. Their 
 children laid their carefully woven, simple and 
 touching little childish wreaths at the foot of the 
 coffin. Leonid Andreyev's widow did not wish 
 to inter the body in foreign soil and it was de- 
 cided, tempoifarily, until burial in native ground, 
 to leave his body in the little mortuary in the 
 park on the estate of a local woman landowner. 
 
 "The day of the funeral was not widely known. 
 The need for special permits to travel deprived 
 many of the opportunity to attend. In this way 
 it happened that only a very small group of peo- 
 ple followed the body from the house to the mor- 
 tuary. None of his close friends was there. They, 
 like his brothers, sister, one of his sons, were in 
 Eussia. Neighbors, refugees, acquaintances of 
 the last two years with whom his exile had a<j- 
 oidentally thrown him into contact, people who 
 
 xvi 
 
iiad no connection with Eussian literature, — al- 
 most all alien in spirit — such was the little group 
 of Russians that followed the coffin of Leonid 
 Andreyev to its temporary resting place. 
 
 "It was a tragic funeral, this funeral in exile, 
 of a writer who is so dearly loved by the whole 
 intellectual class of Eussia; whom the younger 
 generation of Eussia acclaimed with such enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 "Meanwhile he rests in a foreign land, waiting 
 — ^waiting for Free Eussia to demand back his 
 ashes, and pay tribute to his genius." 
 
 Among his last notes, breathing deep anguish 
 jind despair, found on his desk, were the follow- 
 ing lines : 
 
 "Eevolution is just as unsatisfactory a means 
 of settling disputes as is war. If it be impossible 
 to vanquish a hostile idea except by smashing the 
 skull in which it is contained ; if it be impossible 
 to appease a hostile heart except by piercing it 
 with a bayonet, then, of course, fight. ..." 
 
 Leonid Andreyev died of a broken heart. But 
 the spirit of his genius is deathless. 
 
 Hebmah Bbensxbih-. 
 New York, Septemher. 
 
 xvu 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 /' 
 
SATAN'S DIARY 
 
 January 18. 
 On board the Atlcmtic. 
 
 THIS is exactly the tenth day since I have be- 
 come human and am leading this earthly 
 life. 
 
 My loneliness is very great. I am not in need 
 of friends, but I must speak of Myself and I have 
 no one to speak to. Thoughts alone are not suf- 
 ficient, and they will not become quite clear, pre- 
 cise and exact until I express them in words. It 
 is necessary to arrange them in a row, like sol- 
 diers or telephone poles, to lay them out like a 
 railway track, to throw across bridges and via- 
 ducts, to construct barrows and enclosures, to 
 indicate stations in certain places — and only then 
 will everything become clear. This laborious 
 engineering work, I think, they call logic and con- 
 sistency, and is essential to those who desire to 
 be wise. It is not essential to all others. They 
 may wander about as they please. 
 
 The work is slow, difficult and r^ulsive for one 
 
 1 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 who is aocustomed to — ^I do not know what to call 
 it — to embracing all in one breath, ajid expressing 
 all in a single breath. It is not in vain that men re- 
 spect their thinkers so much, and it is not in vain 
 that these unfortunate thinkers, if they are honest 
 and conscientious in this process of construction, 
 as ordinary engineers, end in insane asylums. I 
 am but a few days on this earth and more than 
 once have the yellow walls of the insane asylum 
 and its luring open door flashedr before my eyes. 
 Yes, it is extremely difficult and irritates one's 
 "nerves." I have just now wasted so much of the 
 ship's fine stationery to express a little ordinaiy 
 thought on the inadequacy of man's words and 
 logic. "What will it be necessary to waste to give 
 expression to the great and the unusual? I want 
 to warn you, my earthly reader, at the very out- 
 set, not to gape in astonishment. The extraordm- 
 ary cwrmot he expressed in the language of your 
 grumbling. If you do not believe me, go to the 
 nearest insane asylum and listen to the inmates : 
 they have all realized Somethmg and wanted to 
 give expression to it. And now you can hear the 
 roar and rumble of these wrecked engines, their 
 wheels revolving and hissing in the air, and you 
 can see with what difficulty they manage to hold 
 intact the rapidly dissolving features of their as- 
 tonished faces I 
 
 2 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 I see yon axe all ready to ply me with, questions, 
 now that you learned that I am Satan in human 
 form: it is so fascinating! Whence did I come? 
 What are the ways of Hell? Is there immortality 
 there, and, also, what is the price of coal at the 
 stock exchange of Hell? Unfortunately, my dear 
 reader, despite my desire to the contrary, if I had 
 such a desire, I am powerless to satisfy your very 
 proper curiosity. I could have composed for your 
 benefit one of those funny little stories about 
 homy and hairy devils, which appeal so much to 
 your meagre imagination, but you have had 
 enough of them already and I do not want to lie 
 so rudely and ungracefully. I will lie to you else- 
 where, when you least expect it, and that will be 
 far more interesting for both of us. 
 
 And the truth — ^how am I to tell it when even 
 my Name cannot be expressed in your tongue? 
 Ton have called me Satan and I accept the name, 
 just as I would have accepted any other : Be it so 
 — ^I am Satan. But my real name sounds quite dif- 
 ferent, quite different! It has an extraordinary 
 sound and try as I may I cannot force it into your 
 narrow ear without tearing it open together with 
 your brain : Be it so — ^I am Satan. And nothing 
 more. 
 
 And you yourself are to blame for this, my 
 friend: why is there so little understanding in 
 
 3 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 your reason? Tour reason is like a beggar's sack, 
 containing only crusts of stale bread, while it is 
 necessary to have something more than bread. 
 You have but two conceptions of existence: life 
 and death. How, then, can I reveal to you the 
 third? All your existence is an absurdity only be- 
 cause you do not have this third conception. And 
 where can I get it for you? To-day I am human, 
 even as you. In my skull is your braiu. In my 
 mouth are your cubic words, jostling one another 
 about with their sharp comers, and I canhot tell 
 you of the Extraordinary. 
 
 If I were to tell you that there are no devils I 
 would lie. But if I say that such creatures do 
 exist I also deceive you. You see how difficult it 
 is, how absurd, my friend! 
 
 I can also tell you but little that you would un- 
 derstand of how I assumed the human form, with 
 which I began my earthly life ten days ago. First 
 of all, forget about your favorite, hairy, homy, 
 winged devils, who breathe fire, transform frag- 
 ments of earthenware into gold and change old 
 men into fascinating youths, and having done all 
 this and prattled much nonsense, they disappear 
 suddenly through a wall. " Eemember : when we, 
 want to visit your earth we must always become 
 human. Why this is so you will learn after your 
 death. Meanwhile remember: I am a hunaan 
 
 4: 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 being now like yourself. There is not the foul 
 smell of a goat about me but the fragrance of per- 
 fume, and you need not fear to shake My hand lest 
 I may scratch you with my nails : I manicure them 
 just as you do. 
 
 But how did it all happen? Very simply. 
 When I first conceived the desire to visit this 
 earthT selected as the most satisfactory lodg- 
 ing a 38-year-old American billionaire, Mr. 
 Henry Wondergood. I killed him at night, — of 
 course, not in the presence of witnesses. But you 
 cannot bring me to court despite this confession, 
 because the American is ALIVE, and we both 
 greet you with one respectful bow : I and Wonder- 
 good, He simply rented his empty place to me. 
 You understand? And not all of it either, the 
 devil take himl And, to my great regret I can 
 return only through the same door which leads 
 you too to liherty : through death. 
 
 This is the most important thing. You may un- 
 derstand something of what I may have to say 
 later on, although to speak to you of such mat- 
 ters in your language is like trying to conceal a 
 mountain in a vest pocket or to empty Niagara 
 with a thimble. Imagine, for example, that you, 
 my dear King of Nature, should want to come 
 closer to the ants, and that by^ some miracle you 
 became a real little ant, — ^then you may have some 
 
 5 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 oonception of that gulf which separates Me now 
 from what I was. No, still more I Imagine that 
 yon were a sonnd and liave become a mere symbol 
 — a musical mark on paper. . . . No, siill worse I 
 — No comparisons can make clear to yoii that ter- 
 rible gulf whose bottom even I do not see as yet. 
 Or, perhaps, there is no bottom there at all. 
 
 Think of it: for two days, after leaving New 
 York, I suffered from seasickness! This sounds 
 queer to you, who are accustomed to wallow in. 
 your own dirt? Well, I — ^I have also wallowed in 
 it but it was not queer at all. I only smiled once 
 in thinking that it was not I, but Wondergood, 
 and said : 
 
 "Boll on, Wondergood, roll on!" 
 
 There is another question to which, you prob- 
 ably want an answer: Why did I come to this 
 earth and accept such an unprofitable exchange: 
 to be transformed from Satan, "the mighty, im- 
 mortal chieftain and ruler" into you? I am tired 
 of seeking words that cannot be found. I will 
 answer youi in English, French, Italian or German 
 — languages we both understand well. I have 
 grown lonesome in Hell and I have come upon the 
 earth to lie and play. 
 
 You know what ennui is. And as for falsehood, 
 you know it well too. And as for play — ^you can 
 judge it to a certain extent by your own theaters 
 
 6 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 and celebrated actors. Perhaps you yourself are 
 playing a little role in Parliament, at home, or in 
 your church. If you are, you may understand 
 ■something of the satisfaction of .play. And, if 
 in addition, you are familiar with the multipli- 
 cation table, then multiply the delight and joy of 
 play into any considerable figure and you will get 
 an idea of My enjoyment, of My play. No, imag- 
 ine that you are an ocean wave, which plays eter- 
 nally and lif es only in play — take this wave, for 
 example, which I see outside thes porthole now and 
 which wants to lift our "Atlantic" . . . but, here 
 I am agaia seeking words and comparisons! 
 
 I simply want to play. At present I am still 
 an imknown actor, a modest debutante, but I hope 
 to become no less a celebrity than your own Gar- 
 rick or Aldrich, after I have played what I please. 
 I am proud, selfish and even, if you please, vain 
 and boastful. You know what vanity is, when you 
 crave the praise and plaudits even of a foolt 
 Then I entertain the brazen idea that I am a 
 genius. Satan is known for his brazenness. And 
 so, imagine, that I have grown weary of Hell 
 where all these hairy and homy rogues play and 
 lie no worse than I do, and that I am no longer^ 
 satisfied with the laurels of HeU, in which I but 
 perceive no small measure of base flattery and 
 downright stupidity. But I b4.ve Jieaxd of you, 
 
 7 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 my earthly friend; I liave heard that you are wise, 
 tolerably honest, properly incredulous, respon- 
 sive to the problems of eternal art and that you 
 yourself play and lie so badly that you might ap- 
 preciate the playing of others : not in vain have 
 you so many great actors. Aad so I have come. 
 You understand? 
 
 My stage is the earth and the nearest scene for 
 which I am now bound is Eome, the Eternal City, 
 as it is called here, in your profound conception 
 of eternity and other simple matters. I have not 
 yet selected my company (would you not like to 
 join it?). But I believe that Fate and Chance, 
 to whom I am now subservient, like all your 
 earthly things, will realize my unselfish motives 
 and will send me worthy partners. Old Europe is 
 so rich in talents ! I believe that I shall find a keen 
 and appreciative audience in Europe, too. I con- 
 fess that I first thought of going to the East, which 
 some of my compatriots made their scene of ac- 
 tivity some time ago with no small measure of suc- 
 cess, but the East is too credulous and is inclined 
 too much to poison and the ballet. Its gods are 
 ludicrous. The East still reeks too much of hairy 
 animals. Its lights and shadows are barbarously 
 crude and too bright to make it worth while for a 
 refined artist as I am to go into that crowded, foul 
 circus tent. Ah, my friend, I am, iso vain that I 
 
 8 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 even begin this Dairy not without the secret in- 
 tention of impressing you with my modesty in the 
 r61e of seeJcer of words and comparisons. I 
 hope you will not take advantage of my frankness 
 and cease believing me. 
 
 Are there any other questions? Of the play it- 
 self I have no clear idea yet."" It will be composed 
 by the same impresario who wiU assemble the 
 actors — Fate. My modest role, as a beginning, 
 will be that of a man who so loves his fellow 
 beings that he is willihg to give them everything, 
 his soul and his money. Of course, you have not 
 forgotten that I am a billionaire? I have three 
 billion dollars. Sufficient — ^is it not? — ^for one 
 spectacular performance. One more detail before 
 I conclude this page. 
 
 I have with me, sharing my fate, a certain Ir- 
 win Toppi, my secretary, — a most worthy person 
 in his black frock coat and silk top hat, his long 
 nose resembling an unripened pear and his 
 ismoothly shaven, pastor-like face. I would not 
 .be surprised to find a prayer book in his pocket. 
 My Toppi came upon this earth from there, i.e. 
 from HeU. and by the same means as mine : he, too, 
 assumed the human fonn and, it seems, quite suc- 
 cessfully — ^the rogue is entirely immune from sea- 
 sickness. However to be seasick one must have 
 some brains and my Toppi is unusually stupid— ^ 
 
 9 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 even for this earth. Besides, he is impolite and 
 ventures to offer advice. I am rather sorry that 
 out of our entire wealth of material I did not 
 select some one better, but I was impressed by 
 his honesty and partial familiarity with the 
 earth : it seemed more pleasant to enter upon this 
 little jaunt with an experienced comrade. Quite 
 a long time ago he once before assumed the human 
 form and was so taJjen by religious sentiments 
 that — think of it ! — ^he entered a Franciscan mon- 
 astery, lived there to a ripe old age and died 
 peacefully under the name of Brother Vincent. 
 His ashes became the object of veneration for be- 
 lievers — ^not a bad career for a fool of a deviL No 
 sooner did he enter upon this trip with Me than 
 he began to sniff about for incense — an incurable 
 habit ! You will probably like him. 
 
 And now enough. Get thee hence, my friend. 
 I wish to be alone. Your shallow reflection upon 
 this wall wears upon me. I wish to be alone or 
 only with thisi Wondergood who has leased his 
 abode to Me and seems to have gotten the best 
 of Me somehow or other. The sea is calm. I am 
 no longer nauseated but I am afraid of something. 
 I am afraid ! 1 fear this darkness which they call 
 night and descends upon the ocean: here, in the 
 cabin there is still some light, but there, on deck, 
 there is terrible darkness, and My eyes are 
 
 10 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 quite helpless. These silly reflectors — ^they are 
 worthless. They are able to reflect things by day 
 but in the darkness they lose even this miserable 
 power. Of course I shall get used to the dark- 
 ness. I have already grown used to many things. 
 But just now I am ill at ease and it is horrible to 
 think that the mere turn of a key obsesses me with 
 this blind ever present darkness. Whence does it 
 come? 
 
 And how brave men are with their dim reflec- 
 tors : they see nothing and simply say : it is dark 
 here, we must make a light! Then they them- 
 selves put it out and go to sleep. I regard these 
 braves with a kind of cold wonder and I am 
 seized with admiration. Or must one possess a 
 great mind to appreciate horror, like Mine ? You 
 are riot such a coward, Wondergood. You always 
 bore the reputation of being a hardened man and 
 a man of experience ! 
 
 There is one moment in the process of my as- 
 sumption of the human form that I cannot recol- 
 lect without horror. That was when for the first 
 time I heard the beating of My heart. This regu- 
 lar, loud, metronome-like sound, which speaks as 
 much of death as of life, filled me with the hitherto 
 inexperienced sensation of horror. Men are al- 
 ways quarrelling about accounts, but how can 
 they carry in their breasts this counting ma- 
 ll 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 chine, registering with the speed of a magician 
 the fleeting seconds of hfe? 
 
 At first I wanted to shout and to run back below, 
 before I could grow accustomed to life, but here I 
 looked at Toppi: this new-bom fool was calmly- 
 brushing his top hat with the sleeve of his frock 
 coat. I broke out into laughter and cried: 
 
 ' ' Toppi, the brush ! ' ' 
 
 We both brushed ourselves while the counting 
 machine in my breast was computing the seconds 
 and, it seemed to me, adding on a few for good 
 measure. Finally, hearing its brazen beating, I 
 thought I might not have time enough to finish 
 my toillette. I have been in a great hurry for 
 some time. Just what it was I would not be able 
 to complete I did not know, but for two days I was 
 in a mad rush to eat and drink and even sleep: 
 the counting machine was beating away while I 
 lay in slumber! 
 
 But I never rush now. I know that I will man- 
 age to get through and my moments seem inex- 
 haustible. But the little machine keeps on beat- 
 ing just the same, like a drunken soldier at a drum. 
 And how about the very moments it is using up 
 now. Are they to be counted as equal to the 
 great ones? Then I say it is all a fraud and I 
 protest as a honest citizen of the United States 
 and as a merchant. ( 
 
 12 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I do not feel well. Yet I would not repulse even 
 a friend at this moment, Alt ! In all the universe 
 I am alone ! 
 
 February 7, 1914. 
 Eome, Hotel "Internationale." 
 
 I am driven mad whenever I am compelled to 
 seize the club of a policeman to bring order in my 
 brain.: facts, to the right! thoughts, to the left! 
 moods, to the rear — clear the road for His High- 
 ness, Conscience, which barely moves about upon 
 its stilts. I am compelled to do this: otherwise 
 there would be a riot, an abrecadebra, chaos. And 
 so I call you to order, gentleman — ^f acts and lady- 
 thoughts. I begin. 
 
 Night. Darkness. The air is balmy. There is 
 a pleasant fragrance. Toppi is enchanted. We 
 are in Italy. Our speeding train is approaching 
 Eome. We are enjoying our soft couches when, 
 suddenly, crash! Everything flies to the devil: 
 the train has gone out of its mind. It is wrecked. 
 I confess without shame that I am not very 
 brave, that I was seized with terror and seemed 
 to have lost consciousness. The lights were extin- 
 guished and with much labor I crawled out of the 
 comer into which I had been hurled. I seemed 
 to have forgotten the exit. There were only walls 
 and comerSi I felt something stinging and beat- 
 
 13 
 
'Satan's Diary 
 
 ing at Me, and all about notMng but darkness. 
 Suddenly I felt a body beneath my feet. I stepped 
 right upon the face. Only afterwards did I dis- 
 cover that the body was that of George, my lackey, 
 killed outright. I shouted and my obliging Toppi 
 came to my aid : he seized me by the arm and led 
 me to an open window, as both exits had been bar- 
 ricaded by fragments of the car and baggage. I 
 leaped out, but Toppi lingered behind. My knees 
 were trembling. I was groaning but still he failed 
 to appear. I shouted. Suddenly he reappeared 
 at the window and shouted back : 
 
 "What are you crying about? I am looking 
 for our hats and your portfolio." 
 
 A few moments later he returned and handed 
 me my hat. He himself had his silk top hat on 
 and carried the portfolio. I shook with laughter 
 and said : 
 
 "Young man, you have forgotten the um- 
 brella!" 
 
 But the old buffoon has no sense of humor. He 
 replied seriously: 
 
 " I do not carry an umbrella. And do you know, 
 our George is dead and so is the chef." 
 
 So, this fallen carcass which has no feelings and 
 upon whose face one steps with impunity is our 
 George ! I was again seized with terror and sud- 
 denly my ears were pierced with groans, wild 
 
 14 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 shrieks, whistlings and cries! All the sounds 
 wherewith these braves wail when they are 
 crushed. At first I was deafened. I heard noth- 
 ing. The cars caught fire. The flames and smoke 
 shot up into the air. The wounded began to groan 
 and, without waiting for the flesh to roast, I 
 darted like a flash into the field. What a leap ! 
 
 Fortunately the low hills of the Eoman Cam- 
 pagna are very convenient for this kind of sport 
 and I was no means behind in the line of runners. 
 When, out of breath, I hurled myself upon the 
 ground, it was no longer possible to hear or see 
 anything. Only Toppi was approaching. But 
 what a terrible thing this heart is! My face 
 touched the earth. The earth was cool, firm, calm 
 and here I liked it. It seemed as if it had restored' 
 my breath and put my heart back into its place. 
 I felt easier. The stars above were calm. There 
 was nothing for them to get excited about. They 
 were not concerned with things below. They 
 merely shine in triumph. That is their eternal 
 ball. And at this brilliant baU the earth, clothed 
 in darkness, appeared as an enchanting stranger 
 in a black mask. (Not at all badly expressed? I 
 trust that you, my reader, will be pleased: my 
 style and my manners are improving!) 
 
 I kissed Toppi in the darkness. I always Mss 
 those I like in the darkness. And I said : 
 
 15 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "You are carrying your liumaii form, Toppi, 
 very well. I respect you. But what are we to do 
 now? Those lights yonder in the sky — they are 
 the lights of Rome. But they are too far away ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, it is Eome," aflBrmed Toppi, and raised 
 his hand: "do you hear whistling?" 
 
 From somewhere in the distance came the long- 
 drawn, piercing, shrieking of locomotives. They 
 were sounding the alarm. 
 
 "Yes, they are whistling," I said and laughed. 
 
 "They are whistling!" repeated Toppi smiling. 
 He' never laughs. 
 
 But here again I began to feel uncomfortable. 
 I was cold, lonely, quivering. In my feet there 
 was still the sensation of treading upon corpses. 
 I wanted to shake myself like a dog after a bath. 
 You must understand me : it was the first time 
 that I had seen and felt your corpse, my dear 
 reader, and if you pardon me, it did not appeal to 
 me at all. "Why did it not protest when I walked 
 over its face ? George had such a beautiful young 
 face and he carried himself with much dignity. 
 Remember your face, too, may be trod upon. And 
 will you, too, remain submissive? 
 
 We did not proceed to Rome but went instead 
 in search of the nearest night lodging. We walked 
 long. We grew tired. We longed to drink, oh, 
 how we longed to drink! And now, permit me 
 
 16 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 to present to you my new friend, Signor Thomas 
 Magnus and Ms beautiful daughter, Maria. 
 
 At first we observed the faint flicker of a light. 
 As we approached nearer we found a little house, 
 its white walls gleaming through a thicket of dark 
 cypress trees and shrubbery. There was a light 
 in one of the windows, the rest were barricaded 
 with shutters. The house had a stone fence, an 
 iron gate, strong doors. And — silence. At first 
 glance it all looked suspicious. Toppi knocked. 
 Again silence. Finally there came a gruff voice. 
 Still silence. I knocked. Again silence. Finally 
 there came a gruff voice, asking from behind the 
 iron door: 
 * ' Who are you ? What do you want ? ' ' 
 Hardly mumbling with his parched tongue, my 
 brave Toppi narrated the story of the catastrophe 
 and our escape. He spoke at length and then came 
 the click of a lock and the door was opened. Fol- 
 lowing behind our austere and silent stranger we 
 entered the house, passed through several dark 
 and silent rooms, walked up a flight of creaking 
 stairs into a brightly lighted room, apparently 
 the stranger's workroom. There was much light, 
 many books, with one open beneath a low lamp 
 shaded by a simple, green globe. We had not no- 
 ticed this light in the field. But what astonished 
 me was the silence of the house. Despite the 
 
 17 
 
'Satan's Diary 
 
 ratlier early hour not a move, not a sound, not a 
 voice was to be heard. 
 
 "Have a seat." 
 
 We sat down and Toppi, now almost in pain, 
 began again to narrate bis story. But tbe 
 strange host interrupted bim : 
 
 "Yes, a eatastropbe. They often occur on our 
 roads. Were tbere many victims?" 
 
 Toppi continued bis prattle and tbe bost, wbile 
 listening to bim, took a revolver out of bis pocket 
 and bid it in a table drawer, adding carelessly : 
 
 "This is not — a particularly quiet neigbbor- 
 bood. Well, please, remain bere." 
 
 For tbe first time be raised bis dark eyebrows 
 and bis large dim eyes and studied us intently as 
 if be were gazing upon something savage in a 
 museum. It was an impolite and brazen stare. I 
 arose and said: 
 
 "I fear tbat we are not welcome bere, Signor, 
 and " 
 
 He istopped Me with an impatient and sligbtly 
 sarcastic gesture. 
 
 "Nonsense, you remain bere. I will get you 
 some wiae and food. My servant is bere in tbe 
 daytime only, so allow me to wait on you. You 
 will find tbe batbrooni bebind tbis door. Go wasb 
 and fresben up wbile I get tbe wine. Make your- 
 self atbome." 
 
 18 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 While we ate and drank — ^with savage relish, I 
 confess — ^this unsympatlietic gentleman kept on 
 reading a book as if there were no one else in the 
 room, nndisturbed by Toppi's munching and the 
 dog's straggle with a bone. I studied my host 
 carefully. Almost my height, his pale face bore an 
 expression of weariness. He had a bjack, oily, 
 bandit-like beard. But his brow was high and his 
 nose betrayed good sense. How would you de- 
 scribe it? Well, here again I seek comparisons. 
 Imagine the nose betraying the story of a great, 
 passionate, extraordinary, secret life. It is beau- 
 tiful and seems to have been made not out of 
 muscle and cartilage, bilt out of — ^what do you 
 call it? — out of thoughts and brazen desires. He 
 seems quite brave too. But I was particularly at- 
 tracted by his hands: very big, very white and 
 giving the impression of self-control. I do not 
 know why his hands attracted me so much. But 
 suddenly I thought: how beautifully exact the 
 number of fingers, exactly ten of them, ten thin, 
 evil, wise, crooked fingers ! 
 
 I said politely : 
 
 "Thank you, signor " 
 
 He replied: 
 
 "My name is Magnus. Thomas Magnus. Have 
 some wine? Americans?" 
 
 I waited for Toppi to introduce me, according 
 
 19 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 to the English, custom, and I looked toward Mag- 
 nus. One had to be an ignorant, illiterate animal 
 not to know me. 
 
 Toppi broke in : 
 
 "Mr. Henry Wondergood of Illinois. His sec- 
 retary, Irwin Toppi, your obedient servant. Yes, 
 citizens of the United States." 
 
 The old buffoon blurted out his tirade, evincing 
 a thorough lack of pride, and Magnus — ^yes, he 
 was a little startled. Billions, my friend, billions. 
 He gazed at Me long and intently : 
 
 "Mr. "Wondergood? Henry Wondergood? Are 
 you not, sir, that A^^erican billionaire who seeks 
 to bestow upon humanity the benefits of his bil- 
 lions?" 
 
 I modestly shook my head ih the affirmative. 
 
 "Yes, I am the gentleman." 
 
 Toppi shook his head in affirmation — ^the ass: 
 
 "Yes, we are the gentlemen." 
 
 Magnus bowed and said with a tinge of irony 
 in his voice : 
 
 "Humanity is awaiting you, Mr. "Wondergood. 
 Judging by the Eoman newspapers it is extremely 
 impatient. But I must crave your pardon for this 
 very modest meal: I did not know ..." 
 
 I seized his large, strangely warm hand and 
 shaking it violently, in American fashion, I said : 
 
 "Nonsense, Signor Magnus. I was a swine- 
 20 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 herd before I became a billionaire, while yon are a 
 straightforward, honest and noble gentleman, 
 whose hand I press with the utmost respect. The 
 devil take it, not a single human face has yet 
 aroused in me as much sympathy as yours!" 
 
 Magnus said . . . 
 
 Magnus said nothing ! I cannot continue this : 
 "I said," "he said," — This cursed consistency 
 is deadly to my inspiration. It transforms me in- 
 to a silly romanticist of a boulevard sheet and 
 makes me lie like a mediocrity. I have five senses. 
 I am a complete human being and yet I speak only 
 of the hearing. And how about the sight? I as- 
 sure you it did not remain idle. And this sensa- 
 tion of the earth, of Italy, of My existence which 
 I now perceive With a new and sweet strength! 
 You imagine that all I did was to listen to wise 
 Thomas Magnus. He speaks and I gaze, under- 
 stand, answer, while I think: what a beautiful 
 earth, what a beautiful Campagna di Eoma! I 
 persisted in penetrating the recesses of the house, 
 into itp locked silent rooms. With every moment 
 my joy mounted at the thought that I am alive, 
 that I can speak and play and, suddenly, I rather 
 liked the idea of being human. 
 
 I remember that I held out my card to Magnus. 
 "Henry "Wondergood. " He was surprised, but 
 laid the card politely on the table. I felt like im- 
 
 21 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 planting a kiss on his l)row for this politeness, for 
 the fact that he too was human. I, too, am human. 
 I was particularly proud of my foot encased in a 
 fine, tan leather shoe and I persisted in swinging 
 it: swing on beautiful, human, American foo^l I 
 was extremely emotional that evening! I even 
 wanted to weep : to look my host straight in the 
 eyes and to squeeze out of my own eyes, so full 
 of love and goodness, two little tears. I actually 
 did it, for at that moment I felt a little pleasant 
 sting in my nose, as if it had been hit by a spurt 
 of lemonade. I observed that my two little tears 
 made an impression upon Magnus. 
 
 But Toppi !— "While I experienced this won- 
 drous poem of feeling human and even of weep- 
 ing, — ^he slept like a dead one at the very same 
 table. I was rather augered. This was really 
 going too far. I wanted to shout at him, but Mag- 
 nus restrained me : 
 
 "He has had a good deal of excitement and is 
 weaiy, Mr. Wondergood." 
 
 The hour had really grown late. We had been 
 talking and arguing with Magnus for two hours 
 when Toppi fell asleep. I sent him off to bed 
 while we continued to talk and drink for quite a 
 while. I drank more wine, but Magnus restrained 
 himself. There was a dimness about his face. I 
 was begtrmiag to develop an admiration for his 
 
 22 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 grim and, at times, evil, secretive ootrntenance. 
 He said : 
 
 "I believe in your altruistic passion, Mr. Won- 
 dergood. But I do not believe that you, a man of 
 wisdom and of action, and, it seems to me, some- 
 ■what cold, could place any serious hopes upon 
 your money " 
 
 "Three billion dollars — ^that is a mighty power, 
 Magnus !' ' 
 
 "Yes, three biUion dollars, a mighty power, 
 indeed," he agreed, rather unwillingly — "but 
 what will you do with it? " 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 "You probably want to say what can this ig- 
 noramus of an American, this erstwhile swine- 
 herd, who knows swine better than he knows men, 
 do with the money?" 
 
 "The first business helps the other," said 
 Magnus. 
 
 "I dare say you have but a slight opinion of 
 this foolish philanthropist whose head has been 
 turned by his gold," said I. "Yes, to be sure, 
 what can I do ? I can open another university in 
 Chicago, or another maternity hospital in San 
 Francisco, or another humanitarian reformatory 
 in New York." 
 
 * ' The latter would be a distinct work of mercy, " 
 quoth Magnus. "Do not gaze at me with such re- 
 
 23 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 proaoh, Mr. Wondergood : I am not jesting. You 
 will find in me the same pure love for humanity 
 which burns so fiercely in you." 
 
 He was laughing at me and I felt pity for him : 
 not to love people ! Miserable, unfortunate Mag- 
 nus. I could kiss his brow with great pleasure ! 
 Not to love people ! 
 
 "Yes, I do not love them," affirmed Magnus, 
 "but I am glad that you do not intend to travel 
 the conventional road of all American philan- 
 thropists. Your billions ^" 
 
 "Three billions, Magnus! One could build a 
 nation on this money 1" 
 
 "Yes? " 
 
 * ' Or destroy a nation, ' ' said I. * ' With this gold, 
 Magnus, one can start a war or a revolution " 
 
 "Yes? " 
 
 I actually succeeded in arousing his interest: 
 his large wliite hands trembled slightly and in his 
 eyes there gleamed for a moment a look of re- 
 spect: "You, Wondergood, are not as foolish as 
 I thought!" He arose, paced up and down the 
 room, and halting before me asked sneeringly : 
 
 "And you know exactly what your humanity 
 needs most : the creation of a new or the destruc- 
 tion of the old state? War or jieace? Rest or 
 revolution? Who are you, Mr, Wondergood of 
 Illinois, that you essay to solve these problems? 
 
 24 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 You had better keep on building your maternity 
 hospitals and universities. That is far less dan- 
 gerous work." 
 
 I liked the man's hauteur. I bowed my head 
 modestly and said : 
 
 "You are right, Signor Magnus. Who am I, 
 Henry Wondergood, to undertake the solution of 
 these problems? But I do not intend to solve 
 them. I merely indicate them. I iAdicate them 
 and I seek the solution. I seek the solution and 
 the man who can give it to me. I have never read 
 a serious book carefully. I see you have quite 
 a supply of books here. You are a misanthrope, 
 Magnus. You are too much of a European not 
 to be easily disillusioned in things, while we, 
 young America, believe in humanity. A man must 
 be created. You in Europe are bad craftsmen and 
 have created a bad man. We shall create a bet- 
 ter one. I beg your pardon for my frankness. 
 As long as I was merely Henry Wondergood I 
 devoted myself only to the creation of pigs — and 
 my pigs, let me say to you, have been awarded no 
 fewer medals and decorations than Field Marshal 
 Moltke. But now I desire to create people." 
 
 Magnus smiled : 
 
 "You are an alchemist, Wondergood: you would 
 transform lead into gold!" 
 
 "Yes, I want to create gold and I seek the 
 
 25 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 philosopher's stone. But has it not already been 
 found? It has been found, only you do not know 
 how to use it : It is love. Ah, Magnus, I do not 
 know yet what I will do, but my plans are beroic 
 and magnificent. If not for that misanthropic 
 smile of yours I might go further. Believe in 
 Man, Magnus, and give me your aid, You know 
 what Man needs most." 
 
 He said coldly and with sadness : 
 
 "He needs prisons and gallows." 
 
 I exclaimed in anger (I am particularly adept 
 in feigning anger) : 
 
 "You are slandering me, Magnus! I see that 
 you must have experienced some very great mis- 
 fortune, perhaps treachery and " 
 
 "Hold on, Wondergood! I never speak of my- 
 self and do not like to hear others speak of me. 
 Let it be sufficient for you to know that you are 
 the first man in four years to break in upon my 
 solitude and this only due to chance. I do not 
 like people." 
 
 "Oh, pardon. But I do not believe it." 
 
 Magnus went over to the bookcase and with, 
 an expression of supreme contempt he seized the 
 first volume he laid his hands upon. 
 
 '^And you who have read no books," he said, 
 "do you know what these books are about? Only 
 about evil, about the mistakes and sufferings of 
 
 26 
 
Satan's Bim^ 
 
 humaiiity. TKey are filled witli tears and blood, 
 Wondergood. Look : in this thin little hook which 
 I clasp between two fingers is contained a whole 
 ocean of human blood, and if you should take all 
 
 of them together 1 And who has spilled this 
 
 blood? The devil?" 
 
 I felt flattered and wanted to bow in acknowl- 
 edgment, but he threw the book aside and shouted : 
 
 "No, sir: Ma,n! Man has spilled this blood! 
 Yes, I do read books but only for one purpose; 
 to learn how to hate man and to hold him in 
 contempt. You, Wondergood, have transformed 
 your pigs into gold, yes ? And I can see how your 
 gold is being transformed baek again into pigs. 
 They will devour you, Wondergood. But I do not 
 wish either to prattle or to lie: Throw your money 
 into the sea or — ^build some new prisons and gal- 
 lows. You are vain like all men. Then go on 
 building gallows. You will be respected by seri- 
 ous people, while the flock in general will call you 
 great. Or, don't you, American from Illinois, 
 want to get into the Pantheon?" 
 
 * ' No, Magnus ! ' ' 
 
 ' * Blood ! ' ' cried Magnus. * ' Can 't you see that it 
 is everywhere ? Here it is on your boot now " 
 
 I confess that at the moment Magnus appeared 
 to be insane. I jerked my foot in sudden fear and 
 
 27 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 only then did I perceive a dark, reddish, spot on my 
 shoe — ^how dastardly! 
 
 Magnus smiled and immediately regaining his 
 composure continued cahnly and without emotion : 
 
 "I have unwittingly startled you, Mr. Wonder- 
 good? Nonsense! You probably stepped on 
 something inadvertently. A mere trifle. But this 
 conversation, a conversation I have not conducted 
 for a number of years, makes me uneasy and — 
 good night, Mr. Wondergood. To-morrow I shall 
 have the honor of presenting you to my daughter, 
 and now you will permit me " 
 
 And so on. In short, this gentleman conducted, 
 me to my room in a most impolite manner and 
 well nigh put me to bed. I offered no resistance : 
 why should I? I must say that I did not like him 
 at this moment. I was even pleased when he 
 turned to go but, suddenly, he turned at the very 
 threshold and stepping forward, stretched out his 
 large white hands. And murmured : 
 
 "Do you see these hands? There is blood on 
 them ! Let it be the blood of a scoundrel, a tor- 
 turer, a tyrant, but it is the same, red human 
 blood. Grood night ! ' ' 
 
 — He spoiled my night for me. I swear by 
 eternal salvation that on that night I felt great 
 pleasure in being a man, and I made myself thor- 
 oughly at home in his narrow human skin. It 
 
 28 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 made me feel uncomfortable in the armpits. You 
 see, I bought it ready made and thought that it 
 would be as comf pratble as if it had been made 
 to measure ! I was highly emotional. I was ex- 
 tremely good and affable, I was very eager to 
 play, but I was not inclined to tragedy! Blood! 
 Hew can any person of good breeding thrust his 
 white hands under the nose of a stranger — ^Hang- 
 men have very white hands ! 
 
 Do not think I am jesting. I did not feel well. 
 In the daytime I still manage to subdue Wonder- 
 good but at night he lays his hands upon me. It 
 is he who fills me with his silly dreams and shakes 
 within me his entire dusty archive — ^And how 
 godlessly silly and meaningless are his dreams! 
 He fusses about within me all night long IJke a 
 returned master, seems to be looking about for 
 something, grumbles about losses and wear and 
 tear and sneezes and cavorts about like a dog ly- 
 ing uncomfortable on its bed. It is he who draws 
 me in at night like a mass of wet lime into the 
 depths of miserable humanity, where I nearly 
 choke to death. When I awake in the morning I 
 feel that Wondergood has infused ten more de- 
 grees of human into me — Think of it: He may 
 soon eject me all together and leave me standing 
 outside — ^he, the miserable owner of an empty 
 bam into which I brought breath and soul ! 
 
 29 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Like a hurried thief I crawled into a stranger's 
 clothes, the pockets of which are bulging with 
 forged promissory notes — ^no, stiU worse ! 
 
 It is not only uncomfortable attire. It is a low, 
 dark and stifling jail, wherein I occupy less space 
 than a ring might in the stomach of Wondergood. 
 You, my dear reader, have been hidden in your 
 prison from childhood and you even seem to like 
 it, but I — ^I come from the kingdom of liberty. 
 And I refuse to be "Wondergood 's, tape worm: 
 one swallow of poison and I am free again. What 
 will you say then, scoundrel Wondergood? With- 
 out me you will be devoured by the worms. You 
 will crack open at the seams — Miserable carcass ! 
 touch me not ! 
 
 On this night however I was in the absolute 
 power of Wondergood. What is human blood to 
 Me? What do I care about the troubles of their 
 life ! But Wondergood was quite aroused by the 
 crazy Magnus. Suddenly I felt — ^just think of 
 it — ! That I am filled with blood, like the bladder 
 of an ox, and the bladder is very thin and weak, 
 so that it would be dangerous to prick it. Prick 
 it and out spurts the blood ! I was terrified at the 
 idea that I might be HUed in this house: That 
 some one might cut my throat and turning me 
 upside down, hanging by the legs, would let the 
 blood run out upon the floor. 
 
 30 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I lay in the darkness and strained my ears to 
 hear wliether or not Magnus was approaching 
 with his white hands. And the greater the silence 
 in this cursed house the more terrified I grew. 
 Even Toppi failed to snore as usual. This made 
 me angry. Then my body began to ache. Per- 
 haps I was injured in the wreck, or was it weari- 
 ness brought on by the flight? Then my body be- 
 gan to itch in the most ordinary way and I even 
 began to move the feet : it was the appearance of 
 the jovial clown in the tragedy ! 
 
 Suddenly a dream seized Me by the feet and 
 dragged me rapidly below. I bardly had time 
 enough to shout. And what nonsense arose be- 
 fore me! Do you ever have such dreams ? I felt 
 that I was a bottle of champagne, with a thin neck 
 and sealed, but filled not with wine but with blood I 
 And it seemed that not only I but all people had 
 become bottles with sealed tops and all of us 
 were arranged in a row on a seashore. And, 
 Someone horrible was approaching from Some- 
 wihere and wanted to 'smash us all. And I saw 
 how foolish it would be to do so and wanted to 
 shout: "Don't smash them. Get a corkscrew!" 
 But I had no voice. I was a bottle. Suddenly the 
 dead lackey George approached. In his hands 
 was a huge sharp corkscrew. He said something 
 
 31 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and seized me by the throat — Ah^ ah, by the 
 throat ! 
 
 I awoke in pain. Apparently he did try to 
 open me up. My wrath was so great that I neither 
 sighed nor smiled nor moved. I simply killed 
 Wondergood again. I gnashed my teeth, straight- 
 ened out my eye^, closed them calmly, stretched 
 out at full length and lay peacefully in the full 
 consciousness of the greatness of my Ego. Had 
 the ocean itself moved up on me I would not have 
 batted an eye ! Get thee hence, my friend, I wish 
 to be alone. 
 
 And the body grew silent, colorless, airy and 
 empty again. With light step I left it and before 
 my eyes there arose a vision of the extraordinarif, 
 that which cannot be expressed in your language, 
 my poor friend ! Satisfy your curiosity with the 
 dream I have just confided to you and ask no 
 more! Or does not the "huge, sharp corkscrew" 
 suit you? But it is so — artistic! 
 
 "7? "TP 'fp r/f Tp '7P ^ 
 
 In the morning I was well again, refreshed and 
 beautiful. I yearned for the play, like an actor 
 who has just left his dressing room. Of course 
 I did not forget to shave. This canaille Wonder- 
 good gets overgrown with hair as quickly as his 
 golden skinned pigs. I complained about this to 
 Toppi with whom, while waiting for Magnus. I 
 
 32 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 was walking in the garden. And Toppi, thinking 
 a while, replied philosophically: 
 
 "Yes, man sleeps and his beard grows. This 
 is as it should be — for the barbers 1" 
 
 Magnus appeared. He was no more hospitable 
 than yesterday and his pale face carried unmis- 
 takable indications of weariness. But he was cabn 
 and polite. How black his beard is in the day- 
 time ! He pressed my hand in cold politeness and 
 said: (we were perched on a wall.) 
 
 "You are enjoying the Roman Campagna, Mr. 
 Wondergood? A magnificent sight! It is said 
 that the Campagna is noted for its fevers, but 
 there is but one fever it produces in me — the fever 
 of thought!" 
 
 Apparently Wondergood did not have much of 
 a liking for nature, and I have not yet managed 
 to develop a taste for earthly landscape: an 
 empty field for me. I cast my eyes politely over 
 the countryside before us and said : 
 
 "People interest me more. Signer Magnus." 
 
 He gazed at me intently with his dark eyes and 
 lowering his voice said dryly and with apparent 
 reluctance : 
 
 "Just two words about people, Mr. "Wonder- 
 good. You will soon see my daughter, Maria. 
 She is my three billions. You understand?" 
 
 I nodd. iny head in approval. 
 
 33 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "But your California does not produce such 
 gold. Neither does any other country on this 
 dirty earth. It is the gold of the heavens. I am 
 not a believer, Mr. Wondergood, but even I ex- 
 perience some doubts when I meet the gaze of my 
 Maria. Hers are the only hands into which you 
 might without^ the slightest misgiving place your 
 billions " , 
 
 I am an old bachelor and I was overcome with 
 fear, but Magnus continued sternly with a ring of 
 triumph in his voice : 
 
 "But she will not accept them, Sir ! Her gentle 
 hands must never touch this golden dirt. Her 
 clean eyes wUl never behold any sight but that 
 of this endless, godless Campagna. Here is her 
 monastery, Mr. Wondergood, and there is but 
 one exit for her from here : into the Kingdom of 
 Heaven, if it does exist!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon but I cannot understand 
 this, my dear Magnus!" I protested in great joy. 
 "Life and people " 
 
 The face of Thomas Magnus grew angry, as it 
 did yesterday, and in stem ridicule, he interrupted 
 me: 
 
 "And I beg you to grasp, dear Wondergood, 
 that life and people are not for Maria. It is 
 enough that I know them. My duty was to warn 
 you. And now"r-r he agaia assumed the attitude 
 
 34 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 of cold politeness— ^*' I ask you to come to my 
 table. You too, Mr. Toppi!" 
 
 We had begun to eat, and were ehiattering of 
 small matters, wben Maria entered. The door 
 through which she entered was behind my back. 
 I mistook her soft step for those of the maid 
 carrying the dishes, but I was astonished by the 
 long-nosed Toppi, sitting opposite me. His eyes 
 grew round like circles, his face red, as if he were 
 choking. His Adam's apple seemed to be lifted 
 above his neck as if driven by a wave, and to dis- 
 appear again somewhere behind his narrow, min- " 
 isterial collar. Of course, I thought he was chok- 
 ing to death with a fishbone and shouted : 
 
 "Toppi! What is the matter with you? Take 
 some water." 
 
 But Magnus was already on his feet, amiounc- 
 ing coldly : 
 
 "My daughter, Maria. Mr. Henry Wonder- 
 good!" 
 
 I turned about quickly and — ^how can I express 
 the extraordinary when it is inexpressible? It 
 was something more than beautiful. It was ter- 
 rible in its beauty. I do not want to seek com- 
 parisons. I shall leave that to you. Take all that 
 you have ever seen or ever known of the beauti- 
 ful on earth: the lily, the stars, the sun, but add, 
 add still more. But not this was the awful aspect 
 
 35 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 of it : There was something else : the elusive yet 
 astonishing similarity — to whom? Whom have 
 I met upon this earth who was so beautiful — ^so 
 beautiful and awe-inspiring — awe-inspiring and 
 unapproachable. I have lea,med by this time 
 your entire archive, Wondergood, and I do not 
 believe that it comes from your modest gallery! 
 
 "Madonna!" mumbled Toppi in a hoarse voice, 
 scared out of his wits. 
 
 So that is it! Yes, Madonna. The fool was 
 right, and I, Satan, could understand his terror. 
 Madonna, whom people see only in churches, in 
 paintings, in the imagination of artists. Maria, 
 the name which rings only in hymns and prayer 
 books, heavenly beauty, mercy, forgiveness and 
 love ! Star of the Seas ! Do you like that name : 
 Star of the Seas? 
 
 It was really devilishly funny. I made a deep 
 bow and almost blurted out : 
 
 "Madam, I beg pardon for my unbidden in- 
 trusion, but I really did not expect to meet you 
 here. I most humbly beg your pardon, but I 
 could not imagine that this black bearded fellow 
 has the honor of having you for his daughter. 
 A thousand times I crave your pardon for " 
 
 But enough. I said something else. 
 
 "How do you do, Signorina. It is indeed a 
 pleasure." 
 
 36 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 'And she really did not indicate in any "way that 
 she was already acquainted with Me. One must 
 respect an incognito if one would remain a gen- 
 tleman and only a scoundrel would dare to tear a 
 mask from a lady's face! This would have heen 
 all the more impossible, because her father, 
 Thomas Magnus, continued to urge us with a 
 chuckle : 
 
 "Do eat, please, Mr. Toppi. Why do you not 
 drink, Mr. Wondergood? The wine is splendid." 
 
 In the course of what followed: 
 
 1. She breathed — 
 
 2. She bHnked— 
 
 3. She ate — 
 
 and she was a beautiful girl, about eighteen years 
 of age, and her dress was white and her throat 
 bare. It was really laughable. I gazed at her 
 bare neck and — ^believe me, my earthly friend: I 
 am not easily seduced, I am not a romantic youth, 
 but I am not old by any means, I am not at all 
 bad looking, I enjoy an independent position in 
 the world and — don't you like the combination: 
 Satan and Maria? Maria and Satan! In evi- 
 dence of the seriousness of my intentions I can 
 submit at that moment I thought more of our 
 descendants and sought a name for our first-bom 
 than indulged in frivolity. 
 
 37 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Suddenly Toppi's Adam's apple gave a jerk 
 and lie inquired hoarsely: 
 
 ''Has any one ever painted your portrait, Sig- 
 norina?" 
 
 "Maria never poses for painters!" broke in 
 Magnus sternly. I felt like laughing at the fool 
 Toppi. I had already opened wide my mouth, 
 filled with a set of first-class American teeth, 
 when Maria's pure gaze pierced my eyes and 
 everything flew to the devil, — ^as in that moment 
 of the railway catastrophe 1 You understand : she 
 turned me inside out, like a stocking — or how 
 shall I put it? My fine Parisian costume was 
 driven inside of me and my still finer thoughts 
 which, however, I would not have wanted to con- 
 vey to the lady, suddenly appeared upon the sur- 
 face. With all my secrecy I was left no more 
 isealed than a room in a fifteen cent lodging house. 
 
 But she forgave me, said nothing and threw 
 her gaze Hke a projector in the direction of Toppi, 
 illumining his entire body. You, too, would have 
 laughed had you seen how this poor old devil was 
 set aglow and aflame by this gaze — clear from 
 the prayer book to the fishbone with which he 
 nearly choked to death. 
 
 Fortunately for both of us Magnus arose and 
 invited us to follow him into the garden. 
 
 "Come, let us go into the garden," said he. 
 38 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "Maria ■will show you her favorite flo-wera." 
 
 Yes, Maria I But seek no songs of praise from 
 me, oh poet ! I was mad ! I was as provoked as 
 a man whose closet has just been ransacked by a 
 burglar, I wanted to gaze at Maria but was com- 
 pelled to look upon the foolish flowers — ^because I 
 dared not lift my eyes. I am a gentleman and 
 cannot appear before a lady without a necktie. 
 I was seized by a curious humility. Do you like 
 ta feel humble? I do not. 
 
 I do not know what Maria said. But I swear by 
 eternal salvation — ^her gaze, and her entire un- 
 canny countenance was the embodiment of an all- 
 embracing meaning so that any wise word I might 
 have uttered would have sounded meaningless. 
 The wisdom of words is necessary only for those 
 poor in spirit. The right arc silent. Take note 
 of that, little poet, sage and eternal chatterbox, 
 wherever you may be. Let it be sufficient for you 
 that I have humbled myself to speak. 
 
 Ah, but I have forgotten my humility 1 She 
 walked and I and Toppi crawled after her. I 
 detested myself and this broad-backed Toppi be- 
 cause of his hanging nose and large, pale ears. 
 "What was needed here was an Apollo and not 
 a pair of ordinary Americans. 
 
 We felt quite relieved when she had gone and 
 we were left alone with Magnus. It was all so 
 
 39 
 
Sat(m's Diary; 
 
 sweet and simple ! Toppi abandoned his religions 
 airs and I crossed my legs comfortably, lit a cigar, 
 and fixed my steel-sbarp gaze upon the whites of 
 Magnus's eyes. 
 
 "You must be off to Eome, Mr. Wondergood. 
 They are probably worrying about you," said our 
 host in a tone of loving concern. 
 
 "I can send Toppi," I replied. He smiled ajid 
 added ironically: 
 
 "I hardly think that would be sufficient, Mr. 
 "Wondergood!" 
 
 I sought to clasp his great white hand but it 
 did not seem to move closer. But I caught it just 
 the same, pressed it warmly and he was com- 
 pelled to return the pressure! 
 
 ' ' Very well, Signer Magnus ! I am off at once ! ' ' 
 I said. 
 
 "I have already sent for the carriage," he re- 
 plied. "Is not the Campagna beautiful in the 
 morning?" 
 
 I again took a polite look at the country-side 
 and said with emotion: 
 
 "Yes, it is beautiful! Irwin, my friend, leave 
 us for a moment. I have a few words to say to 
 Signor MagnuS' " 
 
 Toppi left and Signor Magnus opened wide his 
 big sad eyes. I again tried my steel on him, and 
 bending forward closer to his dark face, I asked : 
 
 40 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "Have you ever observed dear Magnus, th.e 
 very striking resemblance between your daugh- 
 ter, the Signorina Maria, and a certain — cele- 
 brated personage? Don't you think she resem- 
 bles the Madonna?" 
 
 "Madonna?" drawled out Magnus. "No, dear 
 Wondergood, I haven't noticed that. I never go 
 to church. But I fear you will be late. The 
 Eoman fever " 
 
 I again seized his white hand and shook it vig- 
 orously. No, I did not tear it off. And from my 
 eyes there burst forth again those two tears : 
 
 "Let us speak plainly, Signer Magnus," said I. 
 "I am a straightforward man and have grown to 
 love you. Do you want to come along with me and 
 be the lord of my billions ? ' ' 
 
 Magnus was silent. His hand lay motionless in 
 mine. His eyes were lowered and something dark 
 seemed to pass over his face, then immediately to 
 disappear. Finally he said, seriously and simply: 
 
 "I understand you, Mr. Wondergood — ^but I 
 must refuse. No, I will not go with you. I have 
 failed to tell you one thing, but your frankness 
 and confidence in me compell me to say that I 
 must, to a certain extent, steer clear of the 
 police." 
 
 "The Boman police," I asked, betraying a 
 slight excitement. "Nonsense, we shall buy it." 
 
 41 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 "No, tlie international," he replied. "I hope 
 you do not think that I have conunitted some base 
 crime. The trouble is not with police which can 
 be bought. You are right, Mr. Wondergood, when 
 you say that one can buy almost any one. The 
 truth is that I can be of no use to you. What do 
 you want me for? You love humanity and I de- 
 test it. At best I am indifferent to it. Let it live 
 and not interfere with me. Leave me my Maria, 
 leave me the right and strength to detest people 
 as I read the history of their life. Leave me my 
 Campa^a and that is all I want and all of which 
 I am capable. All the oil within me has burned 
 out, Wondergood. You see before you an extin- 
 guished lamp hanging on a wall, a lamp which 
 once — Goodbye. ' ' 
 
 "I do not ask your confidenoei, Magnus," I in- 
 terjected. 
 
 "Pardon me, you wiU never receive it, Mr. Won- 
 dergood. My name is an invention but it is the 
 only one I can offer to my friends. ' ' 
 
 To tell the truth: I liked "Thomas Magnus" at 
 that moment. He spoke bravely and simply. In 
 his face one could read stubbornness and will. 
 This man knew the value of human life and had 
 the mien of one condemned to death. But it was 
 the mien of a proud, uncompromising criminal, 
 who wiU never accept the ministrations of a 
 
 42 
 
S atom's Diary i 
 
 priest ! For a moment I thought : My Father had 
 many bastard children, deprived of legacy and 
 wanderi^g about the world. Perhaps Thomas 
 Magnus is one of these wanderers ? And is it pos- 
 sible that I have met a brother on this earth? 
 Very interesting. But from a purely hupan, busi- 
 ness point of view, one canhot help but respect a 
 man whose hands are steeped in blood ! 
 
 I saluted, changed my position, and in the 
 humblest posible manner, asked Magnus's per- 
 mission to visit him occasionally and seek his ad- 
 vice. He hesitated but finally looked me straight 
 in the face and agreed. 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Wondergood. You may come. 
 I hope to hear from you things that may supple- 
 ment the knowledge I glean from my books. And, 
 by the way, Mr. Toppi has made an excellent im- 
 pression upon my Maria" 
 
 "Toppi?" 
 
 "Yes. She has found a striking resemblance 
 between him and one of her favorite saints. She 
 goes to church frequently. ' ' 
 
 Toppi a saint I Or has his prayer book over- 
 balanced his huge back and the fishbone in his 
 throat. Magnus gazed at me almost gently and 
 only his thin nose seemed to tremble slightly 
 with restrained laughter. — ^It is very pleasant to 
 know that behind this austere exterior there is 
 / 43 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 so much quiet and restrained merriment! 
 
 It was twilight when we left. Magnus followed 
 us to the threshold, hut Maria remained in se- 
 clusion. The little white house surrounded by the 
 cypress trees was as quiet and silent as we found 
 it yesterday, hut the silence was of a different 
 character: the silence was the soul of Maria. 
 
 I confess that I felt rather sad at this departure 
 hut very soon came a new series of impressions, 
 which dispelled this feeling. "We were approach- 
 ing Eome. We entered the brightly illuminated, 
 densely populated streets through some openiug, 
 in the city wall and the first thing we saw in the 
 Eternal City was a creaking trolley car, trying to 
 make its way through the same hole in the wall. 
 Toppi, who was acquainted with Borne, revelled 
 in the familiar atmosphere of the churches we 
 were pasing and indicated with his long finger the 
 remnants of ancient Eome which seemed to be 
 clinging to the huge wall of the new structures: 
 just as if the latter had been bombarded with the 
 shells of old and fragments of the missiles had 
 clung to the bricks. 
 
 Here and there we came upon additional heaps 
 of this old rubbish. Above a low parapet of stone, 
 we observed a dark shallow ditch and a large tri- 
 umphal gate, half sunk in the earth. "The 
 Forum 1" exclaimed Toppi, majestically. Our 
 
 44 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ooachman nodded his head in affirmation. With 
 every new pile of old stone and brick the fellow 
 swelled with pride, while I longed for my ,New 
 York and its skyscrapers, and tried to calculate 
 the number of trucks that would be necessary to 
 clear these heaps of rubbish called ancient Eome 
 aAvay before morning. When 1 mentioned this to 
 Toppi he was insulted and replied : 
 
 "You don't understand anything: better close 
 I I your eyes and just reflect that you are in Eome." 
 
 I did so and was again convinced that sight is 
 as much of an impediment to the mind as sound : 
 not without reason are all wise folk on the earth 
 blind and all good musicians deaf. 
 
 Like Toppi I began to sniff the air and through 
 my sense of smell I gathered more of Rome and 
 its horribly long and highly entertaining history 
 than hitherto : thus a decaying leaf in the woods 
 smells stronger than the young and green foliage. 
 Will you believe me when I say that I sensed the 
 odor of blood and Nero ? But when I opened my 
 eyes expectantly I observed a plain, everyday ' 
 kiosk and a lemonade stand. 
 
 "Well, how do you like it?" growled Toppi, 
 still dissatisfied. 
 
 "It smells " 
 
 "Well, certainly it smells! It will smeU 
 
 45 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 stronger with, every hour: these are old, strong 
 aromas, Mr. "Wondergood. " 
 
 And so it really was : the odor grew in strength, 
 I cannot find comparisons to make it clear to you. 
 All the sections of my brain began to move and 
 buzz like bees aroused by smoke. It is strange, 
 but it seems that Eome is included in the archive 
 of the silly "Wondergood. Perhaps this is his na- 
 tive town? When we approached a certain popu- 
 lous square I sensed the clear odor of some blood 
 relatives, which was soon followed by the convio- 
 tion that I, too, have walked these streets before. 
 Have I, like Toppi, previously donned the human 
 form? Ever louder buzzed the bees. My entire 
 beehive buzzed and suddenly thousands of faces, 
 dim and white, beautiful and horrible, began to 
 dance before me; thousands upon thousands of 
 voices, noises, cries, laughters and sighs nearly 
 set me deaf. No, this was no longer a beehive : 
 it was a huge, fiery smithy, where firearms were 
 being forged with the red sparks flying all about. 
 Iron ! 
 
 Of course, if I had lived in Eome before, I must 
 have been one of its emperors: I remeymher the 
 expression of my face. I remember the movement 
 of my bare neck as I turn my head. I remember 
 the touch of golden laurels upon my bald head — 
 
 46 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Iron ! Ah, I hear the steps of the iron legions of 
 Rome. I hear the iron voices: "Vivat Caesar!" 
 
 I am hot. I fim burning. Or was I not an em- 
 peror but simply one of the * 'victims" VT^hen 
 Rome burned down in accord'auce with the mag- 
 nificent plan of Nero ? No, this is not a fire. This 
 IS a funeral pyre on which I am forcibly esconsced. 
 I hear the snake-like hissing of the tongues of 
 flame beneath my feet. I strain my neck, all lined 
 with blue veins, and in my throat there rises the 
 final curse — or blessing? Think of it: I even re- 
 member that Roman face in the front row of spec- 
 tators, which even then gave me no rest because 
 of its idiotic expression and sleepy eyes: I am 
 being burned and it sleeps ! 
 
 "Hotel 'Internationale' " — cried Toppi, and I 
 opened my eyes. 
 
 We were going up a hill along a quiet street, 
 at the end of which there glowed a large structure, 
 worthy even of New York : it was the hotel where 
 we had previously wired for reservations. They 
 probably thought we had perished in the wreck. 
 My funeral pyre was extinguished. I grew as 
 merry as a darkey who has just escaped from hard 
 labor and I whispered to Toppi : 
 
 "Well, Toppi, and how about the Madonna?" 
 
 "T-yes, interesting. I was frightened at first 
 
 and nearly choked to death " 
 
 47 
 
'Satan's Diary 
 
 ""With a bone? You are silly, Toppi: she is 
 polite and did not recognize you. She simply took 
 you for one of her saints. It is a pity, old boy, 
 that we have chosen for ourselves these solemn, 
 American faces: had we looked around more 
 carefully we might have found some more beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 "I am quite satisfied with mine," said Toppi 
 sadly, and turned away. A glow of secret self- 
 satisfaction appeared upon his long, shiny nose. 
 Ah, Toppi, Ah, the saint! 
 
 But we werfe already being accorded a trium- 
 phal reception. 
 
 February 14. 
 Eome, Hotel "Internationale." 
 
 I do not want to go to Magnus. I am thinking 
 too much of his Madonna of flesh and bone. I 
 have come here to lie and to play merrily and I 
 am not at all taken by the prospect of being a 
 mediocre actor, who weeps behind the scenes and 
 appears on the stage with his eyes perfectly dry. 
 Moreover, I have no time to gad about the fields 
 catching butterflies with a net like a boy. 
 
 The whole of Rome is buzzing about me. I am 
 an extraordinary man, who loves his fellow beings 
 and I am celebrated. The mobs who flock to wor- 
 ship Me are no less numerous thain those who wor- 
 
 48 
 
Salem's Diary 
 
 ship tlie Vicar of Christ himself, two Popes all at 
 once. — ^Yes, happy Borne cannot consider itself an 
 orphan! 
 
 I am now living at the hotel, where all is 
 aqniver with eostacy when I put my shoes outside 
 my door for the night, but they are renovating a 
 palace for me : the historic Villa Orsini. Painters, 
 sculptors and poets are kept busy. One brush- 
 pusher is aJready painting my portrait, assuring 
 me that I remind him of one of the Medicis. The 
 other brush-pushers are sharpening their knives 
 for him. 
 
 I ask him: 
 
 "And can you paint a Madonna?" 
 
 Certainly he can. It was he, if the signer recol- 
 lects, who painted the famous Turk on the cigar- 
 ette boxes, the Turk whose fame is known even in 
 America. And now three brush pushers are 
 painting Madonnas for me. The rest are running 
 about Rome seeking models. I said to one, in my 
 barbarous, American ignorance of the higher arts : 
 
 "But if you find such a model, Signor, just 
 bring her to me. Why waste paint and canvas?" 
 
 He was evidently pained and mumbled : 
 
 "Ah, Signor— a model?" 
 
 I think 'he took me for a merchant in "live 
 stock." But, fool, why do I need your aid for 
 which I must pay a commission, when my ante- 
 
 49 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 chamber is filled with a flock of beasaties? They 
 all worship me. I remind them of Savasnarola,! 
 and they seek to transform every dark comer in 
 my drawing room, and every soft couch into a 
 confessional. I am so glad that these society 
 ladies, like the painters, know so well the history 
 of their country and realize who I am. 
 
 The joy of the Eoman papers on finding that I 
 did not perish in the wreck and lost neither my 
 legs nor my billions, was equal to the joy of the 
 papers of Jerusalem on the day of the resurrec- 
 tion of Christ — ^in reality there was little cause 
 for satisfaction on the parj; of the latter, as far as 
 I am able to read history. I feared that I might re- 
 mind the journalists of J. Caesar, but fortunately 
 they think little of the past and confined them- 
 selves to pointing out my resemblance to Presi- 
 dent Wilson. Scoundrels! They were simply 
 flattering my American patriotism. To the ma- 
 jority, however, I recall a Prophet, but they do 
 not know which one. On this point they are 
 modestly silent. At any rate it is not Mahomet: 
 my opposition to marriage is well known at all 
 telegraph stations. 
 
 It is difficult to imagine the filth on which I fed 
 my hungry interviewers. Like an experienced 
 swine-herd, I gaze with horror on the mess they 
 feed upon. They eat and yet they live. Although, 
 
 50 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I must admit, I do not see them growing fat ! Yes- 
 terday morning I flew in an aeroplane over Rome 
 and tlie Campagna. You will probably ask 
 whether I saw Maria's home? No. I did not 
 find it : how can one find a grain of sand among 
 a myriad of other grains — But I really did not 
 look for it: I felt horror-stricken at the great 
 altitude. \ 
 
 But toy good interviewers, restless and impa- 
 tient, were astounded by my coolness and cour- 
 age. One fellow, strong, surly and bearded, who 
 reminded me of Hannibal, was the first to reach 
 me after the flight, and asked: 
 
 "Did not the sensation of flying in the air, Mr. 
 Wondergood, the feeling of having conquered the 
 elements, thrill you with a sense of pride in man, 
 who has subdued " 
 
 He repeated the question: they don't seem to 
 trust me, somehow, and are always suggesting the 
 proper answers. But I shrugged my shoulders 
 and exclaimed sadly : 
 
 "Can you imagine Signor — No! -Only once did 
 I have a sense of pride in men and that was — ^in 
 the lavatory on board the 'Atlantic' " 
 
 "Oh! In the lavatory! But what happened? 
 A storm, and you were astounded by the genius of 
 man, who has subdued " 
 
 "Nothing extraordinary happened. But I was 
 
 51 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 astounded by the genius of man who managed to 
 create a palace out of sucli a disgusting necessity 
 as a lavatory." 
 
 "Ohl" 
 
 "A real temple, in wMch on© is the arch 
 priest!" 
 
 "Permit me to make a note of that. It is such 
 an original — illumination of the problem " 
 
 Aud to-day the whole Eternal City was feeding 
 on this sally. Not only did they not request me to 
 leave the place, but on the contrary, this was the 
 day of the first ofl&cial visits to my apartments: 
 something on the order of a minister of state, an 
 ambassador or some other palace chef came and 
 poured sugar and cinnamon all over me as if I 
 were a pudding. Later in the day I returned the 
 visits : it is not very pleasant to keep such things. 
 
 Need I say that I have a nephew? Every Amer- 
 ican millionaire has a nephew in Europe. My 
 nephew's name is also Wondergood. He is con- 
 nected with some legation, is very correct in man- 
 ners and his bald spot is so oiled that my kiss 
 could serve me as a breakfast were I fond of 
 scented oil. But one must be willing to sacrifice 
 something, especially the gratification of a sense 
 of smell. The kiss cost me not a cent, while it 
 meant a great deal to the young man. It opened 
 for him a wide credit on soap and perfumery. 
 
 52 
 
'8 (Hem's Diary 
 
 But enough! When I look at these ladies and 
 gentlemen and reflect that they are just as they 
 were at the court of Aschurhanipal and that for 
 the past 2000 years the pieces of silver received 
 by Judas continue to bear interest, like his kiss — 
 I grow bored with this old and threadbare play. 
 Ah, I want a great play. I seek originality and 
 talent. I want beautiful lines and bold strokes. 
 This company here casts me in the role of an old 
 brass band conductor. At times I come to the 
 conclusion that it wasn't really worth my while 
 to have undertaken such a long journey for the 
 sake of this old drivel — to exchange ancient, mag- 
 nificent and multi-colored Hell for its miserable 
 replica. In truth, I am sorry that Magnus and 
 his Madonna refused to join me — ^we would have 
 played a littler-just a little I 
 
 I have had but one interesting morning. In fact 
 I was quite excited. The congregation of a so- 
 called "free" ehuroh, composed of very serious 
 men and women, who insist upon worshipping in 
 accordance with the dictates of their conscience, 
 invited Me to deliver a Sunday sermon. I donned 
 a black frock coat, which gave me a close resem- 
 blance to — Toppi, went through a number of par- 
 ticularly expressive gestures before my mirror 
 and was driven in an automobile, like a prophet — 
 modeme, to the service. I took as my subject or 
 
 53 
 
'Satan's Diary 
 
 "text" Jesus' advice to the ricli youth to dis- 
 tribute his wealth among the poor — and in not 
 more than half an hour, I demonstrated as con- 
 clusively as 2 and 2 make 4, that love of one's 
 neighbor is the all important thing. Like a prac- 
 tical and careful American, however, I pointed 
 out that it was not necessary to try and go after 
 the whole of the kingdom of Heaven at one shot 
 and to distribute one's wealth carelessly; that one 
 can buy it up in lots on the instalment plan and 
 by easy payments. The faces of the faithful bore 
 a look of extreme concentration. They were ap- 
 parently figuring out something arid came to the 
 conclusion that on the basis I suggested, the King- 
 dom of Heaven was attainable for the pockets of 
 all of them. 
 
 Unfortunately, a number of my tjuick-witted 
 compatriots were present in the congregation. 
 One of them was about to rise to his feet to pro- 
 pose the formation of a stock company, when I 
 realized the danger and frustrated this plan by 
 letting loose a fountain of emotion, and thus ex- 
 tinguished his religiously practical zeall What 
 did I not talk about? I wept for my sad child- 
 hood, spent in labor and privation ; I whined about 
 my poor father who perished in a match factory. 
 I prayed solemnly for all my brothers and sisters 
 in Christ. The swamp I created was so huge that 
 
 54 ' 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 the journalists caught enough, wild ducks to last 
 them for six months. How we wept ! 
 
 I shivered with the dampness and began to beat 
 energetically the drum of my billions : dum-dum ! 
 Everything for others, not a cent for me: dum- 
 dum! With a braaenness worthy of the whip I 
 concluded "with the words of the Great 
 Teacher": 
 
 "Come ye unto me all who are heavy-laden and 
 weary and I wiU comfort ye ! " 
 
 Ah, what a pity I cannot perform miracles I A! 
 little practical miracle, something on the order 
 of transforming a bottle of water into one of sour 
 Chianti or some of the worshippers into pastry, 
 would have gone a long way at that moment. — 
 You laugh and are angry, my earthy reader? 
 There is no reason for you to act thus. Eemem- 
 ber only that the extraordmary cannot be ex- 
 pressed in your ventriloquist language and that 
 my words are merely a cursed mask for my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Maria 1 
 
 You will read of my success in the newspapers. 
 There was one fool, however, who almost spoiled 
 my day for me : he was a member of the Salvation 
 Army. He came to see me and suggested that I 
 immediately take up a trumpet and lead the army 
 into battle — they were too cheap laurels he offered 
 
 55 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and I drove Mm out. But Toppi — ^h.e was trium- 
 phantly silent all the "way home and finally he said 
 very respectfully: 
 
 "You were in fine mettle to-day, Mr. Wonder- 
 good. I even wept. It is a pity that neither Mag- 
 nus nor his daughter heard you preach, She — 
 she would have changed her opinion of us." 
 
 "You imderstand, of course, that I felt like 
 kicking this admirer out of the carriage ! I again 
 felt in the pupils of my eyes the piercing sting of 
 hers. The speed with which I was again turned in- 
 side out and spread out on a plate for the public's 
 view is equal only to that with which an experi- 
 enced waiter opens a can of conserves. I drew 
 my top hat over my eyes, raised the collar of my 
 coat and looking very much like a tragedian just 
 hissed off the stage, I rode sUently, and without 
 acknowledging the greetings showered upon me, 
 I proceeded to my apai-tments. Ah, that gaze of 
 Maria ! And how could I have acknowledged the 
 greetings when I had no cane with me ? 
 
 I have declined all of to-day's invitations and 
 am at home: I am engaged in "religious medita^ 
 tion" — -this was how Toppi announced it to the 
 journalists. He has really begun to respect me. 
 Before me are whiskey and champagne. I am 
 slowly filling up on the liquor while from the din- 
 ing hall below come the distant strains of music. 
 
 56 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 My Wondergood was apparently considerable of 
 a drunkard and every night he drags me to the 
 wineshop, to which I interpose no objection. 
 What's the difference? Fortunately his intoxica- 
 tion is of a merry kind and we make quite a pleas- 
 ant time of it. At first we cast our dull eyes over 
 the furniture and involuntarily begin to calculate 
 the value of all this bronze, these carpets, Vene- 
 tian mirrors, etc. 
 
 "A trifle!" we agree, and with peculiar self- 
 satisfaction we lose ourselves in the contempla- 
 tion of our own billions, of our power and our 
 remarkable wisdom and character. Our bliss in- 
 creases with each additional glass. With peculiar 
 pleasure we wallow in the cheap luxury of the 
 hotel, and — think of it ! — ^I am actually beginning 
 to have a liking for bronze, carpets, glass and 
 stones. My Puritan Toppi condemns luxury. It 
 reminds him of Sodom and Gommorah. But it is 
 difficult for me to part with these little emotional 
 pleasures. How silly of me I 
 
 We continue to listen dully and half-heartedly 
 to the music and venture to whistle some accom- 
 paniments. We add a little contemplation on the 
 decollete of the ladies and then, with our step still 
 firm, we proceed to our resting room. 
 
 But we were just ready for bed when suddenly 
 I felt as if some one had struck me a blow and 
 
 57 
 
S atom's Diary 
 
 I was immediately seized with, a tempest of tears, 
 of love and sadness. The extraordinary suddenly 
 found expression. I grew as broad as space, as 
 deep as eternity and I embraced all in a single 
 breath! But, oh, what sadness! Oh, what love, 
 Maria ! 
 
 But) I am nothing more than a subterranean 
 lake in the belly of Wondergood and my storms 
 in no way disturb his firm tread. I am only a 
 solitaire in his stomach, of which he seeks to rid 
 himself ! 
 
 "We ring for the servants, 
 
 "Soda!" 
 
 I am simply drunk. A rivederci. Signer, buona 
 notte ! 
 
 February 18, 1914. 
 Rome, Hotel " Internationale." 
 Yesterday I visited Magnus. I was com- 
 pelled to wait long for him, in the garden, and 
 when he did appear he was so cold and indif- 
 ferent that I felt like leaving. I observed a few 
 gray hairs in his black beard. I had not no- 
 ticed them before. Was Maria unwell? I appeared 
 concerned. Everything here is so uncertain that 
 on leaving a person for one hour one may have to 
 seek him in eternity." 
 "Maria is well, thank you," replied Magnus, 
 
 58 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 frigidly. He seemed surprised as if my qtiestion 
 were presumptuous, and improper. "And how 
 are your affairs, Mr. Wondergood? The Eoman 
 papers are filled with news of you. You are scor- 
 ing a big success." 
 
 With pain aggravated by the absence of Maria, 
 I revealed to Magnus my disappointment and my 
 enntii. I spoke well, not without wit and sarcasm. 
 I grew more and more provoked by his lack of 
 attention and interest, plainly written on his pale 
 and weary face. Not once did he smile or venture 
 to put any questions, but when I reached the story 
 of my "nephew" he frowned in displeasure and 
 said : 
 
 "Fie! This is a cheap variety farce ! How can 
 you occupy yourself with such trifles, Mr. Won- 
 dergood?" 
 
 I replied angrily: 
 
 "But it is not I who am occupying myself 
 with them, Signor Magnus I ' ' 
 
 "And how about the interviews? What about 
 that flight of yours ? You should drive them away. 
 This humbles your . . . three billions. And is it 
 true that you delivered some sort of a sermon?" 
 
 The joy of play forsook me. Unwilling as Mag- 
 nus was to listen to me, I told him all about 
 my sermon and those credulous fools who swal- 
 lowed sacrilege as they do marmalade. 
 
 59 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "And. did you expect anything different, Mr. 
 Wondergood?" 
 
 "I expected that they would fall upon me with 
 clubs for my audacity: When I sacrilegiously 
 bandied about the words of the Testament. ..." 
 
 "Yes, tjtiey are beautiful words," agreed Mag- 
 nus. "But didn't you know that all their worship 
 of God and all their faith are nothing but sac- 
 rilege? When they term a wafer the body of 
 Christ, while some Sixtus or Pius reigns undis- 
 turbed, and with the approval of all Catholics as 
 the Vicar of Christ, why should not you, an Amer- 
 ican from Illinois, call yourself at least . . . his 
 governor? This is not meant as sacrilege, Mr. 
 Wondergood. These are simply allegories, highly 
 convenient for blockheads, and you are only wast- 
 ing your wrath. But when will you get down to 
 husmessf" 
 
 I threw up my hands in skiUfuHy simulated 
 sorrow : 
 
 "I wcmi to do something, but I Tcnow not what to 
 do. I shall probably never get down to business 
 until you, Magnus, agree to come to my aid." 
 
 He frowned, at his own large, motionless, white 
 hands and then at me : 
 
 "You are too credulous, Mr. Wondergood. This 
 is a great fault when one has three billions. No, 
 
 60 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 I am of no use to you. Our roads are far apart." 
 
 "But, dear Magnus! ..." 
 
 I expected him to strike me for this gentle dear, 
 which I uttered in iny best possible falsetto. But 
 I ventured to continue. With all the sweetness I 
 managed to accumulate in Rome, I looked upon 
 the dim physiognomy of my friend and in a still 
 gentler falsetto, I asked : 
 
 "And of what nationality are you, my dear 
 . . . Signor Magnus? I suspect for some reason 
 that you are not Italian ? " 
 
 He replied calmly: 
 
 "No, I am not Italian." 
 
 "But where is your country?—' — " 
 
 "My country? . . . Omne solum liberam libero 
 patria. I suppose you do not know Latin? It 
 means : Where freedom is there is the fatherland 
 of. every free man. Will you take breakfast with 
 me?" 
 
 The invitation was couched in such icy tones 
 and Maria's absence was so strongly implied 
 therein that I was compelled to decline it politely. 
 The devil take this man! I was not at all in a 
 merry mood that morning. I fervently wished to 
 weep upon hia breast while he mercilessly threw 
 cold showers upon my noblest transports. I sighed 
 and changed my pose. I assumed a pose prepared 
 
 61 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 especially for Maria. Speaking in a low voice,-! 
 said: 
 
 "I want to be frank with yon, Signer Magnus. 
 My past . . . contains many dark pages, wMch. I 
 should like to redeem. I . . . " 
 
 He quickly interrupted me : 
 
 "There are dark pages in everybody's past, Mr. 
 Wondergood. I myself am not so clear of re- 
 proach as to accept the confession of such a wor- 
 thy gentleman. ' ' 
 
 "I am a poor spiritual father," he added with 
 a most unpleasant laugh: "I never pardon sinners 
 and, in view of that, what pleasure could there be 
 for you in your confession, l^etter teU me some- 
 thing more about your nephew. Is he young?" 
 
 "We spoke about my nephew — ^and Magnus 
 smiled. A pause ensued. Then Magnus asked 
 whether I had visited the Vatican gallery and I 
 bade him good-by, requesting him to transmit 
 my compliments to Maria. I confess I was a sorry 
 sight and felt deeply indebted to Magnus when he 
 said in bidding me farewell : 
 
 "Do not be angry with me, Mr. Wondergood. I 
 am not altogether well to-day and . . . am rather 
 worried about my affairs. That's all. I hope to 
 be more pleasant when we meet again, but be so 
 kind as to excuse me this morning. I shall see 
 that Maria gets your compliments." 
 
 62 
 
'Satan'» Diary 
 
 If this blaokbearded fellow were only ploAfmg, 
 I confess I would liave found a worthy partner. 
 
 A dozen pickaninnies could not have licked off 
 the honeyed expression my face assumed at Mag- 
 nus' promise to transmit my greetings to Maria. 
 All the way back to my hotel I smiled idiotically 
 at the coachman's back and afterwards bestowed 
 a Hss on Toppi's brow — ^the canaile still main- 
 tains an odor of fur, like a young devil. 
 
 "I see there was profit in your visit," said Top- 
 pi significantly. "How is Magnus* , . . daugh- 
 ter? You understand?" 
 
 "Splendid, Toppi, splendid! She said that my 
 beaaty and wisdom reminded her of Solomon's!" 
 
 Toppi S'miled condescendingly at my unsuccess- 
 ful jest. The honeyed expression left my face 
 and rust and vinegar took the place of the sugar. 
 I locked myself in my room and for a long time 
 continued to curse Satan for falling in lov© with 
 a woman. 
 
 You consider yourself original, my earthly 
 friend, when you fall in love with a woman and 
 begin to quiver all over with the fever of love. 
 And I do not. I can see the legions of couples, 
 from Adam and Eve on ; I can see their kisses and 
 caresses ; I can hear the words so cursedly mon- 
 otonous, and I begin to detest my own lips dar- 
 ing to mumble the mumbling of others, my eyes, 
 
 63 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 simulating the gaze of others, my heart, surren- 
 dering obediently to the click of the lock of a 
 house of shame. I can see all these exdtecT ani- 
 mals in their groaning and their caresses ajfld I 
 cry with revulsion at my own mass of bones and 
 flesh and nerves! Take care, Satan in human 
 form, Deceit is coming over You I 
 
 Won't you take Maria for yourself, my earthly 
 friend? Take her. She is yours, not mine. Ah, 
 if Maria were my slave, I would put|a rope around 
 her neck and would take her, naked, to the market 
 place : "Who wiU buy? Who wiU pay the most for 
 this unearthly beauty? Ah, do not hurt the poor 
 blind merchant: open wide your purses, jingle 
 louder your gold, generous gentlemen! . . . 
 
 What, she will not go? Fear not, Signor, she 
 will come and sh© will love you. . . . This is sim- 
 ply her maidenly modesty, Sir! Shall I tie the 
 other end of the rope about her and lead her to 
 your bed, kind sir? Take the rope along with you. 
 I charge nothing for that. Only rid me of this 
 heavenly beauty ! She has the face of the radiant 
 Madonna. She is the daughter of the honorable 
 Thomas Magnus and both of them are thieves : he 
 stole his white hands and she — ^her pristine face ! 
 Ah . . . 
 
 But I am beginning to play with you, dear 
 reader? That is a mistake: I have simply taken 
 
 64 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 the wrong note book. No, it is not a mistake. It 
 is worse. I play because my loneliness is very 
 great, very deep — ^I fear it has no bottom at all! 
 I stand on the edge of an abyss and burl words, 
 many heavy words, into it, but they fall without a 
 sound. I hurl into it laughter, threats and moans. 
 I spit into it. I fling into it heaps of stones and 
 rocks. I throw mountains into it — and still it 
 remains silent and empty. No, really, there is no 
 bottom to this abyss and we toil in vain, you and 
 I, my friend ! 
 
 . . . But I see your smile and your cunning 
 laugh: you tmderstcmd why I spoke so sourly of 
 loneHness. . . . Ah, 'tis love! And you want to 
 ask whether I have a mistress ? 
 
 Yes : there are two. One is a Russian countess. 
 The other, an Italian countess. They differ only 
 in the kind of perfume they use. But this is such 
 an immaterial matter ,that I love them both 
 equally. 
 
 You probably wish to ask also whether I shall 
 ever visit Magnus again? 
 
 Yes, I shall go to Magnus. I love him very 
 muob. It matters little that his name is false and 
 that his daughter has the audacity to resemble 
 the Madonna. I haven't enough of Wondergood 
 in me to be particular about a name — and I am 
 
 65 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 too Tvumcm not to forgive the efforts of others to 
 appear divme. 
 
 I swear by eternal salvation that the one is 
 worthy of the other 1 
 
 February 21, 1914. 
 Eome, Villa Orsini. 
 
 Cardinal X., the closest friend and confidante of 
 the Pope, has paid me a visit. He was accom- 
 panied by two abbes. In general, h^e is a person- 
 age whose attentions to me have brought me no 
 email measure of prestige. 
 
 I met His Emiaence iu the reception haU 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 de- 
 vout 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 Cardiual. . 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 con- 
 versation by congratulating me upon the acquisi- 
 tion of the VUla Orsini and told me its history in 
 detail for the past 200 years. This was quite un- 
 expected, very long, at times confusing and un- 
 intelligible, so that I was compelled, like a real 
 
 m 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 American ass, to blink constantly . . . but this 
 gave me an opportunity to study my distinguished 
 Jtnd 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 sMn, with a bluish 
 tinge upon his shaven cheeks, and his thin, but 
 beautiful hands reveal his Spanish blood. Be- 
 fore 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 
 shaven monkei/! This must be its sad, boundless 
 pensiveness, itg, evil gleam within the narrow 
 pupil ! 
 
 But in a moment the Cardinal laughed, jested 
 and gesticulated like a Neapolitan laazarone — ^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 a 
 
 67 
 
Satan's Biary 
 
 penguin while his voice reminds nae of a talking 
 parrot — ^Who are you, anyhow? 
 
 No, a monkey ! He is laughing again and I ob- 
 serve that he really does not know how to laugh. 
 It is as if he had learned the human art of laugh- 
 ter but yesterday. He likes it but esperiences 
 considerable difficulty in extracting it from his 
 throat. The sounds seem to choke him. It is im- 
 possible not to echo this strange contagious laugh- 
 ter. 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 1 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 Eome, Mr. Wonder- 
 good," sweetly sang the old monkey, without al- 
 tering his loving gaze. 
 
 68 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "Here I am in Eome," I agreed obediently, con- 
 tinuing 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 pleas- 
 ure 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 re- 
 doubled 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 & 
 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." 
 
 69 
 
'Satan^s Diary 
 
 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 disserta- 
 tion, Mr. Wondergood. I love so much the his- 
 tory of our great city that I could not forego the 
 pleasure . . . the things you see before you are 
 not Eome. 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 ia. 
 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 grim- 
 aces 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 do jfou want to do it? 
 When one loves too well onfe is blind to the short- 
 comings of the beloved and still worse: one ele- 
 vates these faults to virtues. How can you re- 
 form people and make them happy without real- 
 i2dng 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 with 
 
 70 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 you, Mr. Wondergood, and I repeat : love is weak- 
 ness. 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, Tour 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 <}hin 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 blink- 
 ing sorrowfully. " Children, yes. But you are no 
 longer a child. Forget this lesson. You must ac- 
 quire the heavenly gift of forgetfulness, you 
 know." 
 
 He gnashed his white teeth and significantly 
 scratched his nose with his thia finger, continuing 
 seriously: 
 
 71 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "But it's all the same, Mr, Wondergood. You, 
 yourself cannot accomplish much. . . . Yes, yesl 
 One must know people to make them happy. Isn't 
 that your noble aim? But the Church alone knows 
 people. She has been a mother and teacher for 
 thousands of years. Her experience is the only 
 one worth while, and, I may say, the only reliable 
 one. As far as I know your career, Mr. Wonder- 
 good, you are an experienced cattle man. And 
 you know, of course, what experience means 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. Won- 
 dergood, 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 
 
 72 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 "perfection" of the Churcli, but Cardinal X. 
 again flapped his wings and almost screeched with 
 laughter. 
 
 "Rationalism! You are a most talented hu- 
 morist, 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 rigitwr orbisf Ah, my dear Wonder- 
 good! 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 sui- 
 cides. For a long time we continued our fun at the 
 expense of ratio until His Eminence calmed him- 
 self and assumed the tone of a teacher: 
 
 "As anti-Semitism is the Socialism of 
 fools ..." 
 
 "And are you familar ... ?" 
 
 "I told you we are approaching perfec- 
 tion! ... 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, 
 
 73 
 
Satan^s Diary 
 
 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. 
 
 "Tou need not feel ashamed, Mr. wonder- 
 good : one should fear death. As long as there is 
 death ..." 
 
 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. He feared death 
 and his terror was dark, evil and boundless. I 
 needed no words of explanation and no other evi- 
 dence : One look upon this distorted, befogged and 
 confused human face was sufficient to compel rev- 
 erence for the Great Irrational! And how weak 
 is their steadiness: My Wondergood also grew 
 pal© and cringed ... ah, the rogue! He was 
 now seeking protection and help from Me ! 
 
 "Will you have some wine, Tour 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 under- 
 mine her, tear her, and blow her up — ^you cannot 
 conquer her. And even if you should succeed in 
 
 74 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 destroying her, the first to perish beneath her 
 ruins would be yourselves. Who will then de- 
 fend you against death? Who will give you sweet 
 faith in immortality, in eternal life, in everlast- 
 ing bliss? . . . Believe me, Mr. Wondergood, the 
 world is not seeking your ratio. It is all a misun- 
 derstanding ! " 
 
 "But what does it seek, Tour Eminence?" 
 
 "What does it want? Mimdits 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 fear 
 death. Tou imderstand?" 
 
 75 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 He flung out his arms and drew ttem 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 for liherty as 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 limitless freedom will 
 also bring him deaths Death alone 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 objec- 
 tion 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 aeroplane that appeared 
 over Rome, and the next Pope, I am sure, will 
 gladly bless the barricades. The time of Galilee 
 has passed, Mr. Wondergood, and we aU know 
 now that the earth does move!" 
 
 76 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 He drew a circle in the air witli his finger, indi- 
 cating the revolution of the earth. 
 
 I said; 
 
 "You must permit me to think over your pro- 
 posal, Your Eminence." 
 
 Cardinal X. jumped up from his chair and 
 gently touched my shoulder with two of his aris- 
 tocratic fingers : 
 
 "Oh, I am not hurrying you, my good Mr. Won- 
 dergood. 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 real needs of 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 abbes, whose face re- 
 sembled a black plate. The Cardinal's counte- 
 nance 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 about 
 
 77 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 in Ms 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 loneli- 
 ness and ennui. Toppi looked proud and happy: 
 he was so satiated with blessings that he fairly 
 bulged. The artists, decorators and others — ^what- 
 ever 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 naivete of a Red- 
 skin 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 peo- 
 ple for their petty sins: they wiU 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 in love 
 for one's fellow hemgs and if I should rummage 
 about among their drawings, I would probably 
 find a pretty good sketch of the ass Wondergood. 
 I lik^ that, I find relief in communion with my 
 
 78 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 little, 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 aUI" 
 
 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 devU like you to accept coun- 
 terfeit money from human beings, and allow your- 
 self 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 Holy 
 
 79 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 See 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 be- 
 neath the gray ashes of terror. The bestial 
 and the human is here, but it is not molded into 
 that extraordmary mask which, now tha,t 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 inexpres- 
 sible 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 revealed himself to 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 under- 
 stand : it was as if some one were strangling you, 
 and you, in stifled voice, cried to heaven : Murder! 
 Police! Ah, you do not know that third, which is 
 neither life nor death, and I know who it was that 
 was strangling you with his bony fingers ! 
 
 80 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 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 hesitat- 
 ing. 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 Immorality : 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 Won- 
 dergood swamp in which I am submerged to my 
 eyes, envelops me with mire, befogs my con- 
 sciousness 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 ia the proc- 
 ess of decay, and I am nauseated by the odor of 
 my entrails. Or are you so used to the work qf 
 the worms that 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 of 
 
 81 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 odors. 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 ap- 
 preciate 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 I shovld 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 bles- 
 sings. I shall weep., I shall rave "w^ith horror: 
 "Save me from Death!" And the old monkey, 
 brushing the hair from his face, reclining comfort- 
 ably, gleaming with a holy light, illuminating all 
 about it — and itself trembling with fear and hor- 
 ror — ^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 be- 
 gild 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, and 
 
 82 
 
a:^ 
 
 Satan's Diary 
 
 begin drumming upon the black keys of my 
 brain. He knows everythiiig and has forgotten 
 everything, this ingenious drunkard, and confuses 
 the most inspiring landscapes with a swamp. 
 That is — Bi, dream. 
 
 83 
 
n 
 
 February 22. 
 Eome, Villa Orsini. 
 
 MAGrNUS was not at home. I was received 
 by Maria. 
 A glorious peace has suddenly de- 
 scended 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. 
 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 I 
 
 84 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 mumbled and that I felt a strong impulse to laugh. 
 I could not lift my eyes to gaze upon Maria until 
 my thoughts east 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 : that torture did not follow. 
 Maria's gaze was clear and simple and it con- 
 tained 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 Campagne 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 iu 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 by 
 
 85 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 the fact that you resemble yourself? And came 
 a moment when a great peace of mind descended 
 upon me. I have no words of comparison 
 whereby to reveal to you that great and bright 
 t^m ... 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 sea- 
 sickness! Or is it because on this night of my 
 loneliness, my road is being illuminated by the 
 Star of the Seas? Well, yes, I was a schooner, if 
 you so desire it, and if this is not agreeable to you 
 I was All. Besides I was Nothing. You see what 
 nonsense emerges out of all this talk when 
 Wondergood begins to seek words and compari- 
 sons. 
 
 I was so cahn that I even soon began to gaze 
 into Maria's eyes : I simply believed them. 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 be All and I shall be Nothvng. 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 it 
 86 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 must be extremely pleasant to traverse it by auto- 
 mobile." 
 
 "Have you a swift car, Signor?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Signorina, very swift! But those," 
 I continued in gentle reproach, "who are thepa- 
 selves limitless distances and endlessness are in 
 no need of any movement." 
 
 Maria and an automobile ! A winged angel en- 
 tering a troUey car for the sake of speed! A 
 swallow riding on a turtle! An arrow on the 
 humpy back of a hod carrier! Ah, all compari- 
 sons 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. I received him 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 gjid merry. He pressed 
 
 87 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 my 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 
 youi 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 ap- 
 peared his former hostile flame. 
 
 "Cardinal X.? He came to 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 smaU 
 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 
 guerilla, this monkey cavorting before a looking- 
 glass ! But I have exhausted my capacity for in- 
 sult. 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 Galilee are all lies. Just as the 
 enemies of Cromwell hanged him after his death, 
 
 88 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 so would Cardinal X. burn the bones of Galilee 
 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 wiU 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 wiU always produce 
 some one like Cardinal X. Look out, Mr. 
 Wondergood: You have landed within tne 
 sphere of his vision and interests, and, let me as- 
 sure 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 is you who loves them Mr. Wondergood, not 
 I." 
 
 A gleam of irony appeared in his eyes. 
 
 "The Cardinal says that it is not at all neces- 
 sary to love people in order to be happy. . . . 
 The fcontrary, he says!" 
 
 "And who told you that I want to make people 
 happy? Again, it is you who wants to do that, 
 
 89 
 
Satan's Biary 
 
 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 dispensing happiness it de- 
 stroys people . . . 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 in those days. 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 carp about them? It is their 
 belly — ^pardon me for the expression — ^that is 
 rumbling with hunger, not yours. I congratulate 
 
 90 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 you 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 
 unf 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 all three of 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 Albauo. 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 Ma- 
 
 91 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 donna and told him of the miserable brusli-pTisliers 
 in searcli of a model. He laughed, agreed with 
 me in my opinion of the aforementioned resem- 
 blance, and grew wistful. 
 
 "It is a fatal resemblance, Mr. Wondergood. 
 You remember that heavy moment when I spoke 
 to "you of bloodf 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 fatal resemblances which 
 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, ^s 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 cahn, like the sky, 
 above us — and the wild wind disappeared without 
 trace, bearing away with it fragments of the dark- 
 ness. I do not know whether you understand 
 these sea comparisons, which I consider quite in- 
 adequate. Let me explain: I again grew quite 
 calm. What is that noble Eoman youth to me, 
 
 92 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 •who himself unable to find comparisons was 
 hurled over the head of his Pegasus? I am a 
 white-winged schooner and beneath me is an en- 
 tire ocean, and was it not written of Her: the 
 Incomparable^i 
 
 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 re- 
 alized 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 con- 
 tinued to vibrate and died so slowly that I can 
 still hear it in the depths of my soul. And sud- 
 denly 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 pene- 
 trate my heart . . . like a network of telephone 
 
 93 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 wires through a central station, — if you want 
 more simple comparisons. And there was some- 
 thmg else I understood when I heard Maria's 
 voice. . . . 
 
 No, you are simply an animal, Wondergoodl 
 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 bam. You are a dull and 
 dirty animal and I am ashamed that for a whole 
 hour I Hstened to your silly bellowing. You may 
 hold words in contempt, you may curse your em- 
 braces, 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 nO't see 
 the joy and astonishment of Satan! 
 
 The hour was late. The moon indicated mid- 
 night 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, gray 
 
 94 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 stone barring the road. For the last time its 
 lights gleamed upon Me and it became trans- 
 formed 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 re- 
 suming 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. 
 Eome, Villa Orsini. 
 I pass my days in deep solitude. My earthly 
 existence is b|eginning to trouble me. With every 
 hour I seerii to forget what I have left behind the 
 wall of hv/man things. My eyesight is weakening. 
 I can hardly sefe behind that wall. The shadows 
 behind it scarcely move and I can no longer dis- 
 tinguish their outline. With every second my 
 sense of hearing grows 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 impenetrable 
 
 95 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 wall. With each, moment Truth flees from Me. 
 In vain my words try to overtake it : they merely 
 shoot by. In vaiij I seek to surround it in the 
 tight embraces of my thoughts and rivet it with 
 chains : the prison disappears like air and my em- 
 braces 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 jiothing 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 the Truth escape me ! But what can I do 
 when I have left all my weapons at hom^ and 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 Yid- 
 dish and He will be unable to say more than 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 upon yo^ur human life from teyond . . . 
 no, wait : You and I have just been caught in a 
 lie, old man! When I said from Beyond you 
 understood at once it must have been very far 
 
 96 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 away. Yes? You may have already determined, 
 perhaps, the approximate mimber 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 
 than this very 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 
 from Beyond it 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 in- 
 teresting. 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 a 'play at 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! 
 
 97 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 But you are astonished. You knit your brow 
 in contempt and ask : Wlio is this Satan who does 
 not know such simple things? You are ac- 
 customed 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 triok 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 your 
 simplest things! Apparently the blame for this 
 is for that divide which separates us. Just as 
 you do not know m«/ real Name and cannot pro- 
 nounce a simple thing like that, so I did not know 
 yours, 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 count- 
 ing 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 1 
 
 Now I am human, like you. The limited sen- 
 sation of my being I regard as my Tmowledge and 
 
 98 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 vith. respect I now touch my own nose, wlien 
 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 pro- 
 trude two little feet clad in ball slippers. . . . 
 
 No, this is not the play of the Immortal that 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 end- 
 less process of fraud that I mistook for a merry 
 theater : what a mistake, how silly it was of ' ' al- 
 mighty, 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 non- 
 sense, this dirty stream of false witnesses, of per- 
 jurers, of false judges and false scoundrels I mis- 
 took for the play of immortals ! Or have I landed 
 in the wrong place? Tell Me, stranger: whither 
 does this road lead? You are pale. Your 
 
 99 
 
Satan's Biary 
 
 trembling jBnger points in tlie direction of . . . 
 ah, the scrap heap! 
 
 Yesterday, I questioned Toppi about his former 
 life, the first time he donned the hmnan 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 has forgotten everything 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 of something else. Do you 
 100 
 
Satan's Biary 
 
 remeinber 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 me thus, Mr. 
 Wondergood. I am an honest citizen of the 
 United States and I do not understand your in- 
 sinuations. ' ' 
 
 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 Sata'n. 
 
 "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 w«*ld- not 
 answer me. I lay there long in the dust, plead- 
 ing, 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 and 
 
 101 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 unfading sunrise, its quiet lights upon the placid 
 waters. And again I heard the silent murmurs 
 of lips bom 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 ex- 
 tremes 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's free hand, think- 
 ing lazily and yawning while awaiting the arrival 
 of the chauffeur. And as far as Maria is con- 
 cerned, I brought her into the situation because 
 from afar I could see the black cypress trees 
 
 102 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 above the Magnus home. An involuntary as- 
 sociation of ideas . . . you understand. 
 
 Can. a man with such sight really see Satan? 
 Can a person of such dull ear hear the so-called 
 "murmurs" bom of Immaculate Conception? 
 Nonsense! And, please, I beg of you, call Me 
 just Wondergooc^. Call me just Wondergood 
 until the day when I crack my skull open with that 
 plaything which opens the most narrow door into 
 limitless spacer iCall me just Henry Wonder- 
 good, of Illinois : you will find that I will respond 
 promptly and obligingly. 
 
 But if, some day, you should find my head 
 crushed, examine carefully its fragments: 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 frag- 
 ments to' the scrap heap : one should never bow 
 so respectfully to chains cast off ! 
 
 March 9, 1914. 
 Eome, Villa Orsini. 
 Last night I had an important conversation 
 ynth Thomas Magnus. When Maria had retired 
 I began as usual to prepare to return home but 
 Magnus detained me. 
 "Why go, Mr. Wondergood? Stay here for 
 103 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 the night. Stay here and listen to the barking of 
 Mars!" 
 
 For several days dense clouds had been gather- 
 ing over Eome and a heavy rain had been beating 
 down upon its walls and ruins. This morning I 
 read in a newspaper a very portentous weather 
 bulletin: cielo nuvolo il vento forte e mare molto 
 agitato. Toward evening the threat turned into 
 a storm and the enraged sea hurled across a 
 range of ninety miles its moist odors upon the 
 walls of Eome. And the real Eoman sea, the bil- 
 lowy Campagna, sang forth with all the voices of 
 the tempest, like the ocean, and at moments it 
 seemed that its immovable hills, its ancient waves, 
 long evaporated by the sun, had once more come 
 to life and moved forward upon the city walls. 
 Mad Mars, this creator of terror and tempest, 
 flew like an arrow across its wide spaces, crushed 
 the head of every blade of grass to the ground, 
 sighed and panted and hurled heavy gusts of wind 
 into the whining cypress trees. Occasionally he 
 would seize and hurl the nearest objects he could 
 lay his hands upon : the brick roofs of the houses 
 shook beneath his blows and their stone walls 
 roared as if inside the very stones the imprisoned 
 wind was gasping and seeking an escape. 
 
 We listened to the storm all evening. Maria 
 was calm but Magnus was Adsibly nervous, con- 
 
 104 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 stantly rubbed his white hands and listened in- 
 tently to the antics of the wind : to its murderous 
 whistle, its roar and its signs, its laughter and its 
 groans . . , the wild-haired artist was cunning 
 enough to be^layer and victim, to strangle and to 
 plead for mercy at one and the same time! If 
 Magnus had the moving ears of an animal, they 
 would have remained immovable. His thin nose 
 trembled, his dim eyes grew dark, as if they re- 
 flected the shadows of the clouds, his thin lips 
 were twisted into a quick and strange smile. I, 
 too, was quite excited : it was the first time since I 
 became human I had heard such a storm and it 
 raised in me a white terror: almost with the 
 horror of a child I avoided the windows, beyond 
 which lay the night. "Why does it not come here, 
 I thought : can the window pane possibly keep it 
 out if it should wish to break through? . . . 
 
 Some one knocked at the iron gates several 
 times, the gates at which I and Toppi once 
 knocked for admission. 
 
 "That is my chauffeur, who has come to fetch 
 me," said I: "we must admit him." 
 
 Magnus glanced at me from the comer of his 
 eye and remarked sadly: 
 
 "There is no road on that side of the house. 
 There is nothing but field there. That is mad 
 Mars who is begging for admittance." 
 
 105 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 And as if he had actually heard his wordsi, Mars 
 broke out into laughter and disappeared 
 whistling. But the knocking was soon resumed. 
 It seemed as if some one were tearing off the iron 
 gates and several voices, shouting and interrupts 
 ing each other, were anxiously speaking; an in- 
 fant was heard weeping. 
 
 ' ' Those must be people who have lost their way 
 . . . you hear — an infant! We must opei^ the 
 gates." 
 
 ""Well, we'll see," said Magnus angrily. 
 
 "I will go with you, Magnus." 
 
 "Sit still, Wondergood. This friend of mine, 
 here, is quite enough ..." He quickly drew 
 that revolver from the table drawer and with a 
 peculiar expression of love and even gentleness 
 he grasped it in his broad hand and carefully hid 
 it in his pocket. He walked out and we could hear 
 the cry that met him at the gate. 
 
 On that evening Isomehow avoided Maria's 
 eyes and I felt quite ill at ease when we were left 
 alone. And suddenly I felt like sinking to the 
 floor, and kneeling before her so that her dress 
 might touch my face ; I felt as if I had hair on my 
 back, that sparks would at any moment begin to 
 fly if some one were to touch it and that this would 
 relieve me. Thus, in my mind, I moved closer 
 and closer to Her, when Magnus returned and 
 
 106 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 silently put the revolver back into the drawer. 
 The voices at the door had ceased and the knock- 
 ing, too. 
 
 "Who was that?" . . . asked Maria; 
 
 Magnus angrily shook off the dropsi of raia 
 upon his coat. 
 
 "Crazy Mars. "Who else did you expect?" 
 
 "But I thought I heard you speak to him?" I 
 jested, trying to conceal the shiver produced by 
 the cold brought in by Magnus. 
 
 "Yes, I told him it was not polite — ^to drag 
 about with him such suspicions company. He ex- 
 cused himself and said he would come no more," 
 Magnus laughed and added: "I am convinced that 
 all the murderers of Eome and the Campagna are 
 to-night threatening to ambush people and hug- 
 ging their stilettos as if they were their sweet- 
 hearts. ..." ' 
 
 Again came a muffled and timid knock. 
 
 "Again!" cried Magnus, angrily, as if Mad 
 Mars had really promised to knock no more. 
 But the knock was followed by the ring of a bell : 
 it was my chauffeur. Maria retired, while I, as 
 I have already said, had been invited by Magnus 
 to remain overnight, to which I agreed, after some 
 hesitation : I was not at all taken by Magnus and 
 his revolver, and still less was I attracted by the 
 siUy darkness. 
 
 107 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 The kind host himself went out to dismiss the 
 chauffeur. Through the window I could see the 
 bright lights of the lanterns of the machine and 
 for a moment I yearned to return home to my 
 pleasant sinners, who were probably imbibing 
 their wine at that moment in expectation of my 
 return. . . . Ah, I have long since abandoned 
 philanthropy and am now leading the life of a 
 drunkard and a gambler. And again, as on that 
 first night, the quiet little white house, this sovd 
 of Maria, looked terrible and suspicious : this re- 
 volver, these stains of blood upon the white hands. 
 . . . and, maybe there are more stains like these 
 here. 
 
 But it was too late to change my mind. The 
 machine had gone and Magnus, by the light, had 
 not a blue, but a very black and beautiful beard 
 and his eyes were smiling pleasantly. In his 
 broad hand he carried not a weapon, but two 
 bottles of wine, and from afar he shouted merrily : 
 
 "On a night like this there is but one thing to 
 do, to drink wine. Even Mars, when I spoke to 
 him, looked drunk to me . . . the rogue! Tour 
 glass, Mr. Wondergood!" 
 
 But when the glasses had been filled, this merry 
 
 drunkard hardly touched the wine and sitting 
 
 deep in his chair asked me to drink and to talk. 
 
 Without particular enthusiasm, listening to the 
 
 ■ ' 108 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 noise of the wind and thinking about the length 
 of the night before ns, I told Magnus of the new 
 and insistent visits of Cardinal X. It seemed to 
 me that the Cardinal had actually put spies on 
 my trail and what is more strange : he has man- 
 aged to gain quite an influence over the unbrib- 
 able Toppi. Toppi is still the same devoted 
 friend of mine but he seems to have grown sad, 
 goes to confessional every day and is trying to 
 persuade me to accept Catholicism. 
 
 Magnus listened calmly to my story and with 
 still greater reluctance I told him of the many un- 
 successful efforts to open my purse : of the endless 
 petitions, badly written, in which the truth ap- 
 pears to be falsehood because of the boresome 
 monotony of tears, bows and naive flattery; of 
 crazy inventors, of all sorts of people with hasty 
 projects, geatlemen who seek to utilize as quickly 
 as possible their temporary absence from jail — 
 of all this hungry mass of humanity aroused by 
 the smell of weakly protected billions. My secre- 
 taries — there ,are six of them now — ^hardly man- 
 age to handle all this mess of tears on paper, and 
 the madly babbling fools who fill the doors of my 
 palace. 
 
 "I fear that I will have to build me an under- 
 ground exit : they are watching me even at nights. 
 They are aiming at me with picks and shovels, as 
 
 109 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 if they were in tlie Klondike. The nonsense pub- 
 lished by these accursed newspapers about the bil- 
 lions I am ready to give away to every fool dis- 
 playing a wound in his leg, or an empty pocket, 
 has driven them out of their senses. I believe 
 that some night they will divide me into portions 
 and eat me. They are organizing regular pil- 
 grimages to my palace and come with huge bags. 
 My ladies, who regard me as their property, have 
 found for me a little Dante Inferno, where we take 
 daily walks in company with the society that 
 storms my place. Yesterday we examined an old 
 witch whose entire worth consists in the fact that 
 she has outlived her husband, her children and 
 her grandchildren, and is now in need of snuff. 
 And some angry old man refused to be consoled 
 and even would not take any money until all of us 
 had smelled the old putrid wound in his foot. It 
 was indeed a horrible odor. This cross old fel- 
 low is the pride of my ladies, and like all favor- 
 ites, he is capricious, and temperamental. And 
 . . . are you tired of listening to me, Magnus. 
 I could tell you of a whole flock of ragged fathers, 
 hungry children, green and rotten like certain 
 kinds of cheese, of noble geniuses who despise me 
 like a negro, of clever drunkards with merry, red 
 noses. . . . My ladies are not very keen on 
 drunkards, but I love them better than any other 
 
 110 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 kind of goods. And how do yon feel about it, 
 Signor Magnus?" 
 
 Magnus was silent. I too was tired of talking. 
 Mad Mars alone continued his antics : he was now 
 ensconced upon the roof, trying to bite a hole in 
 the center, and crushing the tiles as he would a 
 lump of sugar. Magnus broke the silence: 
 
 "The newspapers seem to have little to say 
 about you recently. What is the matter?" 
 
 "I pay the interviewers not to write anything. 
 At first I drove them away but they began inter- 
 viewing my horses emd now I pay them for their 
 silence by the line. Have you a customer for my 
 villa, Magnus? I shall sell it together with the 
 artists and the rest of its paraphernalia." 
 
 We again grew silent and paced up and down 
 the room: Magnus rose first and then sat down. 
 I followed and sat down too. In addition, I drank 
 two more glasses of wine while Magnus drank 
 none. . . . His nose is never red. Suddenly he 
 said with determination : 
 
 "Do not drink any more wine, Wondergood." 
 
 "Oh, very well. I want no more wine. Is that 
 all?" 
 
 Magnus continued to question me at long in- 
 tervals. His voice was sharp and stem, while 
 mine was . . . melodious, I would say. 
 
 Ill 
 
'Sdttm's Diary 
 
 "There lias been a great change in you, Won- 
 dergood." 
 
 "Quite possible, thank you, Magnus." 
 
 ' ' There used to be more life in you. Now you 
 rarely jest. You have become very morose, 
 Wondergood." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "You have even grown thin and your brow is 
 sallow. Is it true that you get drunk every night 
 in the company of your . . . friends?" 
 
 "It seems so." 
 
 "... that you play cards, squander your 
 gold, and that recently some one had been nearly 
 murdered at your table?" 
 
 "I fear that is true. I recollect that one gentle- 
 man actually tried to pierce another gentleman 
 with his fork. And how do you know all about 
 that?" 
 
 He replied sternly and significantly: 
 
 "Toppi was here yesterday. He wanted to see 
 . . . Maria but I myself received him. "With all 
 due respect to you, Wondergodd, I must say that 
 your secretary is unusually stupid." 
 
 I acquiesced coldly. 
 
 "You are quite right. You should have driven 
 him out." 
 
 ' I must say for my part, that my last two glasses 
 of wine evaporated from me at the mention of 
 
 112 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Maria's name, and our attempted conversation 
 was marked by continued evaporation of tlie wine 
 I drank, like perfume out of a bottle. I have 
 always regarded wine as unreliable matter. We 
 found ourselves agaiu listening to tbe storm and I 
 remarked : 
 
 "The wind seems to be growing more violent, 
 Signer Magnus." 
 
 "Yes, tbe wind seems to be growing more 
 violent, Mr. Wondergood. But you must admit 
 that I warned you beforehand, Mr. Wondergood." 
 
 "Of what did you warn me beforehand, Signer 
 Magnus?" 
 
 He seized his knees with his white hands and 
 directed upon me the gaze of a snake charmer. . . . 
 Ah, he did not know that I myself had extracted 
 my poisoned teeth and was quite harmless, like a 
 mummy in a museum! Finally, he realized that 
 there was no use beating about the bush, and came 
 straight to the point: 
 
 "I warned you in regard to Maria," he said 
 slowly, with peculiar insinuation. "You remem- 
 ber that I did not desire your acquaintance and 
 expressed it plainly enough? You have not for- 
 gotten what I told you about Maria, of her fatal 
 influence upon the soul? But you were bold and 
 insistent and I yielded. And now you ask us — 
 me and my daughter — to view the highly exhilar- 
 
 113 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ating spectacle of a gentleman in the process of 
 disintegration, one who asks nothing, who re- 
 proaches no one, bnt can find no solace until every 
 one has smelled his wonnd ... I do not want to 
 repeat your expression, Mr. Wondergood. It has 
 a bad odor. Yes, sir, you have spoken quite 
 frankly of your . . . neighbors and I am sincerely 
 glad you have finally abandoned this cheap 
 play at love and humanity. . . . You have so 
 many other pastimes! I confess, however, that 
 I am not at all overjoyed at your intention of pre- 
 senting to wfi'^he sedianent of a gentleman. It 
 seems to me, sir, that you made a mistake in leav- 
 ing America and your . . . canning business: 
 dealing with people requires quite a different sort 
 of ability." 
 
 He laughed! He was almost driving Me out, 
 this little man, and I, who write my "I" in a 
 super-capital, I listened to him humbly and 
 meekly. It was divinely ridiculous! Here is an- 
 other detail for those who love the ridiculous: 
 before his tirade began my eyes and the cigar be- 
 tween my teeth were quite bravely and noncha- 
 lantly directed toward the ceiling, but they 
 changed their attitude before he had finished. ... 
 Tp this very moment I feel the taste of that miser- 
 able dangling, extinguished cigar. I was choking 
 with laughter . . . that is I did not yet know 
 
 114 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 whether to choke with laughter or with wrath. Or, 
 without choking at all, to ask him for an umbrella 
 and leave. Ah, he was at home, he was on his oum 
 ground, this angry, black bearded man. He knew 
 how to manage himself in this situation and he 
 'sang a solo, not a duet, like the inseparable Satan 
 of Eternity and Wondergood of Illinois ! 
 
 * ' Sir ! " I said with dignity : ' ' There seems to be 
 a sad misunderstanding here. You see before you 
 Satan in hwman form . . . you understand? He 
 went out for an evening stroll and was lost in the 
 forest . . . in the forest, sir, in the forest ! Won't 
 you be good enoug^, sir, to direct him to the near- 
 est road to Eternity? Ah, Ah! Thank you. So I 
 thought myself. Farewell ! ' ' 
 
 Of course, I really did not say that. I was silent 
 and gave the floor to Wondergood. And this is 
 what that respectable gentleman said, dropping 
 his wet, dead cigar: 
 
 "The devil take it! You are quite right, Mag- 
 nus. Thank you, old man. Yes, you warned me 
 quite honestly, but I preferred to play a lone 
 hand. Now I am a bankrupt and at your mercy. 
 I shall have no objection if you should order the 
 removal of the sediment of the gentleman." 
 
 I thought that without waiting for a stretcher, 
 Magnus would simply throw the sediment out of 
 the window, but his generosity proved quite sur- 
 
 115 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 prising: lie looked at Me witli pity and even 
 stretclied out liis hand. 
 
 "You are suffering veiy much, Mr. Wonder- 
 good?" — a question quite difficult to answer for 
 the celebrated duet! I blinked and shrugged my 
 shoulders. This appeared to satisfy Magnus and 
 for a few moments we were both silent. I do not 
 know of what Magnus was thinking. I thought 
 of nothing : I simply examined with great interest, 
 the walls, the ceiling, books, pictures — all the fur- 
 nishings of this human habitation. I was partic- 
 ularly absorbed in the electric light upon which I 
 fixed my attention: why does it bum and give 
 light? 
 
 "I am waiting for your answer, Mr. Wonder- 
 good." 
 
 So he was reaUy expecting me to reply? Very 
 well. 
 
 "It's very simple, Magnus . . . you warned me, 
 I admit. To-morrow Toppi will pack my trunks 
 and I shall go back to America to resume my . . . 
 business." 
 
 "And the Cardinal?" 
 
 "What Cardinal? Ah, yes! . . . Cardinal X. 
 and my billions. I remember. But — ^don 't gaze at 
 me in such astonishment, Magnus. I am sick of 
 it." 
 
 "What are you sick of, Mr. Wondergood?" 
 116 
 
*<; 
 
 Satan's Diary 
 
 'It. Six secretaries. Brainless old women, 
 isnuff, and my Dante Inferno, where they take me 
 for my walks. Don't look at me so sternly, Mag- 
 nus. Probably one could have made better wine 
 out of my billions, but I managed to produce only 
 sour beer. Why did you refuse to help me? Of 
 course, you hate human beings, I forgot.^ ' 
 
 "But you love them?" 
 
 "What shall I say, Magnus? No, I am rather 
 indifferent to them. Don't look at me so . . . pity- 
 ingly. By God, it isn't worth it! Yes, I am indif- 
 ferent to them. There are, there were and there 
 will be so many of them that it isn't really worth 
 while. ..." 
 
 "So I am to conclude that you liedf" 
 
 "Look not at me but at my packed trunks. No, 
 I did not lie, not entirely. You know, I wanted 
 to do something interesting for the sake of 
 amusement and so I let loose this . . . this 
 emotion. ..." 
 
 "So it was only ^Zai/'P ..." 
 
 I blinked again and shrugged my shoulders. I 
 like this method of reply to complex questions. 
 And this face of Signer Thomas Magnus appealed 
 to me, too; his long, oval face recompensed me 
 slightly for my theatrical failures and . . . 
 Maria. I must add that by this time there was a 
 fresh cigar in my mouth, 
 
 117 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "You said that in your past there are some 
 dark pages . . . What's the trouble, Mr. Wonder- 
 good?" 
 
 " Oh ! it was a slight exaggeration. Nothing in 
 particular, Magnus. I beg your pardon for dis- 
 turbing you needlessly, but at that time I thought 
 I should have spoken thus for the sake of 
 style . . ." 
 
 "Style?" 
 
 "Yes, and the laws of contrast. The present is 
 always brighter with a dark past as a background 
 . . . you understand? But I have already told 
 you, Magnus, that my prank had little result. In 
 the place I come from they have quite a mistaken 
 conception of the pleasures of the game here. I 
 shall have to disabuse them when I get back. For 
 a moment I was taken in by the old monkey, but 
 its method of fleecing people is rather ancient and 
 too certain . . . like a counting house. I prefer 
 an element of risk." 
 
 "Fleecing people?" 
 
 "Don't' we despise them, Magnus? And. if the 
 game has failed, let us not at least deny ourselves 
 the pleasure of speaking frankly. I am very glad. 
 But I am tired of this prattle and, with your per- 
 mission, I will take another glass of wine." 
 
 There was not even the resemblance of a smile 
 on Thomas Magnus' face. I mention the smile 
 
 118 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 for the sake of . . . style. We passed the next 
 half hour in silence, broken only by the shrieks 
 and yells of Mad Mars and the even pacing of 
 Magnus. With his hands behind him and disre- 
 garding me entirely he paced the room with even 
 step : eight steps forward, eight steps backward. 
 Apparently he must have been in jail at one time 
 and for quite a while : for he had the knack of the 
 experienced prisoner of creating distances out of 
 a few meters. I permitted myself to yawn slightly 
 and thus drew the attention of my host back to 
 myself. But Magnus kept quiet for another mo- 
 ment, until the following words rang out through 
 the air and well nigh hurled me out of my seat : 
 
 "But Maria loves you. Of course, you do not 
 know that?" 
 
 I arose. 
 
 "Yes, that is the truth: Maria loves you. I did 
 not expect this rflisfortune. I failed to kill you, 
 Mr. Wohdergood. I should have done that at the 
 very beginning and now I do not know what to do 
 with you. What do you think about it?" 
 
 I stretched and . . . 
 
 . . . Maria loves Me! 
 
 I once witnessed in Philadelphia an unsuccess- 
 ful electrocution of a prisoner. I saw at "La 
 Scala" in Milan my colleague Mephisto cringing 
 
 119 
 
, Satan's Diary 
 
 and hopping all over the stage when the supers 
 moved upon him with their crosses — and my 
 silent reply to Magnus was an artistic im- 
 provisation of both the first and the second trick: 
 ah, at that moment I could think of nothing better 
 to imitate! I swear by eternal salvation that 
 never before had I been permeated by so many 
 deadly currents, never did I drink such bitter 
 wine, never was my soul seized with such uncon- 
 trollable laughter! 
 
 Now I no longer laugh or cringe, like a cheap 
 actor. I am alone and only my own seriousness 
 can hear and see Me. But in that moment of tri- 
 umph I needed all my strength to control my 
 laughter so that I might not deal ringing blows to 
 the face of this stem and honest man hurling the 
 Madonna into the embraces of . . . the Devil. Do 
 you really think so? .No? Or are you merely 
 thinking of Wondergood, the American, with his 
 goatee and wet cigar between his gold teeth ! Ha- 
 tred and contempt, love and anguish, wrath and 
 laughter, — ^these filled to the brim the cup pre- 
 sented to Me . . . no, still worse, still more bitter, 
 still more deadly ! What do I care about the de- 
 ceived Magnus or the stupidity of his eyes and 
 brain? But how could the pure eyes of Maria 
 have been deceived? 
 
 Or am I really such a clever Don Juan that I 
 120 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 can turn the head of an innocent and trusting girl 
 by a few simple, silent meetings? Madonna, 
 where art Thou? Or, has she discovered a re- 
 semblance between myself and one of her saints, 
 like Toppi's. But I do not carry with me a trav- 
 eling prayer book! Madonna, where art Thou? 
 Are thy lips stretching out to mine? Madonna, 
 where art Thou? Or? . . . 
 
 And yet I cringed like an actor. I sought to 
 stifle in respectful mumbling my hatred and my 
 contempt when this new "or" suddenly filled me 
 with new confusion and such love . . . ah, such 
 love ! 
 
 "Or," thought I, "has T% immortality. Ma- 
 donna, echoed the immortality of Satan and is it 
 now stretching forth this gentle hand to it from 
 the realms of Eternity? Thou, who. art divine, 
 ha,st thou recognized a friend in him who has be- 
 come hrnnanf Thou, who art above, dost thou 
 pity him who is helowf 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 wiU as to her frankness. "What are my 
 
 121 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 human eyes before her all-penetrating gaze, Mr. 
 Wondergoodt ..." 
 
 (The latter, too, was saying the same thing.)" 
 
 "A moment ago, in a fit of excitement," con- 
 tinued Magnus, "I said something about murder 
 and death. . . . No, Mr. Wondergood, you may 
 rest secure forever: the chosen one of Maria en- 
 joys 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 shaU 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 con- 
 tinued calmly : 
 
 * * I see that I will have to beg your pardon again 
 for my fit of passion, but it is better than false- 
 hood, 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 imthinkable. Eemem- 
 
 122 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 ber 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 
 quaUties, 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 
 sKghtly 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 philoso- 
 pher. 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 assur,ed. Signer Magnus, that I 
 will not permit myself to utter a single word in 
 regard to Signorina Maria. Yoli know that I am 
 not a hero. But I should think it permissible to 
 ask of you: how am I to reconcile your present re- 
 marks with your former contempt for man? I 
 recollect that you spoke seriously of gallows and 
 prisons. " 
 
 Magnus laughed loudly: 
 123 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "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 edu- 
 cation 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 hu- 
 manity, 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 im- 
 mediate 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, 
 
 124 ' 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 but the rest of tlie drivel proved that that, too, 
 was a mere slip of the tongue, an accidental ex- 
 cerpt of some one else's text. Your newspaper 
 .triumphs, your flippancy in serious matters — re- 
 member Cardinal X! — ^your cheap philanthropy 
 are of a quite different tone . . . No, Mr. Won- 
 dergood, you are not fit for serious drama ! And 
 your prattling to-day, 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 ex- 
 pense, and, without the slightest compunction 
 would have raised the farewell cup ! ' ' 
 
 "Just one correction, Magnus: I earnestly de- 
 sired that you should take part ..." 
 
 "In what? In your play? Yes, your play 
 lacked the creative factor and you earnestly de- 
 sired to saddle me with your poverty of spirit. 
 Just as you hire your artists to paint and decorate 
 your i)alaces 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, how- 
 ever, 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. 
 
 125 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 As if fearing the power of his own voice, he low- 
 ered it ahnost 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 thena in 
 check and in order. 
 
 "Hatred? Be silent, sir. Or have you no con- 
 science at all or any common sense? My con- 
 tempt! My hatred! They were my reply, not to 
 your theatrical love, but to your sincere and dead 
 indifference. You were insulting we as a human 
 being by your indifference: You were insulting 
 life by your indifference. It was in your voice, 
 it gleamed savagely out of your eyes, and more 
 than once was I seized by terror . . . terror, sir ! 
 — ^when I pierced deeper the mysterious empti- 
 ness of your pupils. If your past has no dark 
 pages, which, as you say, you merely added for 
 the sake of style, then there is something worse 
 than that in it : there are white pages in it. And 
 I cannot read them! ..." 
 
 "Oh, oh!" 
 
 "When I look at your eternal cigar, and see 
 your self-satisfied but handsome and energetic 
 face; when I view your unassuming manner, in 
 which the simplicity of the grog shop is elevated 
 to the heights of Puritanism, I fully understand 
 your naive game. But I need only meet the pupil 
 of your eye ... or its white rim and I am^im- 
 
 126 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 mediately hurled into a void, I am seized with 
 alarm and I no longer see either your cigar or 
 your gold teeth and I am ready to exclaim : who 
 are you that you dare to bear yourself with such 
 indifference?" 
 
 The situation wasi becoming interesting. 
 Madonna loves Me and this creature is about 
 ready to utter my Name at any moment I Is he 
 the son of my Father? How could he unravel the 
 great mystery of my boundless indifference: I 
 tried so carefuly to conceal it, even from you ! 
 
 "Here! here!" shouted Magnus, in great ex- 
 citement, "again there are two little tears in your 
 eyes, as I have noticed before. They are a lie, 
 Wondergood ! There is no source of tears behind 
 them. They have fallen from somewhere above, 
 from the clouds, like dew. Eather laugh^ behind 
 your laughter I see merely a bad man, but behind 
 'your tears there are white pages, white pages! 
 ... or has Maria read them?" 
 
 Without taking his eyes off me, as if fearing 
 that I might run away, Magnus paced the room, 
 finally seating himself opposite Me. His face 
 grew dim and his voice seemed tired, when he 
 said: 
 
 "But it seems to me that I am exciting myself 
 in vain. ..." 
 
 127 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "Do not forget, Magnus, that to-day I myself 
 spoke to you of indifference." 
 
 He waved his hand wearily and carelessly. 
 
 "Yes, you did speak. But there is something 
 else involved here, Wondergood. There is noth- 
 ing insulting in the indifference, but in the other 
 ... I sensed it immediately upon your appear- 
 ance with your billions. I do not know whether 
 you Avill understand what I mean, but I immedi- 
 ately felt like shouting of hatred and to demand 
 gallows and blood. The gallows is a gloomy thing 
 but the curious jostling about the gallows, Mr. 
 Wondergood, iare quite unbearable! I do not 
 know what they think of our game here in the 
 'place' you come from, but we pay for it with our 
 lives, and when there suddenly appears before us 
 some curious gentleman in a top hat, ci,gar in 
 mouth, one feels, you understand, like seizing him 
 by the back of his neck and ... he never 
 ' stays to the end of the performance, anyway. 
 Have you, too, Mr. Wondergood, dropped in on us 
 for a brief visit?" 
 
 With what a long sigh I uttered, the name of 
 Maria! . . . And I no longer played, I no longer 
 lied, when I replied to this gloomy man: 
 
 "Yes, I have dropped in on you for a brief visit, 
 Signer Magnus. You have guessed right. For 
 certain very valid reasons I can reveal nothing to 
 
 128 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 you of the white pages of my life, the existence 
 of which, behind my leather binding you have like- 
 wise guessed. But on one of them was written: 
 death-departure. That was not a top hat in the 
 hands of the curious visitor, but a revolver . . . 
 you understand : I look on as long as it is interest- 
 ing and after that I make my bow and depart. 
 Let me put it clearer and simpler, out of defer- 
 ence to your realism : in a few days, perhaps to- 
 morrow, I depart for the other world. . . . No, 
 that is not clear enough : in a few days or to-mor- 
 row I shall shoot myself, kill myself with a re- 
 volver. I at first planned to aim at my heart but 
 have decided that the brain would be more reli- 
 able. I have planned all this long ago, at the very 
 beginning ... of my appearance before you, and 
 was it not in this readiness of mine to depart that 
 you have detected 'inhuman' indifference? Isn't 
 it true that when one eye is directed upon the 
 other world, it is hardly possible to maintain any 
 particularly bright flame in the eye directed upon 
 this world? ... I refer to the kind of flame I see 
 in your eyes. 0! you have wonderful eyes, Sig- 
 nor Magnus. ' 
 
 Magnus remained silent for a few moments and 
 then said: 
 
 "And Maria?" , 
 
 "Permit me to reply. I prize Signorina Maria 
 129 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 too highly not to Regard her love for me as a 
 fatal mistake." 
 
 "But you wanted that love?" 
 
 "It is very difficult for me to answer that ques- 
 tion. At first, perhaps — ^when I indulged in 
 dreams for a while — ^but the more I perceived this 
 fatal resemblance ..." 
 
 "That is mere resemblance," Magnus hastened 
 to assure me: "But you mustn't be a child, Won- 
 dergood! Maria's soul is lofty and beautiful, but 
 she is human, made of flesh and bone. She prob- 
 ably has her own little sins, too. ..." 
 
 "And how about my top hat, Magnus? How 
 abotit my free departure? I need only buy a seat 
 to gaze upon Maria and her fatal resemblance — 
 admitting that it is only resemblance! — ^but how 
 must I pay for lovef" 
 
 Magnus said sternly: 
 
 "Only with your life." 
 
 "You see^ only with my life! How, then, did 
 you expect me to desire such love?" 
 
 "But you have miscalculated: she already loves 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, if the Signorina Maria really loves me 
 then my death can be no obstacle : however, I do 
 not make myself clear. I wanted to say that my 
 departure ... no, I had better say nothing. In 
 
 130 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 short, Signer Magnus : would you agree to have 
 me place my billions at your disposal now?" 
 
 He looked at me quickly : 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 "Yes, now, when we are no longer playing: I 
 at love and you at hatred. Now, when I ajn about 
 to disappear entirely, taking with me the 'sedi- 
 ment' of a gentlemen? Let me make it quite 
 cMar: would you like to be my heir?" 
 
 Magnus frowned and looked at me in anger: 
 apparently he took my words for ridicule. But I 
 was calm and serious. It seemed to me that his 
 large, white hands were trembling slightly. He 
 turned away for a moment and then, whirling 
 about quickly, he shouted loudly: 
 
 " No ! Again you want, . . . No ! " 
 
 He stamped his foot and cried once pnore: 
 "No!" His hands were trembling. His breath- 
 ing was heavy and irregular. There followed a 
 long silence, the wailing of the tempest, the whis- 
 tling and murmur of the wind. And again, great 
 calm, great, dead, all embracing peace descended 
 upon me. Everything was turned within Me. I 
 still could hear the earthly demons of the storm, 
 but their voices sounded far away and dull. I 
 saw before me a man and he was strange and cold 
 to me, like a stone statue. One after another there 
 floated by me aU the days of my human, exist- 
 
 131 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ence. There was tlie gleam of faces, the weak 
 sound of voices and curious laughter. And then, 
 again all was silent. I turned my gaze to the other 
 side — and there I was met by dumbness. It was 
 as if I were immured between two dumb, stone 
 walls: behind one was their human life, which I 
 had abandoned, and behind the other, in silence 
 and in darkness, stretched forth the world of eter- 
 nal and real being. Its silence was resounding, 
 its darkness was gleaming, eternal, joyous life 
 beat constantly like breakers, upon the hard rocks 
 of the impenetrable wall. But deaf was my con- 
 sciousness and silent my thought. From beneath 
 the weak legs of Thought there came M&mory — 
 and it hung suspended in the void, immovable, 
 paralyzed for the moment. What did I leave be- 
 hind the wall of my Unconsciousness? 
 
 Thought made no reply. It was motionless, 
 empty and silent. Two silences surrounded Me, 
 two darknesses enveloped me. Two walls were 
 burying me, and behind one, in the pale move- 
 ment of shadows, passed their human life, while 
 behind the other, — ^in silence and in darkness 
 stretched forth the world of my real, eternal being. 
 Whence shall I hear The Call? Whither can I " 
 take a step? » 
 
 And at that moment I suddenly heard the voice 
 of a man, strange and distant. It grew closer and 
 
 132 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 closer, there was a gentle ring in it. It was Mag- 
 nus speaking. With great effort and concentra- 
 tion, I tried to catch the words and this was what 
 I heard : 
 
 "And wouldn't you rather continue living, 
 Wondergood?" 
 
 March 18. 
 Rome, Palazzo Orsini. 
 
 It is three daya now that Magnus and Maria 
 are living in my palazzo in Rome. It is empty 
 and silent and really seems huge. Last night, 
 worn hy insomnia, I wandered about its haUs and 
 stairways, over rooms I had never seen before 
 and their number astonished me. Maria's sovl 
 has expelled from it all that was frivolous and im- 
 pure and only the saintly Toppi moves through 
 its emptiness, like the pendulum of a church clock. 
 Ah, how saintly he looks. If not for his broad 
 back, the broad folds of his coat, and the odor of 
 fur in his head, I myself would take him for one 
 of the saints who have honored me with their 
 acquaintance. 
 
 I rarely see my guests. I am turning my entire 
 estate into cash and Magnus and Toppi and all 
 the secretaries are busy with this work from 
 morning to night; our telegraph is constantly 
 buzzing. Magnus has little to say to me. He only 
 
 133 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 talks business. Maria ... it seems as if I were 
 avoiding her. I can see her through my windo-w 
 walking in the garden, and this is quite enough for 
 me, for her soul is here and every atom of the 
 air is filled with her breath. And, as I have al- 
 ready remarked, I suffer mth insomnia. 
 
 As you see, my friend, I have remained among 
 the living, a dead hand could not possibly write 
 even the dead words I am not setting down. Let 
 us forget the past, as sweethearts would who have 
 just settled their differences. Let us be friends, 
 you and I. Give me your hand, my friend 1 1 vow 
 by eternal salvation that never again will I chase 
 you hence or laugh at you : if I have lost the wis- 
 dom of the snake I have acquired the gentleness 
 of the dove. I am rather sorry that I have driven 
 away my painters and my interviewers: I have 
 no one to inquire whom I resemble with my radi- 
 ant countenance? I personally feel that I re- 
 mind one of a powdered darkey, who is afraid to 
 rub the powder off with his sleeve and thus reveal 
 his black skin . . . ah, I still have a black skin! 
 
 Yes, I have remained alive but I know not yet 
 how far I shall succeed in keeping up this state : 
 have you any idea how hard are the transitions 
 from a nomad to a settled life? I was a redskin, 
 a carefree nomad, who folds up and casts off all 
 that is human, as he would a tent. Now I am lay- 
 
 134 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ing a granite foundation for an eartMy home and 
 I, having little faith, am cold and trembling. WiU 
 it be warm when the white snow covers my new 
 home ? What do you think, my friend, is the best 
 heating system? 
 
 I promised Thomas Magnus that night that I 
 would not kill myself. We sealed this agreement 
 with a warm handshake. We did not open our 
 veins nor seal the pact with our blood. We simply 
 said "yes" and that was quite sufficient: as you 
 know only human beings break agreements. 
 Devils always keep them. , . . You need only re- 
 call your horny, hairy heroes and their Spartan 
 honesty. Fortunately (let us call it 'fortunate') 
 we had set no . . . date. I swear by eternal salva- 
 tion, I would be a poor king and ruler if, when 
 building a palace, I did not leave for myself a 
 secret exit, a little door^ a modest loophole 
 through which wise kings disappear when their 
 foolish subjects rise and break into Versailles. 
 
 I will not kill myself to-morrow. Perhaps I 
 shall wait quite a while. I will not kill myself: 
 of the two walls I have chosen the lower one and 
 I am quite human now, even as you my friend. 
 My earthly experiment is not very thrilling as 
 yet, but who kndws? — this human life may unex- 
 pectedly grow quite attractive! Has not Toppi 
 lived to grow gray and to a peaceful end? Why 
 
 135 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 sholild not I, traversing all tlie ages of man, like 
 the seasons of the year, grow to be a gray old 
 sage, a wise guide and teacher, the bearer of the 
 covenant and arterio sclerosis? Ah, this ridic- 
 ulous sclerosis, these ills of old age — it is only 
 now that they begin to seem terrible to Me, but, 
 can I not get used to them and even grow to love 
 them? Every one says it is easy to get used to 
 life. "Well, I, too, will try to get used to it. Every- 
 thing here is so well ordered that after rain comes 
 sunshine and dries him who is wet, if he has not 
 been in too great a hurry to die. Everything here 
 is so well ordered that there is not a single dis- 
 ease for which there is no cure. This is so good ! 
 One may be ill all the time, provided there is a 
 drug store nearby! 
 
 At any rate, I have my little door, my secret 
 exit, my narrow, wet, dark corridor, beyond which 
 are the stars and all the breadth of my illimitable 
 space ! My friend, I want to be frank with you : 
 there is a certain characteristic of insubordina- 
 tion in me, and it is that I fear. What is a cough 
 or a catarrh of the stomach? But it is possible 
 that I may suddenly refuse to cough, for no rea- 
 son at all, or for some trivial cause, and run off 1 
 I like you at this moment. I am quite ready to 
 conclude a long and fast alliance with you, but 
 sometJivng may suddenly gleam across your dear 
 
 136 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 face which. . . . no, it is quite impossible to do 
 without a little secret door for him who is so 
 capricious and insubordinate! Unfortunately, I 
 am proud, too, — an old and well known vice of 
 Satan ! Like a fish struck in the head, I am dazed 
 by my human existence. A fatal unconsciousness 
 is driving me into your life, but of one thing I am 
 quite certsiin : I am of the race of the free. I am 
 of the tribe of the rulers. I come from those who 
 transform their will into laws. Conquered kings 
 are taken into captivity but conquered kings never 
 become slaves. And when I shall perceive, above 
 my head, the whip of a dirty guard and my fet- 
 tered hands are helpless to avert the blow . . . 
 weU: shall I remain living with welts upon my 
 back? Shall I bargain with my judges about an- 
 other blow of the whip? Shall I kiss the hand of 
 the executioner? Or shall I send to the druggist 
 for an eye lotion? 
 
 No, let not Magnus misjudge me for a little 
 slip in our agreement : I will live only as long as I 
 want to live. All the blessings of the human exist- 
 ence, which he offered me on that night, when 
 Satan was tempted by man, will not strike the 
 weapon from my hand: in it alone is the assur- 
 ance of my liberty! Oh, man, what are all your 
 kingdoms and dukedoms, your knowledge and 
 your nobility, your gold and your freedom be- 
 
 137 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 side this little, free movement of the finger which, 
 in a moment carries you up to the Throne of 
 Thrones I ... "^ 
 
 Maria! 
 
 Yes, I am afraid of her. The look in her eye 
 is so clear and commanding, the light of her love 
 is so mighty, enchanting and heautiful that I ain 
 all atremhle and everything in me is quivering 
 and urging me to immediate flight. "With hitherto 
 unknown happiness, with veiled promises, with 
 sin^ng dreams she tempts Me! Shall I cry: 
 Away ! — or shall I bend mine to her will and fol- 
 low her? 
 
 Where? I do not know. Or are there other 
 worlds beside those I know or have forgotten? 
 Whence comes this motionless light behind my 
 back? It is growing ever broader and brighter. 
 Its warm touch heats my soul, so that its Polar 
 ice crumbles and melts. But I am afraid to look 
 back. I may see Sodom on fire and if I look I 
 may turn into stone. Or is it a new Sun, which I 
 have not yet seen upon this earth that is rising 
 behind my back, and I, like a fool, am fleeing from 
 it and baring my back instead of my breast to it, 
 the low, dumb neck of a frightened animal, in- 
 stead of my lofty brow? 
 
 Maria! Will you give me my revolver? I paid 
 ten dollars for it, together with the holster. To 
 
 138 
 
Sai(x:%'s Diary 
 
 you I will not give it for a kingdom ! Only do not 
 look at Me, oh, Queen . . . otherwise, otherwise 
 I will give you everything : the revolver and the 
 holster and Satan himself ! 
 
 March 26. 
 Eome, Palazzo Orsini. 
 
 It isi the fifth night that I do not sleep.' When 
 the last light is turned out in my silent palazzo, 
 I quietly descend the stairs, quietly order a ma- 
 chine — somehow or other even the noise of my 
 own steps and voice disturb me, and I go for the 
 night into the Campagna. There, leaving the au- 
 tomobile on the road, I wander about until day- 
 break or sit immovable upon some dark ruins. I 
 cannot be seen at all and the rare passersby, per- 
 haps some peasants from Albano, converse quite 
 loudly and without restraint. I like to remain 
 unseen. It reminds me of something I have for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Once, as I sat down on a stone, I disturbed a 
 lizzard. It may have been that it lightly moved 
 the grass beneath my feet and disappeared. Per- 
 haps it was a snake? I do not know. But I 
 wanted desperately to become a lizzard or a snake, 
 concealed beneath a stone: I am troubled by my 
 large stature, by the size of my feet and arms: 
 They make it very difficult to become invisible. I 
 
 139 
 
Satan's Biary 
 
 likewise refrain from looking at my face in the 
 mirror : it is painful to tHnk I have a face, which 
 all can see. Why did I fear darkness so much at 
 the beginning? It is so easy to conceal oneself 
 in it. Apparently all animals experience such 
 subtle shame, fear and worriment and seek seclu- 
 sion when they are changing their ^kin or hide. 
 
 So, I am changing my skin? Ah, it is the same, 
 worthless prattle! The whole trouble is that I 
 have failed to escape Maria's gaze and am, ap- 
 parently preparing to close the last door, the 
 door I guarded so well. But I am ashamed! I 
 swear by eternal salvation, I feel ashamed, like a 
 girl before the altar. I am almost blushing. 
 Blushing Satan . . . no, quiet, quiet: he is not 
 here! Quiet! . . . 
 
 Magnus told her everything. She did not reit- 
 erate that she loves Me but looked at me and said : 
 
 "Promise me, you wiU not kill yourself." 
 
 The rest was in her gaze. You remember how 
 bright it is? But do not think that I hastily 
 agreed. Like a salamander in the fire, I quickly 
 changed colors. I shall not repeat to you all the 
 flaming phrases I uttered : I have forgotten them. 
 But you remember how bright and serene Maria's 
 gaze is? I kissed her hand and said'humbly: 
 
 "Madam! I do not ask you for forty days and 
 a desert for contemplation : the desert I will find 
 
 140 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 myself and a week is quite enough for me to think 
 the matter over. But do give me a week and . . . 
 please, don't look at me any more . . . other- 
 wise ... 
 
 No, that wasn't what I said. I said it in other 
 words, but it's all the same. I am now changing 
 my skin. It hurts me. I am frightened and 
 ashamed because any crow might see me and come 
 to pick my flesh. What use is there in the fact 
 that there is a revolver in my pocket? It is only 
 when you learn to hit yourself that you can hit 
 a crow : crows know that and consequently do not 
 fear tragically bulging pockets. 
 
 Having become human and descended from 
 above I have become but half a man. I entered 
 upon this human existence as if into a strange 
 element, but I have not lost myself in it entirely : 
 I still cling with one hand to my Heaven and my 
 eyes are still above the surface. But she com- 
 mands me to accept man in his entirety : only he 
 is a mam, who has said: never shall I kill myself, 
 never shall I leave life of my own free will. And 
 what about the whip ? These cursed cuts upon my 
 back? Pride? 
 
 Oh, Maria, Maria, how terribly you tempt Me I 
 
 I look into the past of this earth and serious 
 myriads of tragic shadows floating slowly over 
 climes and ages ! Their hands stretch hopelessly 
 
 141 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 into space, their bony ribs tear through the lean, 
 thin skin, their eyes are filled with tears, and their 
 sighs have dried np their throats. I see blood and 
 madness, violence and falsehood, I hear their 
 oaths, which they constantly betray, their prayers 
 to Grod, in which, with every word of mercy and 
 forgiveness, they curse their own earth. Wher- 
 ever I look, I see the earth smoking in convulsion ; 
 no matter in which direction I strain my ear, I 
 hear everywhere unceasing moans: or is the 
 womb of the earth itself filled with moaning? I 
 see a myriad cups about me, but no matter which 
 of them my lips may touch, I find it filled with 
 rust and vinegar: or has man no other drink? 
 And this is mcmF 
 
 I knew theim before. I have seen them before. 
 But I looked upon them as Augustus did from his 
 box upon the galaxy of his victims: Ave, Caesar! 
 These who are about to die salute you. And I 
 looked upon them with the eyes of an eagle and 
 my wise, belaureled head did not disdain to take 
 notice of their groaning cries even with so much 
 as a nod: they came and disappeared, they 
 marched on in endless procession — and endless 
 was the indifference of my Caesar-like gaze. And 
 now ... is it really I who walks on so hastily, 
 playing with the sand of the arena? And am I 
 this dirty, emaciated, hungry slave who lifts his 
 
 142 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 convict face into the air, yelling hoarsely into the 
 indifferent eyes of Fate : 
 
 "Ave, Caesar! Ave, Caesar!" 
 
 I feel a sharp whip upon my back and with a 
 cry of pain I fall to the ground. Is it some Master 
 who is beating me? No, it is another slave, who 
 has been ordered to whip a slave : very soon his 
 knout will be in my hand emd his back will be cov- 
 ered with blood and he will be chewing the sand, 
 the sand which now grates between my teeth> 
 
 Oh, Maria, Maria, how terribly you tempt Me ! 
 
 143 
 
m 
 
 March 29 
 Eome. 
 
 BUT the blackest paint available, take the 
 largest brush you can find and, with a 
 broad line, divide my life into Yesterday 
 and To-day. Take the staff of Moses and divide 
 the stream of Time and dry it up clear down to 
 its bed — ^then only will you sense my To-day. 
 
 Ave, Gcesar, moriturus te salutat! 
 
 April 2, Rome. 
 Pallazzo Orsini. 
 I do not want to lie. There is not yet ia me, 
 oh man, any love for you, and if you have has- 
 tened to open your arms to me, please close 
 them: the time has not yet come for passion- 
 ate embraces. Later, at some other date, we shall 
 embrace, but meanwhile, let us be cold and re- 
 strained, like two gentlemen in misfortune. I can- 
 not say that my respect for you has grown to any 
 extent, although your life and your fate have be- 
 
 144 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 come my life and my fate : let the facts suffice that 
 I have voluntarily placed my neck beneath the 
 yoke and that one and the same whip are fur-r 
 rowing our backsi. 
 
 Yes, that is quite sufficient for the present. You 
 have observed that I no longer use a super-capital 
 in writing the word "I"? — ^I have thrown it out 
 together with the revolver. This is a sign of sub- 
 mission and equality. You understand? Like a 
 kiag, I have taken the oath of allegiance to your 
 constitution. But I shall not, like a king, betray 
 this vow : I have preserved from my former life a 
 respect for contracts. I swear I will be true to 
 your comrades-at-hard-labor and will not make 
 any attempt to escape alone ! 
 
 For the last few nights, before I took this de- 
 cision, I thought much upon our life. It is 
 wretched. Don't you think so? It is difficult and 
 humiliating to be this little thing called man, the 
 cunning and avaricious little worm that crawls, 
 hastily multiplies itself and lies, turning away its 
 head from the final blow — the worm that no mat- 
 ter how much it lies, will perish just the same at 
 the appointed hour. But I will be a worm. Let 
 me, too, beget children, let the unthinking foot 
 also crush my unthinking head at the appointed 
 hour — I meekly accept all consequences. "We are 
 both of us humiliated, comrade, and in this alone 
 
 145 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 there is some consolation: you will listen to my 
 complaints and I — ^to yours. And if the matter 
 should ultimately reach the state of litigation, 
 why the witnesses will all be ready ! That is weU : 
 When one kills in the public square there are al- 
 ways eyewitnesses. 
 
 I will lie, if necessary. I will not lie in that free 
 play of lying with which even prophets lie, but 
 in that enforced manner of lying employed by the 
 rabbit, which compels him to hide his ears, to be 
 gray in summer and white in winter. What can 
 one do when behind every tree a hunter with a 
 rifle is concealed! This lying may appear to be 
 ignoble from one point of view and may well call 
 forth condemnation upon us, but you and I must 
 live, my friend. Let hi/stam,ders accuse us to 
 their heart's content, but, when necessary, we will 
 lie like wolves, too ! we will spring forward, sud- 
 denly, and seize the enemy by the throat : one must 
 live, brother, one must live, and are we to be held 
 responsible for the fact that there is such great 
 lure and such fine taste in blood! In reality 
 neither you nor I are proud of our lying, of our 
 cowardice or of our cruelty, and our bloodthirsti- 
 ness is certainly not a matter of conviction. 
 
 But however hideous our life may be, it is still 
 more miserable. Do you agree with that? I do 
 not love you yet, oh man, but on these nights I 
 
 146 
 
Satan's t>iary 
 
 have been more thaii once on the verge of tears 
 when I thought ^f your suffering, of your tor- 
 tured body, and of your soul, relinquished to eter- 
 nal Qrucifixion. It is well for a wolf to be a wolf. 
 It is Well for a rabbit to be a rabbit. But you, 
 m£iu, contain both God and Satan — and, oh, how 
 terrible is the imprisonment of both in that nar- 
 row and dark cell of yours ! Can God be a wolf, 
 tearing throats and drinking blood! Can Satan 
 be a rabbit, hiding his ears behind his humped 
 back ! No, that is intolerable. I agree with you. 
 That fiUs life with eternal confusion and pain and 
 the sorrow of the soul becomes boundless. 
 
 Think of it: of three children that you beget, 
 one becomes a murderer, the other the victim aild 
 the third, the judge and executioner. And each 
 day the murderers are murdered and still they 
 continue to be born; and each day the murderers 
 kill conscience and conscience kills the murderers. 
 And all are alive: the murderers and conscience. 
 Oh, what a fog we live in ! Give heed to all the 
 words spoken by man from the day of his birth 
 and you will think: this is God! Look at all the 
 deeds of man from his very first day and you will 
 excl^m in disgust: this is a beast! Thus does 
 man struggle with himself for thousands of years 
 and the sorrow of his soul is boundless and the 
 suffering of his mind is terrible and horrible, 
 
 147 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 while the final judge is slow about his coming, . . . 
 But he wUl never come. I say this to you : we are 
 forever alone with our Hfe. 
 
 But I accept this, too. Not yet has the earfli 
 endowed me with my name and I know not who 1 
 am: Cain or Abel? But I accept the sacrifice as 
 I do murder. I am everywhere with you and ev- 
 erywhere I follow you, Man. Let us weep to- 
 gether in the desert, knowing that no one wiU 
 give heed to us ... or perhaps some one will? 
 You see : you and I are beginning to have faith in 
 some one's Ear and soon I wiU begin to believe 
 in a triangular Eye ... it is really impossible 
 that such a concert should have no hearer, that 
 such a spectacle should be wasted on the desert 
 air! 
 
 I think of the fact that no one has yet beaten me, 
 and I am afraid. What will become of my soul 
 when some one's grubby hand strikes me on the 
 face. . . . What will become of me ! For I know 
 that no earthly revenge could return my face to 
 me. And what will then become of my soul? 
 
 I swear I will become reconciled even to this. 
 Everywhere with you and after you, man. What 
 is my face when you struck the face of your own 
 Christ and spat into his eyes? Everywhere with 
 you! And if necessary, I myself will strike at 
 ChrJst with the hand with which I now write: I 
 
 148 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 go with you to all ends, man. They beat us and 
 they will continue to beat us. We beat Christ and 
 will still beat him. . . . Ah, bitter is our life, al- 
 most unbearable! 
 
 Only a while ago, I rejected your embraces. I 
 said they were premature. But now I say : let us 
 embrace more firmly, brother, let us cling closely 
 to each other — ^it is so painful, so terrible to be 
 alone in this life when all exits from it are closed. 
 And I know not yet wherein there is more pride 
 and liberty : in going away voluntarily, whenever 
 one wishes, or in accepting, without resistance, the 
 hand of the executioner? In calmly placing 
 one's hands upon his breast, putting one foot for- 
 ward and, with head proudly bent backward, to 
 wait calmly: 
 
 "Do thy duty, executioner!" 
 
 Or: 
 
 "Soldiers, here's my breast: fire!" 
 
 There is something plastic in this! pose and it 
 pleases me. But still more am I pleased with the 
 fact that once again my greater Ego is rising with- 
 in me at the striking of this pose. Of course, the 
 executioner wiU not fail to do his duty and the 
 soldiers will not lower their rifles, but the import- 
 ant thing is the line, the m,omewt, when before 
 my very death itself I shall suddenly find my- 
 self immortal and broader than life itself. It is 
 
 149 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 strange, but with one turn of the head, with one 
 phrase, expressed or conceived at the proper mo- 
 ment, I could, so to speak, halt the function of 
 my very spirit and the entire operation would be 
 performed outside of me. And when death shall 
 have finally performed its role of redeemer, its 
 darkness would not eclipse the light, for the latter 
 will have first separated itself from me and scat- 
 tered into space, in order to reassemble some- 
 where and blaze forth again . . . but where? 
 
 Strange, strange. ... I sought to escape from 
 men — and found myself at that wall of Uncon- 
 sciousness known only to Satan ! How important, 
 indeed, is the pose! I must make note of that. 
 But will the pose be as convincing and will it not 
 lose in plasticity if instead of death, the execu- 
 tioner and the firing squad I should be compelled 
 to say something else . . . well, something like : 
 
 "Here's my face: strike!" 
 
 I do not know why I am so concerned about my 
 face, but it does concern me greatly. I confess, 
 man, that it worries me very much indeed. No, a 
 mere trifle. I will simply subdue my spirit. Let 
 them beat me! "When the spirit is crushed the 
 operation is no more painful or humiliating than 
 it would be if I were to beat my overcoat on its 
 hanger. . . . 
 
 . . . But I have forgotten that I am not alone 
 ^ 150 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and being in your company have fallen into im- 
 polite meditation. For a half hour I have been 
 silent over this sheet of paper and it seemed all 
 the time as if I had been talking and quite excit- 
 edly ! I forgot that it is not enough to think, that 
 one must also speak! What a shame it is, man, 
 that for the exchange of thoughts we must resort 
 to the service of such a poor and stealthy broker 
 as the word — he steals all that is precious and de- 
 files the best thoughts with the chatter of the mar- 
 ket place. In truth, this pains me much more than 
 death or the beating. 
 
 I am terrified by the necessity of silence when I 
 come upon the extraordinary, which his inexpres- 
 sible. Like a rivulet I run and advance only as 
 far as the ocean : in the depths of the latter is the 
 end of my murmuring. Within me, however, mo- 
 tionless and omnipresent, rocking to and fro, is 
 the ocean. It only hurls noise and surf upon the 
 earth, but its depths are dumb and motionless 
 and quite without any purpose are the ships sail- 
 ing on its surface. How shall I describe it? 
 
 Before I resolved to enroll myself as an earthly 
 slave I did not speak to Maria or to Magnus. . . . 
 Why sht»uld I speak to Maria when her beckoning 
 is clear, like her gaze? But having become a 
 slave I went to Magnus to complain and to seek 
 advice — apparently the human begins thus. 
 
 151 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Magnus heard me in silence and, as it seemed 
 to me, with, some inner excitement. He works day 
 and night, virtually knowing no rest, and the com- 
 plicated business of the liquidation of my prop- 
 erty is moving forward as rapidly in his hands as 
 if he had been engaged in such work all his life. 
 I like his heroic gestures and his contempt for de- 
 tails : when he cannot unravel a situation he hurls 
 millions out of the window with the grace of a 
 grandee. But he is weary and his eyes seem 
 larger and darker on the background of his dim 
 face. Only now have I learned from Maria that 
 he is tortured by frequent headaches. 
 
 My complaints against life, I fear, have failed 
 to arouse any particular sympathy on his part: 
 No matter what the accusations I brought against 
 man and the life he leads, Magnus would reply 
 impatiently : 
 
 "Yes, yes, Wondergood. That is what being a 
 man means. Tour misfortune is that you discov- 
 ered this rather late and are now quite unneces- 
 sarily aroused. When you shall have experiemced 
 at least a part of that which now terrifies you, you 
 will speak in quite a different tone. However, I 
 am glad that you have dropped your indiference: 
 you have become, much more nervous and ener- 
 getic. But whence comes this immeasurable ter- 
 
 152 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 TOT in yoxir eyes? Collect yourself, Wonder- 
 good!" 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 ' ' Thank you. I am quite collected. Apparently 
 it is the slave, in expectation of the whip, who 
 peers at you from within my eye. Have patience, 
 Magnus. I am not quite acclimated to the situa- 
 tion. Tell me, shall I or shall I not be compelled 
 to commit . . . murder?" 
 
 "Quite possibly." 
 
 "And can you tell me how this happens?" 
 
 Both of us looked simultaneously at his white 
 hands and Magnus replied somewhat ironically: 
 
 "No, I will not teU you that. But if you wish 
 I wiU teU you something else : I will tell you what 
 it means to accept man to the very end — ^it is this 
 that is really worrying you, is it not?" 
 
 And with much coolaess and a sort of secret 
 impatience, as if another thought were devouring 
 his attention, he told me briefly of a certain un- 
 willing and terrible murderer. I do not know 
 whether he was telling me a fact or a dark tale 
 created for my personal benefit, but this was the 
 story: It happened long ago., A certain Russian, 
 a political exile, a man of wide education yet 
 deeply religious, as often happens in Russia, es- 
 caped from, katorga, and after long and painful 
 wandering over the Siberian forests, he found 
 
 153 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 refuge with, some non-conformist sectarians. 
 Huge, wooden, fresli huts in a thick forest, sur- 
 rounded by tall fences; great bearded people, 
 large ugly dogs — something on that order. And 
 in his very presence, soon after his arrival, there 
 was to be performed a monstrous crime: these 
 insane mystics, under the influence of some wild 
 religious fanaticism, were to sacrifice an innocent 
 lamb, i.e., upon a home-made altar, to the accom- 
 paniment of hymns, they were to kiU a child. 
 Magnus did not relate all the painful details, lim- 
 iting himself solely to the fact that it was a seven 
 year old boy, in a new shirt, and that his young 
 mother witnessed the ceremony. All the reason- 
 able arguments, all the objections of the exile 
 that they were about to perform a great sacrilege, 
 that not tbe mercy of the Lord awaited them but 
 the terrible tortures of hell, proved powerless to 
 overcome the fierce and dull stubbornness of the 
 fanatics. He fell upon his knees, begged, wept 
 and tried to seize the knife — at that moment the 
 victim, stripped, was already on the table while 
 the mother was trying desperately to control her 
 tears and cries — ^but he only succeeded in rousing 
 the mad anger of the fanatics : they threatened to 
 kill him, too. . . . 
 
 Magnus looked at me and said slowly with a 
 peculiar calm: 
 
 154 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "And how would you have acted in that case, 
 Mr. "Wondergood?" 
 
 "Well, I would have fought until I was killed?" 
 "Yes! He did better. He offered his services 
 and with his own hand, with appropriate song, 
 he cut the boy's throat. You are astonished? But 
 he said: 'Better for me to take this terrible sin 
 and punishment upon myself than to surrender 
 into the arms of hell these innocent fools.' Of 
 course, such things happen only with Eussians 
 and, it seems to me, he himself was somewhat de- 
 ranged. He died eventually in an insane asy- 
 lum." 
 Following a period of silence, I asked : 
 "And how would you have acted, Magnus?" 
 And with still greater coolness, he replied : 
 "Eeally, I do not know. It would have de- 
 pended on the moment. It is quite possible I 
 would have left those beasts, but it is also pos- 
 sible that I too . . . human madness is ex- 
 tremely contagious, Mr. Wondergood 1" 
 "Do you call it only madness?" 
 "I said: human madness. But it is you who are 
 concerned in this, Wondergood: how do you like 
 it? I am off to work. In the meantime, devote 
 yourself to discerning the homidary of the human, 
 which you are now willing to accept in its entirety, 
 
 155 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and then idl me about it. You liave not changed 
 your intention, I hope, of remaining with us?" 
 
 He laughed and went away, patronizingly po- 
 lite. And I remained to thijik. And so I thiak: 
 where is the boundary? 
 
 I confess that I have begun to fear Magnus 
 somewhat ... or is this fear one of the gifts of 
 my complete human existence? But when he 
 speaks to me in this fashion I become animated 
 with a strange confusion, my eyes move timidly, 
 my will is bent, as if too great and strange a load 
 had been put upon it. Think, man : I shake his big 
 hand with reverence and find joy in his caress! 
 This is not true of me before, but now, in every 
 conversation, I -perceive that this man can go 
 further than I in everything. 
 
 I fear I hate him. If I have not yet experienced 
 love, I know not hatred either, and it will be 
 strange indeed if I should be compelled to begin 
 by hating the father of Maria ! ... In what a fog 
 we do live, man ! I have just merely mentioned 
 the name of Maria, her clear gaze has only touched 
 my soul and already my hatred of Magnus is ex- 
 tinguished (or did I only conjure it up?) and 
 extinguished also is my fear of man and life (or 
 did I merely invent it?) and great joy, great peace 
 has descended upon me. 
 
 It is as if I were again a white schooner on th© 
 156 
 
Satan's Dpary 
 
 glassy ocean; as if I held all answers m my hand 
 and were merely too lazy to open it and read there- 
 in, as if immortality had returned to me . . . ah, 
 I can speak no more, oh, man I Let me press your 
 hand? 
 
 April 6, 1914. 
 
 The good Toppi approves all my actions. He 
 amuses me greatly, this good Toppi. As I 
 expected, he has completely forgotten his true 
 origin: he regards aU my reminders of our 
 past as jests. Sometimes he laughs but more of- 
 ten he frowns as if he were hurt, for he is re- 
 ligious and considers it an insult to be compared 
 with a "horny" devil, even in jest: he himself is 
 now convinced that devils have horns. His Amer- 
 icanism, at first pale and weak, like a pencil 
 sketch, has now become filled with color, and I, 
 myself, am ready to believe all the nonsense given 
 out by Toppi as his life — ^it is so sincere and con- 
 vincing. According to Iwm, he has been in my 
 service about fifteen years and particularly amus- 
 ing it is to hear his stories of his youth. 
 
 Apparently he, too, has been touched by the 
 charms of Maria : my decision to surrender all my 
 money to her father astonished him much less 
 than I expected. He merely chewed his cigar for 
 a moment and asked : 
 
 157 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "And what will lie do with your money?" 
 
 "I do not know, Toppi." 
 
 He raised his brow and frowned : 
 
 "Ton. are joking, Mr. Wondergood?" 
 
 "You see, Toppi: just now we, i.e., Magnus is 
 occupied in converting my. estate into gold and 
 jamming it into banks, in his name, of course. 
 You understand?" 
 
 "How can I fail to understand, Mr. Wonder- 
 good?" 
 
 "These are all preliminary, essential steps. 
 What may happen further ... I do not know 
 yet." ( 
 
 "Oh, you are jesting again?" 
 
 "You must remember, old man, that I myself 
 did not know what to do with my money. It is 
 not money that I need but new activity. You un- 
 derstand? But Magnus knows. I do not know 
 yet what his plans are but it is what Magnus said 
 that is important to me: 'I will compel you to 
 work, Wondergood ! ' Oh, Magnus is a great man. 
 You will see that for yourself, Toppi!" 
 
 Toppi frowned again and replied: 
 
 "You are master of your money, Mr. Wonder- 
 good. ' ' 
 
 "Ah, you have forgotten everything, Toppi! 
 Don't you remember about that ploAff That I 
 wanted to play?" 
 
 158 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 "Yes, you did say something about it. But I 
 thought you were joking. ' ' 
 
 "No, I was not joking. I was only mistaken. 
 They do play here but this is not a theater. It is 
 a gambling house and so I gave all my money to 
 Magnus: let him break the bank. You under- 
 stand? He is the banker, he will manage the 
 game and I shall simply do the betting. . . . Quite 
 a life, eh?" 
 
 Apparently the old fool understood nothing. 
 He kept raising and lowering his eyebrows and 
 again inquired: 
 
 "And how soon may we expect your betrotbal 
 to Signorina Maria?" 
 
 "I do not know yet, Toppi. But that is not the 
 thing. I see you are dissatisfied. You do not 
 trust Magnus?" 
 
 "Oh, Signer Magnus is a worthy man. But one 
 thing I do fear, Mr. "Wondergood, if you will per- 
 mit me to be frank : he is a man who does not be- 
 lieve. This seems strange to me: how can the 
 father of Signorina Maria be a non-believer? Is 
 that not so ? Permit me to ask : do you intend to 
 give anything to his Eminence?" 
 
 "That depends now on Magnus." 
 
 "Oh! On Signer Magnus? So, so. And do 
 you know that His Eminence has already been to 
 see Signer Magnus ? He was here a few days ago 
 
 159 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and spent several hours in this study. You were 
 not at home at that time." 
 
 ' * No, I do not know. "We have not spoken about 
 that, but have no fear: we will find somethmg for 
 the cardinal. Confess, old man : you are quite en- 
 chanted with that, old monkey?" 
 
 Toppi glanced at me sharply and sighed. Then 
 he lapsed into thought . . . and strange as it may 
 seem — something akin to a monkey appeared in 
 his countenance, as in the cardinal's. Later, from 
 somewhere deep within him, there appeared a 
 smile. It illumined his hanging nose, rose to his 
 eyes and blazed forth within them in two bright, 
 little flames, not devoid of wanton malice. I 
 looked at him in astonishment and even with joy: 
 yes that was my old Toppi, risen from his human 
 grave. ... I am convinced that his hair again 
 has the smell of fur instead of oil! Gently I 
 kissed his brow — old habits cannot be rooted out 
 — and exclaimed: 
 
 "You are enchanting, Toppi! But what was it 
 that gave you such joy!" 
 
 "I waited to see whether he would show Maria 
 to the cardinal?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "He did not!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 But Toppi remained silent. And as it had 
 160 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 come so did the smile disappear, slowly: at first 
 tlie' hanging nose grew pale and became quite in- 
 distinct, then all at once the flames within his 
 eyes went out — and again the old dejection, sour- 
 ness and odor of church hypocrisy buried him who 
 had been resurrected for a moment. It would 
 have been useless to trouble the ashes with fxir- 
 ther questions. 
 
 This happened yesterday. A warm rain fell 
 during the day but it cleared up towards evening 
 and Magnus, weaiy and apparently suffering with 
 headache, suggested that we take a ride into the 
 Campagna. We left our chauffeur behind, a prac- 
 tice peculiar to all our intimate trips. His du- 
 ties were performed by Magnus, with extraordin- 
 ary skill and daring. On this occasion, his usual 
 daring reached the point of audacity : despite the 
 ever-thickening twilight and the muddy road, 
 Magnus drove the automobile at such mad speed 
 that more than once did I look up at his broad, 
 motionless back. But that was only at first: the 
 presence of Maria, whom I supported with my 
 arm (I do not dare say embraced!) soon brought 
 me to the loss of all my senses. I cannot describe 
 it all to you — ^so that you would really feel it — the 
 aromatic air of the Campagna, which caressed my 
 face, the magnificence and charm of our arrow- 
 like speed, my virtual loss of all sensation of ma- 
 
 161 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 terial weight, of the complete disappearance of 
 body, when I felt myself a speeding thought, a 
 flying gaze. . . . 
 
 But still less can I tell you of Maria. Her Ma- 
 donna gaze whitened in the twUight, like marble ; 
 like the mysterious silence and perfect beauty of 
 marble was her gentle, sweet and wise silence. I 
 barely touched her slender, supple figure, but if I 
 had been embracing within the hollow of my hand 
 the entire firmness of earth and sky I could not 
 have felt a more complete mastery of the whole 
 world! Do you know what a line is in measure- 
 ment? Not much, — is that not so? And it was 
 only by the measure of a line that Maria bent her 
 divine form to me — ^no, no more than that! But 
 what would you say, man, if the sim, coming down 
 from its course just one line were to come closer 
 to you by that distance? "Would you not consider 
 it a miraclef 
 
 My existence seemed unbounded, like the uni- 
 verse, which knows neither your time nor dis- 
 tance. For a moment there gleamed before me 
 the wall of my unconsciousness, that unconquer- 
 able barrier against which the spirit of him who 
 has donned the human form beats in vain, — and 
 as quickly did it disappear: it was swallowed, 
 without sound or conflict, by the waves of my new 
 sea. Even higher they ros^, enshrouding the 
 
 162 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "vfrorld. There was no longer anything to remem- 
 ber for me or to know: my new human soul re- 
 membered all and commanded all. I am a man! 
 
 "What gave me the idea that I hate Magnus? I 
 looked at this motionless, erect and firm hitman 
 back and thought that behind it a heart was beat- 
 ing. I thought of how painful and terrible it was 
 for it to remain firm and erect and of how much 
 pain and suffering had already fallen to the lot of 
 this human creature, no matter how proud it 
 might appear or dejected. And suddenly I real- 
 ized to the extent of pain and tears, how much I 
 loved Magrius, this very same Magnus! He 
 ispeeds so wildly and has no fear! And the very 
 moment I sensed this, Maria's eyes turned upon 
 me. . . . Ah, they are as bright at night as they 
 are by day! But at that moment there was a 
 troubled look within them. They were asking: 
 Why these tears ? 
 
 What could I say in reply with the aid of weak 
 words! I silently took Maria's hand and pressed 
 it to my lips. And without taking her gaze off 
 me, shining in cold, marble luster, she quietly 
 withdrew her hand — and I became confused — and 
 again gave it to me, taking off her glove. Will 
 you permit me to discontinue, man? I do not 
 know who you are, you who are reading these 
 lines, and I rather fear you . . . your swift and 
 
 163 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 daring imagination. Moreover, a gentleman feels 
 ill at ease in speaking of Ms success ■with, the 
 ladies. Besides, it was time to return : on the hills 
 the lights of Tivoli were already gleaming and 
 Magnus reduced his speed. s 
 
 We were moving quite slowly on the return trip 
 and Magnus, grown merry, wiping his brow with 
 his handkerchief, now and then addressed brief 
 remarks to us. There is one thing I wiU not con- 
 ceal : her unquestionable womanliness emphasizes 
 the completeness of my transformation. As we 
 walked up the broad stairs of my palazzo, amid its 
 princely wealth and beauty, I suddenly thought: 
 
 "Wby not send all this adventure to the devil? 
 Why not simply wed and live like a prince in this 
 palace? There wiU be freedom, children, laugh- 
 ter, just earthly happiness and love." 
 
 And again I looked at Magnus. He seemed 
 strange to me : "I will take your money!" Then I 
 saw the stem gaze of my Maria — and the contra- 
 diction between her love and this plan of simple, 
 modest happiness was so great and emphatic that 
 my thought did not even require an answer. I 
 now recollect this thought accidentally as a curi- 
 osity of ' ' Toppism. ' ' Let me call it ' ' Toppism ' ' in 
 honor of my perfect Toppi. 
 
 The evening was charming. At Magnus' re- 
 quest, Maria sang. You cannot imagine the rev- 
 
 164 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 erence with which Toppi listened to her singing! 
 He dared not ntter a word to Maria, but on leav- 
 ing he shook my hand long and with particular 
 warmth. Then, similarily, he shook the hand of 
 Magnus. I also rose to retire. 
 
 "Do you intend to do some work yet, Magnus?" 
 
 "No. Don't you want to go to sleep, Wonder- 
 good? Come to my room. "We'll chat a bit. In- 
 cidentally, there is a paper for you to sign. Do 
 you want any wine?" 
 
 "Oh, with pleasure, Magnus. I love conversa- 
 tion at night." 
 
 "We drank the wine. Magnus, whistling some- 
 thing out of tune, silently walked the carpet, while 
 I, as usual, reclined in a chair. The Palazzo was 
 all silence, like a sarcophagus, and this reminded 
 me of that stirring night when Mad Mars raved 
 behind the wall. Suddenly, Magnus exclaimed 
 loudly, without hesitation : 
 
 "The affair is progressing splendidly." 
 
 "So?" 
 
 "In two weeks everything will be completed. 
 Your swollen, scattered wealth, in which one can 
 be lost as in a wood, will be transformed into a 
 clear, concise and exact sack of gold ... to be 
 more correct — into a mountain. Do you know the 
 exact estimate of your money, Wondergood?" 
 
 165 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "Oh, don't, Magnus. I don't want to know it. 
 Moreover, it's your money." 
 
 Magnus looked at me quickly and said sharply: 
 
 "No, it's yours." 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders. I did not want to 
 argue. It was so quiet and I so enjoyed watch- 
 ing this strong man silently pacing to and fro. 
 I still remembered his motionless, stem back, be- 
 hind which I could clearly see his heart. He con- 
 tinued, after a pause : 
 
 "Do you know, Wondergood, that the Cardinal 
 has been here?" 
 
 "The old monkey? Yes, I know. What did he 
 want?" 
 
 'The same thing. He wanted to see you but I 
 did not feel like taking you away from your 
 thoughts." 
 
 "Thanks. Did you drive him out?" 
 
 Magnus replied angrily: 
 
 "I am sorry to say, — ^no. Don't put on airs, 
 Wondergood: I have already told you that we 
 must be careful of him as long as we remain here. 
 But you are quite right. He is an old, shaven, 
 useless, evil, gluttonous, cowardly monkey!" 
 
 "Ah, ah.! Then why not show him the door?" 
 
 "Impossible." 
 
 "I believe you, Magnus. And what does this 
 166 
 
Satan's' Diary 
 
 king I hear about want, he who is to visit us some 
 of these days?" 
 
 "Ex-king. Probably the same thing. You 
 should receive him yourself, of course." 
 
 "But only in your presence. Otherwise I re- 
 fuse. You must understand, my friend, that from 
 that memorable night on I have been merely 
 your disciple. You find it impossible to drive out 
 the old monkey? Very well, let him remain. You 
 say we must receive some ex-king? Very well, 
 receive him. But I would rather be hanged on the 
 first lamppost than to do so without knowing your 
 reason." 
 
 "You are jesting again, Wondergood." 
 
 "No, I am quite serious, Magnus. But I swear 
 by eternal salvation that I know not what we are 
 doing or intend to do. I am not reproaching you. 
 I am not even questioning you : as I have already 
 told you, I trust you and am ready to follow your 
 directions. That you may not again reproach me 
 with levity and impracticability, I may add a little 
 business detail : Maria and her love are my host- 
 ages. Moreover, I do not yet know to what you 
 intend to'devote your energy, of whose boundless- 
 ness I am becoming more convinced each day; 
 what plans and ends your experience and mind 
 have set before you. But of one thing I have no 
 doubt : they will be huge plans, great objects. And 
 
 167 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I, too, shall always find something to do beside 
 you ... at any rate this will be much better 
 than my brainless old women and six secretaries. 
 Why do you refuse to believe in my modesty, as 
 I believe in your . . . genius. Imagine that I 
 am come from some other planet, from Mars, for 
 instance, and wish in the most serious manner pos- 
 sible, to pass through the experience of a mem. 
 ... It is all very simple, Magnus!" 
 
 Magnus frowned at me for a few moments and 
 suddenly broke into laughter: 
 
 "You certainly are a pilgrim from some other 
 planet, Wondergood! . . . And what if I should 
 devote your gold to doing evil?" 
 
 "Why? Is that so very interesting?" 
 **Hm! . . . You think that is not interesting?" 
 "Yes, and so do you. You are too big a man to 
 do little evil, just as billions constitute too much 
 nloney, while honestly as far as great evil is con- 
 cerned, I know not yet what great evil is ? Per- 
 haps it is realty great good? In my recent con- 
 templations, there . . , came to me a strange 
 thought: Who is of greater use to man — ^he who 
 hates or he who loves him? You see, Magnus, 
 how ignorant I still am of human affairs and . . . 
 how ready I am for almost anything." 
 
 Without laughter and, with what seemed to me, 
 extreme curiosity, Magnus measured me with his 
 
 168 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 (Byes, as if he were deciding the question : is this 
 a fool I see before me, or the foremost sage of 
 A m erica? Judging by his subsequent question he 
 was nearer the second opiniop. : 
 
 "So, if I have correctly understood your words, 
 you are afraid of nothing, Mr. Wondergood?" 
 
 "I think not." 
 
 "And murder . . . many murders?" 
 
 "You remember the point you made in youi» 
 story about the boy of the boundary of the hu- 
 man? In order that there may be no mistake, 
 I have moved it forward several kilometers. Will 
 that be enough?" 
 
 Something like respect arose in Magnus' eyes 
 . . . the devil take him, though, he really consid- 
 ers me a clod ! Continuing to pace the room, he 
 looked at me curiously several times, as if he were 
 trying to recall and verify my remark. Then, 
 with a quick movement, he touched my shoulders : 
 
 "You have an active mind, Wondergood. It is 
 a pity I did not come to know you before." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Just so. I am interested to know how you 
 will speak to the king: he will probably suggest 
 something very evil to you. And great evil is 
 great good. Is that not so?" 
 
 He again broke into laughter and shook his 
 head in a friendly fashion. 
 
 169 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "I don't think so. The chances are he will pro- 
 pose something very silly." 
 
 "Hm! . . . And is that not great wisdom?". 
 He laughed again but frowned suddenly and added 
 seriously: "Do not feel hurt, Wondergood. I 
 liked what you said very much and it is well you 
 do not put any questions to me at this time: I 
 could not answer them just now. But there ia 
 something I can say even now ... in general 
 terms, of course. Are you listening?" 
 
 "I am all attention." 
 
 Magnus seated himself opposite me and, tak- 
 ing a sip of wine, asked with strange seriousness : 
 
 "How do you regard explosives?" 
 
 "With great respect." - 
 
 "Yes ? That is cold praise, but, I dare say, they 
 don't deserve much more. Yet, there was a time 
 when I worshiped dynamite as I do frankness 
 . . . this scar on my brow is the result of my 
 youthful enthusiasm. Since then I have made 
 great strides in chemistry — and other things — 
 and this has cooled my zeal. The drawback of 
 every explosive, beginning with powder, is that 
 the explosion is' confined to a limited space and 
 strikes only the things near at hand : it might do 
 for war, of course, but it is quite inadequate where 
 bigger things are concerned. Besides, being a 
 thing of material limitations, dynamite or powder 
 
 170 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 demands a constantly guiding hand : in itself, it is 
 dumb, blind and deaf, like a mole. To be sure, 
 in Whitehead's mine we find an attempt to create 
 consciousness, giving the shell the power to cor- 
 rect, so to speak, certain mistakes and to maintain 
 a certain aim, but that is only a pitiful parody on 
 eyesight. ..." 
 
 "And you want your 'dynamite' to have con- 
 sciousness, will and eyes?" 
 
 "You are right. That is what I want. And 
 my new dynamite does have these attributes : will, 
 consciousness, eyes." 
 
 "And what is your aim? But this sounds . . . 
 terrible." 
 
 Magnus smiled faintly. 
 
 "Terrible? I fear your terror will turn to 
 laughter when I give you the name of my dyna- 
 mite. It is man. Have you never looked at man 
 from this point of view, Wondergood?" 
 
 "I confess, — ^no. Does dynamite, too, belong to 
 the domain of psychology? This is all very 
 ridiculous." 
 
 "Chemistry, psychology!" cried Magnus, an- 
 grily; "that is all because knowledge has been 
 subdivided into so many different subjects, just 
 as a hand with ten fingers is now a rarity. You 
 and your Toppi — all of us are explosive shells, 
 some loaded and ready, others still to be loaded. 
 
 171 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 And the crux of the matter lies, you understand, 
 in how to load the shell and, what is still more 
 important: how to explode it. You know, of 
 course, that the method of exploding various 
 preparations depends upon their respective com- 
 positions?" 
 
 I am not going to repeat here the lecture on ex- 
 plosives given me by Magnus with great zeal and 
 enthusiasm: it was the first time I had seen him 
 in such a state of excitement. Despite the ab- 
 sorbing interest of the subject, as my friends the 
 journalists would say, I heard only half the things 
 he was saying and concentrated most of my atten- 
 tion on his skull, the skull which contained such 
 wide and dangerous knowledge. Whether it was 
 due to the conviction carried in Magnus' words, 
 or to pure weariness — ^I know not which — ^this 
 round skull, blazing with the flames of his eyes, 
 gradually assumed the character of a real, ex- 
 plosive shell, of a bomb, with the fuse lit for ac- 
 tion. ... I trembled when Magnus carelessly 
 threw upon the table a heavy object resembling a 
 cake of grayish-yellow soap, and exclaimed invol- 
 untarily : 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "It looks like soap or wax. But it has the force 
 of a devil. One half of this would be enough to 
 blow St. Peter's into bits. It is a capricious 
 
 172 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Devil. You may kick it about or chop it into 
 pieces, you may burn it in your stove, it will re- 
 main ever silent: a dynamite shell may tear it 
 apart yet it will not rouse its wrath. I may throw 
 it into the street, beneath the hoofs of horses ; the 
 dogs may bite at it and children may play with 
 it — and still it remains indifferent. But I need 
 only apply a current of high pressure to it — and 
 the force of the explosion will be monstrous, lim- 
 itless. A strong but silly devil ! 
 
 "With equal carelessness, bordering almost upon 
 contempt, Magnus threw his devil back into the 
 table drawer and looked at me sternly. My eye- 
 brows twitched slightly: 
 
 "I see you know your subject to perfection, and 
 I rather like this capricious devil of yours. But 
 I would like to hear you discuss man." 
 
 Magnus laughed : 
 
 "And was it not of him I have just spoken? Is 
 not the history of this piece of soap the history of 
 your man, who can be beaten, burned, hacked to 
 bits, hurled beneath the hoofs of horses, thrown 
 to the dogs, torn into shreds — without rousing his 
 consuming wrath or even his anger? But prick 
 him with something — and the explosion will be 
 terrible . . . asyou will learn, Mr. Wondergood," 
 
 He laughed a'gain and rubbed his white hands 
 with pleasure: he scarcely remembered at that 
 
 173 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 moment that human blood was already upon them. 
 And is it really necessary for man to remember 
 that? After a pause commensurate with the re- 
 spect due to the subject, I asked : 
 
 "And do you know how to make a mem ex- 
 plode?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "And would you consider it permissible to 
 give me this information?" 
 
 "Unfortunately it is not so easy or convenient 
 because the current of high pressure would re- 
 quire too much elucidation, dear "Wondergood." 
 
 ' ' Can 't you put it briefly ? " 
 
 "Oh, briefly. "Well, it is necessary to promise 
 man some miracle." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "That is all." 
 
 "Lies once more? The old monkey?" 
 
 "Yes, lies again. But not the old monkey. It 
 is not that I have in mind. Neither crusades nor 
 immortality in heaven. This is the period of 
 other miracles and other wonders. He promised 
 resurrection to the dead. I promise resurrection 
 to the living. His followers were the dead. Mine 
 . . . ours — are the living." 
 
 "But the dead did not arise. How about the 
 living?" 
 
 "Who knows? We mmst make am, eceperini&rit. 
 174 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I cannot yet confide in you the business end of 
 the enterprise but I warn you: the experiment 
 must be conducted on a very large scale. You are 
 not afraid, Mr. Wondergood." 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders indicating nothing 
 definite. What could I answer? This gentle- 
 man carrying upon his shoulders a bomb instead 
 of a head again split me into two halves, of which 
 mem, alas, was the lesser one. As Wondergood, 
 I confess without shame, I felt cruel fear and 
 even pain : just as if the monstrous explosion had 
 already touched my bones and were now break- 
 ing them . . . ah, but where is my endless happi- 
 ness with Maria, where the boundless peace of 
 mind, where the devil is that white schooner? No, 
 as Great Immortal Curiosity, as the genius of play 
 and eternal movement, as the rapacious gaze of 
 unclosing eyes I felt — ^I confess this, too, without 
 shame — great joy, bordering upon ecstasy ! And 
 with a shiver of delight I mumbled : 
 
 "What a pity I did not know that before." 
 
 "Why a pity?" 
 
 "Oh, just so. Do not forget that I am dome 
 from another planet and am only now getting 
 acquainted with man. So what shall we do with 
 this — planet — ^Magnus? ' ' 
 
 He laughed again : 
 
 "You are a strange fellow, Wondergood I With 
 175 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 this planet? We will give it a little holiday. But 
 enough jesting. I do not like it!" He frowned 
 angrily and looked at me sternly, like an old pro- 
 fessor . . . the manner of this gentleman was 
 not distinguished by flippancy. "When it seemed 
 to him that I had grown sufficiently serious he 
 shook his head in approval and asked: "Do you 
 know, Wondergood, that the whole of Europe is 
 now in a very uneasy state?" 
 
 "War?" 
 
 "Possibly war. Everybody is secretly expect- 
 ing it. But war precedes the belief in the king- 
 dom of iniracles., You imderstand : we have lived 
 too long in simple faith in the multiplication table, 
 we are tired of the multiplication table, we are 
 filled with ennui and anxiety on this straight road 
 whose mire is lost in infinity. Just now aU of us 
 are demanding some miracle and soon the day 
 will come when we will demand the miracle im- 
 mediately 1 It is not I alone who wants cm experi- 
 ment on a large scale — ^the whole world is prepar- 
 ing it . . . ah, Wondergood, in truth, life would 
 not be worth the candle if it were not for these 
 highly interesting moments! Highly interest- 
 ing!" He greedily rubbed his hands. 
 
 "You are pleased?" 
 
 "As a chemist, I am in ecstasy. My shells are 
 already loaded, without being themselves oon- 
 
 176 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 scions of the fact, but^they -will know it well 
 enough when I apply the torch. Can you imagine 
 the sight when imf dynamite will begin to explode, 
 its consciousness, its wiU, its eyes directed straight 
 upon its goal?" 
 
 "And blood? Perhaps my reminder is out of 
 place but I remember an occasion when you spoke 
 of blood with much excitement." 
 
 Magnus fixed his long gaze upon me : sofliething 
 akin to suffering appeared in his eyes : But this 
 was not the prick of conscience or pity — ^it was 
 the emotion of a mature and wise man whose 
 thoughts had been interrupted by the foolish ques- 
 tion of a child: "Blood," he said, "what blood?" 
 
 I recalled to him his words on that occasion and 
 told him of my strange and extremly unpleasant 
 dream about the bottles, filled with blood instead 
 of wine, and so easily broken. Weary, with his 
 eyes closed, he listened to my tale and sighed 
 heavily. 
 
 "Blood!" — ^he murmured: "blood! that's non- 
 sense. I told you many trite things on that occa- 
 sion, Wondergood, and it is not worth while to 
 recall them. However, if this gives you fear, it 
 is not too late." 
 
 I replied resolutely : 
 
 "I fear nothing. As I have already said, I 
 shall follow you everywhere. It is my blood that 
 
 177 
 
 X 
 
'Satcm's Diary 
 
 is protesting — ^you understand? — ^not my con- 
 sciousness or will. Apparently I shall be the first 
 to be fooled by you : I, too, seek a miracle. Is not 
 your Maria a miracle ? I have been repeating the 
 multiplication table night and day and I have 
 grown to hate it like the bars of a prison. From 
 the point of view of your chemistry, I am quite 
 loaded and I ask but one thing: blow me up as 
 quickly as possible!" 
 
 Magnus agreed sternly: 
 
 "Very well. In about two weeks. Are you 
 satisfied?" 
 
 "Thank you. I hope that Signorina Maria will 
 then become my wife?" 
 
 Magnus laughed. 
 
 "Madonna?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't understand your smile . . . and, 
 I must say, my hope is altogether in conformity 
 with the regard I bear for your daughter, Signer 
 Magnus." 
 
 "Don't excite yourself, Wondergood. My smile 
 was not about Maria but about your faith in mir- 
 acles. You are a splendid fellow, Wondergood. 
 I am beginning to love you like a son. In two 
 weeks you will receive everything and then we 
 shall conclude a new and strong pact. Your hand, 
 comrade!" 
 
 For the first time he shook my hand in a strong, 
 , 178 
 
' ' Satan's Diary 
 
 comradely fashion. I would have kissed him if 
 there had been a simple human head instead of a 
 bomb upon his shoulders. But to touch a bomb! 
 Not even in the face of my utmost respect for 
 him! 
 
 That was the first night that I slept like one 
 slain and the stone walls of the palace did not 
 press upon me. The walls were brushed by the 
 explosive power of Magnus' speech, while the 
 roof melted away beneath the starry coverlet of 
 Maria: my soul departed into the realms of her 
 calm love and refuge. The mountain Tivoli and 
 its fires — ^that was wliat I saw as I fell into 
 slumber. 
 
 April 8, Rome. 
 Before knocking at my door, His Majesty, 
 the ex-King E. had knocked at no small number 
 of entrances in Europe. True to the example 
 of his apostolic ancestors, who believed in the 
 gold of Israel, he particularly liked to approach 
 Jewish bankers ; I believe that the honor done me 
 by his visit was based upon his firm conviction 
 that I was a Jew. Although His Majesty was 
 visiting Rome incognito, I, warned of his visit, met 
 him at the foot of the stairs and bowed low to 
 him — ^I think that is the requirement of etiquette. 
 Then, also in accordance with etiquette, we intro- 
 
 179 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 duced ourselves, he — Ms adjutant, I — Thomas 
 Magnus. 
 
 I confess I had not a very flattering opinion of 
 the former king and that is -whj he astonished me 
 all the more with his high opinion of himself. He 
 gave me his hand politely but with such haughty 
 indifference, he looked at me with such complete 
 self-confidence, as if he were gazing at a being of 
 a lower order, he walked ahead of me so naturally, 
 sat down without invitation, gazed upon the walls 
 and furniture in such frankly royal manner, that 
 my entire uneasiness due to my unfamiliarity with 
 etiquette disappeared immediately. It was only 
 necessary to follow this fellow, who appeared to 
 know everything so well. In appearance he was 
 quite a young man, :ynth fresh complexion and 
 magnificent coiffure, somewhat worn out but suf- 
 ficiently well-preserved, with colorless eyes and 
 a calm, brazenly protruding lower lip. His hands 
 were beautiful. He did not try to conceal that he 
 was bored by my American face, which appeared 
 Jewish to him, and by the necessity of asking me 
 for money : he yawned slightly after seating him- 
 self and said : 
 
 "Sit down, gentlemen." 
 
 And with a shght command of the hand he or- 
 dered the adjutant to state the nature of his pro- 
 posal. He paid no attention to Magnus at aU, and 
 
 180 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 while tlie fat, red and obliging adjutant was 
 stealtHly narrating the story of the "misunder- 
 standing" which caused the departure of His 
 Majesty from his country — His Majesty was Non- 
 chalantly examining his feet. Finally, he inter- 
 rupted his representative's speechi with the im- 
 patient remark : 
 
 "Briefer, Marquis. Mr. . . . Wondergood is 
 as well familiar with this history as we are. In 
 a word, these fools kicked me out. How do you 
 regard it, dear "Wondergood?" 
 
 "How do I regard it?" I bowed low: 
 
 "I am glad to be of service to Tour Majesty." 
 
 "Well, yes, that's what they all say. But will 
 you give me any money? Continue, Marquis." 
 
 The Marquis, smiling gently at me and Magnus 
 (despite his obesity he looked quite hungry) con- ^ 
 tinned to weave his thin flimsy web about the mis- 
 understanding, until the bored king again inter- 
 rupted him: 
 
 "You understand: these fools thought that I 
 was responsible for all their misfortunes. Wasn't 
 that silly, Mr. Wondergood? And now they are 
 worse off than ever and they write : ' Come back, 
 for God's sake. We are perishing!* Read titie 
 letters. Marquis." 
 
 At first the king spoke with a trace of excite^ 
 ment but apparently any effort soon wearied him. 
 
 181 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 The Marquis obediently took a packet of papers 
 from the portfolio and tortured us with the com- 
 plaints of the orphaned subjects, begging their 
 lord to return. I looked at the king: he was no 
 less bored than we were. It was so clear to him 
 that the people could not exist without him that 
 all confirmations of this seemed superfluous. . . . 
 And I felt so strange : whence does this miserable 
 man get so much happy confidence ? There was no 
 doubt that this bird, unable to find a crumb for 
 himself, sincerely believed in the peculiar quali- 
 ties of his personage, capable of bestowing upon 
 a whole people marvelous benefactions. Stupid- 
 ity? Training? Habit? At that moment the mar- 
 quis was reading the plea of some correspondent, 
 in which, through the web of official mediocrity 
 and the lies of swollen phrases, gleamed the very 
 same confidence and sincere call. Was that, too, 
 stupidity and habit? 
 
 "And, so forth, and so forth," interrupted the 
 king listlessly: "that will do, Marquis, you may 
 close your portfolio. Well, what you think of it, 
 /dear Mr. Wondergood?" 
 
 "I will be bold enough to say to Your Majesty 
 that I am a representative of an old, democratic 
 republic and ..." 
 
 "Stop, Wondergood! Republic, democracy! 
 That's nonsense. You know well enough yourself 
 
 182 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 that a king is a necessity. You, in America, will 
 have a king, too, some day. How can you get 
 along without a king: who will be responsible for 
 them before God? No, that's foolish." 
 
 This creature was actually getting ready to 
 answer for the people before God ! And he con- 
 tinued with the same calm audacity: 
 
 ' ' The king can do everything. And what can a 
 president do? Nothing. Do you understand, 
 W onder good— Nothing ! Why, then, do you want 
 a president who can do nothing?" — ^he deigned to 
 twist his lower lip into a sarcastic smile. — "It is 
 all nonsense, invented by the newspapers. Would 
 you, for example, take your president seriously, 
 Mr, Wondergood?" 
 
 "But representative government ..." 
 
 "Fi! Excuse me, Mr. Wondergood (he recalled 
 my name with great difficulty) but what fool will 
 pay any attention to the representatives of the 
 people ? Citizen A will pay heed to Citizen B and 
 Citizen B will pay heed to Citizen A — is that not 
 so? But who will compel their obedience if both 
 of them are wise? No, I, too, have studied logic, 
 Mr. Wondergood and you will permit me to in- 
 dulge in a laugh ! ' ' 
 
 He laughed slightly and said with his usual ges- 
 ture: 
 
 ' * Continue, Marquis . . . No, let me do it. The 
 183 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 King can do everything, Wondergood, you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "But the law ... " 
 
 "Ah, this fellow, too, speaks of law. po you 
 hear, Marquis? No, I really can't understand 
 what you want this law for ! That all may suffer 
 equitably! However, if you are so keen on hav- 
 ing law, law you shall have. But who will give it 
 toyou, if noti?" 
 
 "But the representatives of the people ..." 
 
 The king directed his colorless eyes upon me, 
 almost in despair: 
 
 ' ' Ah, again citizen A and B ! But can 't you un- 
 derstand, dear Wondergood?, What kind of a 
 law is it if they themselves make it? What wise 
 man will agree to obey it? No, that's nonsense. 
 Is it possible that you yourself obey this law, 
 Wondergood?" 
 
 "Not only I, Your Majesty, but the whole of 
 America. ..." 
 
 His eyes measured me with sympathy. 
 
 "Pardon me, but I don't believe it. The whole 
 of America! Well, in that case they simply don't 
 understand what law is — do you hear. Marquis, 
 the whole of America! But that's not the thing. 
 I must return, Wondergood. You've heard what 
 the poor devils write?" 
 
 184 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "1 am happy to see that the road is open for 
 yoTi, my lord." 
 
 "Open? You think so? Hml No, I need 
 money. Some write and others don't, you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Perhaps they don't know how to write, my 
 lord?" 
 
 "They? Oh! You should haVe seen what they 
 wrote against me. I was quite flustered. What 
 they need is the firing squad." 
 
 "All of them?" 
 
 "Why all of them? Some of them will be 
 enough. The rest of them will simply be scared 
 to death. You understand, Wondergood, they 
 have simply stolen my power from me and now, 
 of course, will simply refuse to return it. You 
 can't expect me to see to it that no one robs me. 
 And these gentlemen," — ^he indicated the blush- 
 ing Marquis — "to my sorrow did not manage to 
 guard my interests." 
 
 The Marquis mumbled confusedly : 
 
 "Sire!" 
 
 "Now, now, I know your devotion, but you were 
 asleep at the switch just the same? And now 
 there is so much trouble, so much trouble!" — ^he 
 sighed lightly. "Did not Cardinal X. tell you I 
 needed money, Mr. Wondergood? He promised 
 to. Of course I will return it all and . . . how- 
 
 185 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ever, you should take this matter up with the Mar- 
 quis. I have heard that you love people very 
 much, Mr. Wondergood?" 
 
 A faint smile flitted over the dim face of Mag- 
 nus. I bowed slightly. 
 
 ' ' The Cardinal told me so. That is very praise- 
 worthy, Mr. Wondergood. But if you do love 
 people you will certainly give me money. I don't 
 doubt that in the least. They must have a king. 
 The newspapers are merely prattling nonsense. 
 Why do they have a king in Germany, a king in 
 England, a king in Italy, and a hundred other 
 kings ? And don 't we need a king too ? " 
 
 The adjutant mumbled: 
 
 "A misunderstanding . . . " 
 
 "Of course a misunderstanding. The Marquis 
 is quite right. The newspapers call it a revolu- 
 tion, but believe me, I know my people ; it is sim- 
 ply a misunderstanding. They are now weeping 
 themselves. How can they get along without a 
 king? There would be no kings at all then. You 
 understand? What nonsense ! They now talk of 
 no God, too. No, we must do a little shooting, a 
 little shooting!" 
 
 He rose quickly and this time shook my hand 
 with a patronizing smile and bowed to Magnus. 
 
 "Good-by, good-by, my dear Wondergood. 
 You have a magnificent figure. . . . Oh, what a 
 
 186 
 
'Satan's Diaryi 
 
 splendid fellow! The Marquis will drop in to 
 see yen. one of these days. There was sqmething 
 more I wanted to say. Oh, yes: I hope that you 
 in America will have a king, too, in the near fu- 
 ture . . . that is very essential, my friend. More- 
 over, that's bound to be the end! Au revoir!" 
 
 We escorted His Majesty with the same cere- 
 mony. The Marquis followed and his bowed head, 
 divided into two halves by the part in his reddish 
 hair, and his red face bore the expression of hun- 
 ger and constant failure. . . . Ah, he has so fre- 
 quently and so fruitlessly orated about that 
 'misunderstanding'! The King, apparently, also 
 recalled at that moment his vain knocking about at 
 other thresholds: his bloodless face again filled 
 with grayish ennui and in reply to my parting 
 bow, he opened wide his eyes, as if in astonish- 
 ment, with the expression: what more does this 
 fool want? Ah, yes, he has money. And lazily 
 he asked: 
 
 "And so, you'll not forget, Mr. . . . friend!" 
 And his automobile was magnificent and just as/" 
 magnificent was the huge chauffeur, resembling a 
 gendarme, attired for the new role. When we 
 had reascended the stairs (our respectful lackeys 
 r^anwhile gazing upon me as on a royal person- 
 age) and entered our apartments, Magnus fell in- 
 to a long, ironic silence. I asked: 
 
 187 
 
. Satan's Diary 
 
 "How old is this creature?" 
 
 "Didn't you know, Wondergood? That's bad. 
 He is 32 years old. Perhaps less." 
 
 "Did the Cardinal really speak of him and ask 
 you to give him money?" 
 
 "Yes, — from what you may have left after the 
 Cardinal's wants are attended to." 
 
 "That is probably due to the fact that the 
 monarchist form of government is also in vogue 
 in heaven. Can you conceive of a republic of 
 saints and the administration of the world on the 
 basis of popular representation? Think of it: 
 even devils will then receive th6 vote. A King is 
 most necessary, Wondergood. Believe me." 
 
 * * Nonsense ! This is not worthy even of a jest. " 
 
 "I am not jesting. You are mistaken. And 
 pardon me for being so direct, my friend : in his 
 discussion about kings he was above you, this 
 time. You saw only a creature, a countenance of 
 purely material limitations and ridiculous. He 
 conceived himself to be a symbol. That is why 
 he is so calm and there is no doubt that he wiU 
 return to his beloved people." 
 
 "And will do a little shooting." 
 
 "And wiU do a little shooting. And will throw 
 a little scare into them. Ah, Wondergood,, how 
 stubborn you are in your refusal to part with the 
 multiplication table! Your republic is a simple 
 
 188 
 
Sata/n's Diary 
 
 table, while a king — do you realize it? — ^is a; 
 miracle! What can there be simpler, sillier and 
 more hopeles than a million bearded men, gov- 
 erning themselves, — and how wonderful, how 
 miraculous when this million of bearded fellows 
 are goVemed by a creature ! That is a miracle ! 
 And what possibilities it gives rise to ! It seemed 
 very funny to me when you spoke with so much 
 warmth about the law, this dream of the devil. 
 A king is necessary for the precise purpose of 
 hreakmg the law, in order that the wUl may be 
 above the law!" 
 
 "But laws change, Magnus." 
 
 "To change is only to submit to necessity and 
 to new law, which was unknown to you before. 
 Only by breaking the law do you elevate the will. 
 Prove to me that God himself is subject to his own 
 laws, i.e., to put it simply, that he cannot perform 
 miracles, and to-morrow your shaven monkey will 
 share the fate ,of loneliness and all the churches 
 will be turned into horse stables. The miracle, 
 "Wondergood, the miracle — that is what holds 
 human beings on this cursed earth 1" 
 
 Magnus emphasized these words by banging 
 the table with his fist. His face was gloomy. In 
 his dark eyes there flickered unusual excitement. 
 Speaking as if he were threatening some one, he 
 continued: 
 
 189 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "He believes in miracles and I envy him. He is 
 is insignificant, he is really what you might call a 
 crei^ature, but he believes in miracles. And he has 
 already been a king and wiU be a king again! 
 And we! . , . " 
 
 He waved his hand contemptuously and began 
 to pace the carpet like an angry captain the deck 
 of his vessel. With much respect I gazed upon 
 his heavy, explosive head and blazing eyes: for 
 the first time I realized what Satamc ambitions 
 there were concealed in this strange gentlemen. 
 "And we!" Magnus noticed my gaze and shouted 
 angrily : ' 
 
 ""WTiy do you look at me Kke that. Wonder- 
 good? It's silly! You are thinking of my ambi- 
 tion? That's foolish, Wondergood! Would not 
 yovt, a gentleman of Illinois, also like to be . . . 
 well, at least. Emperor of Russia, where the will 
 is still above the law?" 
 
 "And on what particular throne have you your 
 eye, Magnus?" I replied, no longer concealing 
 my irony. 
 
 "If you are pleased to think of me so flatter- 
 ingly, Wondergood, I will tell you that I aim, much 
 higher. Nonsense, my friend! Only bloodless 
 moralists have never dreamt of a crown, just as 
 only eunuchs have never tempted themselves with 
 the thought of woman. Nonsense ! But I do not 
 
 190 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 seek a throne — ^not even the Russian throne: it is 
 too cramping." 
 
 "But there is another throne, Signor Magnus: 
 the throne of God." 
 
 "But why only the throne of God? And have 
 you forgotten Satan's, Mr. "Wondergood?" 
 
 And this he said to Me ... or did the whole 
 street know that my throne was vacant? I bowed 
 my head respectfully and said : 
 
 "Permit me to be the first to greet you . . . 
 Your Majesty." 
 
 Magnus turned on me in wild wrath, gnashing 
 his teeth, like a dog over a contested bone. And 
 this angry atom wants to be Satan ! This handful 
 of earth, hardly enough for one whiff for the 
 Devil, is dreaming to be crowned with my crown ! 
 I bowed my head still lower and dropped my eyes : 
 I felt the gleaming flame of contempt and divine 
 laughter blazing forth within them. I realized 
 that it must not be given to my honored ward to 
 know this laughter. I do not know how long we 
 remained silent, but when our eyes met again 
 they were clear, pure and innocent, like two 
 bright rays in the shade. Magnus was the first to 
 speak : 
 
 "And so?" he said. 
 
 "And so?" I replied. 
 
 "Will you order money for the king?" 
 191 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "The money is at your disposal, my dear 
 friend." 
 
 Magnus looked at me thougMfully. 
 
 " It 's not worth while, ' ' he decided. ' ' This mir- 
 acle is old stuff. It requires too many police to 
 compel belief. We shall perform a better 
 miracle." 
 
 ' ' Oh, undoubtedly. We shall contrive a better 
 device. In two weeks?" 
 
 "Yes, about that!" replied Magnus cordially. 
 
 We shook hands warmly in parting and in about 
 two hours the gracious king sent each of us a 
 decoration : some sort of a star for me and some- 
 thing else for Magnus. I rather pitied the poor 
 idiot who continued to play his lone hand. 
 
 April 16, Eome. 
 
 Maria is somewhat indisposed and I hardly 
 see her. Magnus informed me of her illness — and 
 lied about it: for some reason he does not want 
 me to see her. Does he fear anything? 
 
 Again Cardinal X. called on him in my absence. 
 Nothing is being said to me about the "miracle." 
 
 But I am patient, — and I wait. At first this 
 was rather boresome but recently I have found a 
 new pastime and now I am quite content. It is 
 the Roman museums, where I spend my mornings, 
 like a conscientious American who has just 
 
 192 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 learned to distinguisli between a painting and a 
 piece of sculpture. But I have no Baedecker with 
 me and I am strangely happy that I don't under- 
 stand a thing about it all: marble and painting. 
 I merely like it. 
 
 I Uke the odor of the sea in the museums. Why 
 the sea? — I do not know: the sea is far away and 
 I rather expected the odor of decay. 'And it is 
 so spacious here — ^much more spacious than the 
 Campagna. In the Campagna I see only space, 
 over which run trains and automobiles. Here I 
 swim in time. There is so much time here ! Then, 
 too, I rather like the fact that here they preserve 
 with great care a chip of a marble foot or a stony 
 sole with a bit of the heel. Like an ass from Illi- 
 nois, I simply cannot understand what value there 
 is in this, but I already believe that it is valuable 
 and I am touched by your careful thrift, little 
 man! Preserve it! Go on breaking the feet of 
 live men. That is nothing. But these you must 
 preserve. It is good, indeed, when living, dying, 
 ever changing men, for the space of 2000 years, 
 take such good care of a chip of marble foot. 
 
 "When I enter the narrow museum from the 
 Roman street, where every stone is drowned in 
 the light of the April sun, its transparent and 
 even shadow seems to me a peculiar light, more 
 durable than the expensive rays of the sun. As 
 
 193 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 far as I recollect it is thus tlj^at eternity dotli shine. 
 And these marbles! They have swallowed as 
 much sunlight as an Englishman whiskey before 
 they were driven into this place that they do not 
 fear n.^ht at all. . . . And I, too, do not fear 
 the night when I am near them. Take care of 
 them, man! 
 
 If this is what you call art, what an ass you are, 
 "Wondergood. Of course, you are cultured, you 
 look upon art with reverence as upon religion and 
 you have understood as much of it as that ass 
 did on which the Messiah entered Jerusalem. And 
 what if there should be a fire? Yesterday this 
 thought troubled me all day and I went with it to 
 Magnus. But he seems extremely occupied with 
 something and could not, at first, understand what 
 I was driving at. 
 
 "What's the trouble, "Wondergood? You want 
 to insure the Vatican — or something else? Make 
 it clearer?" 
 
 "Oh! to insure!" I exclaimed in anger: "yoii 
 are a barbarian, Thomas Magnus!" 
 
 At last he understood. Smiling cordially, he 
 stretched, yawned and laid some paper before me. 
 
 "You really are a gentleman from Mars, dear 
 Wondergood. Don't contradict, and sign this 
 paper. It is the last one." 
 
 194 
 
Satan'^ Diary 
 
 ' ' I will sign, but under one condition. Your ex- 
 plosion must not touch the Vatican." 
 
 He laughed again : 
 
 "Would you be sorry? Then you had better 
 not sig^. In general, if you are sorry about any- 
 thing — about anything at all — it would be better 
 for us to part before it is too late. There is no 
 room for pity in my game and my play is not for 
 sentimental American girls." 
 
 "If you please. ... " I signed the paper and 
 threw it aside. "But it seems as if you have ear- 
 nestly entered upon the duties of Satan, dear 
 Magnus!" 
 
 "And does Satan have duties? Poor Satan! 
 Then I don't want to be Satan!" 
 
 "Neither duties nor obligations?" 
 
 "Neither duties nor obligations." 
 
 "And what then?" 
 
 He glanced at me quickly with his gleaming 
 eyes and replied with one short word, which cut 
 the air before my face: 
 
 "Will." 
 
 "And . . . the current of high pressure?" 
 
 Magnus smiled patronizingly: 
 
 "I am very glad that you remember my words 
 so well, "Wondergood. They may be of use to 
 you some day. ' * 
 
 Cursed dog. I felt so much like striking him 
 195 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 that I — bowed particularly low and politely. But 
 he restrained me with a gracious gesture, point- 
 ing to a chair : 
 
 "Where are you going, Wondergood? Sit 
 down. We have seen so little of each other of 
 late. How is your health?" 
 
 "Fine, thank you. And how is the health of 
 Signorina Maria ? ' ' 
 
 "Not particularly good. But it's a trifle. A 
 few more days of waiting and you ... So you 
 like the museums, Wondergood? There was a 
 time when I, too, gave them much time and feel- 
 ing. Yes, I remember, I remember. . . . Don't 
 you find, Wondergood, that man, in mass, is a 
 repulsive being?" 
 
 I raised my eyes in astonishment: 
 
 "I do not quite understand this change of sub- 
 ject, Magnus. On the contrary, the museums 
 have revealed to me a new and more attractive 
 side of man. ..." 
 
 He laughed. ^ 
 
 "Love for mankind? . , . Well, well, do not 
 take offense at the jest, Wondergood. You see : 
 everything that man does in crayon is wonderful 
 — ^but repulsive in painting. Take the sketch of 
 Christianity, with its sermon on the Mount, its 
 lilies and its ears of com, how marveldus it is! 
 And how ugly is its picture with its sextons, its 
 
 196 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 funeral pyres and its Cardinal X. ! A genius be- 
 gins the work and an idiot, an animal, completes it. 
 The pure and fresh wave of the ocean tide strikes 
 the dirty shore — and returns dirty, bearing back 
 with it corks and shells. The beginning of love, 
 the beginning of the Roman Empire and the great 
 revolution — ^how good are all beginnings! And 
 their end? And even if a man here and there has 
 managed to die as beautifully as he was bom, the 
 masses, the masses, Wondergood, invariably end 
 the liturgy in shamelessnessi" 
 
 "Oh, but what about the causes, Magnus?" 
 
 "The causes? Apparently we find concealed 
 here the very siihstcmce of man, of animal, evil 
 and limited in the mass, inclined to madness, eas- 
 ily inoculated with all sorts of disease and crown- 
 ing the widest possible road with a standstill. 
 And that is why Art is so much above Man ! ' ' 
 
 "I do not understand." 
 
 "What is there incomprehensible about it? In 
 art it is the genius who begins and the genius com- 
 pletes. You understand: the genius! the fool, 
 the imitator or the critic is quite powerless to 
 change or mar the paintings of Velasquez, the 
 sculpture of Angelo or the verse of Homer. He 
 can destroy, smash, break, bum or deface, but he 
 is quite powerless to bring them down to his own 
 level — and that is why he so detests real art. 
 
 197 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 You understand, Wondergood? His paw is help- 
 less!" 
 
 Magnus waved his white hand and laughed. 
 
 "But why does he guard and protect it so as- 
 siduously." 
 
 "It is not he who guards and protects. This is 
 done by a special species of faithful watchmen" 
 —Magnus laughed again: "and did you observe 
 how uncomfortable they feel in the museum?" 
 
 "Who— they?" 
 
 "Well, those who came to view the- things ! But 
 the most ridiculous phase of the whole business 
 is not that the fool is a fool but that the genius 
 unswervedly worships the fool as a neighbor and 
 fellow being and anxiously seeks his devastating 
 love. As if he were a savage himself, the genius 
 does not understand that his true neighbor is a 
 genius similar to himself and he is eternally open- 
 ing his embraces to the near — ^human . . . who 
 eagerly crawls into them in order to abstract the 
 watch from his vest pocket ! Yes, my dear Won- 
 dergood, it is a most laughable point and I 
 fear. ..." 
 
 He lapsed into thought, fixing his eyes upon the 
 floor : thus apparently do human beings gaze into 
 the depths of their own graves. And I understood 
 just what this genius feared, and once again I 
 bowed before the Satanic mind which in all the 
 
 198 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 world recognized only itself and its own will. 
 Here was a god who would not share his power 
 with Olympus! And what a contempt for man- 
 kind! And what open contempt for me! Here 
 was a grain of earth that could make the devil 
 himself sneeze! 
 
 And do you know how I concluded that evening? 
 I took my pious Toppi by the neck and threatened 
 to shoot him if he did not get drunk with me. And 
 drunk we did get ! We began in some dirty little 
 cafe and continued in some night taverns where I 
 generously filled some black-eyed bandits with 
 liquor, mandolin players and singers, who sang 
 to me of Maria : I drank like a farm hand who had 
 just arrived in the city after a year of sober labor. 
 Away with the museums! I remember that I 
 shouted much and waved my hands — ^but never 
 did I love my Maria so tenderly, so sweetly and 
 so painfully as in that smoke of drink, permeated 
 with the odor of wine, oranges and some burning 
 fat, in this wide circle of black bearded stealthy 
 faces and rapaciously gleaming eyes, amid the 
 melodious strains of mandolins which opened for 
 me the very vestibules of heaven and hell ! 
 
 I vaguely remember some very accommodating 
 but pompous murderers, whom I kissed and fpr- 
 gave in the name of Maria. I remember that I 
 proposed that all of us go to drink in the Col- 
 
 199 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 iseum, in the very place where martyrs used to 
 die but I do not know wliy we did not d6 it — ^I be- 
 lieve there were technical difficulties. And how 
 splendid Toppi was ! At first he drank long and 
 silently, like an archbishop. Then he suddenly 
 began to perform interesting feats. He put a 
 bottle of Chianti on his nose, the wine running 
 all over him. He tried to perform some tricks 
 with cards but was immediately caught by the 
 affable bandits who brilliantly repeated the same 
 trick. He walked on all fours and sang some re- 
 ligious verses through his nose. He cried and 
 suddenly announced frankly that he was a devil. - 
 
 We walked home staggering along the street, 
 bumping into walls and lampposts and hilari- 
 ously enjoying ourselves like two students. Toppi 
 tried to pick a quarrel with some policemen, but, 
 touched by their politeness, he ended by confer- 
 ring his stem blessing upon them, saying 
 gloomily : 
 
 "Gro and sin no more." 
 
 Then he confessed with tears that he was in 
 love with a certain sigaorina, that his love was 
 requited and that he must therefore resign his 
 spiritual calling. Saying this, he lay down upon a 
 stony threshold and fell into a stubborn sleep. 
 And thus I left him. 
 
 Maria, Maria, how you tempt me I Not once 
 ' 200 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 have I touched your lips. Yesterday I kissed 
 only red wine . . . but whence come these burning 
 traces on my lips? But yesterday I stood upon 
 my knees, Madonna, and covered you with flowers : 
 but yesterday I timidly laid hands upon the hem 
 of your garment, and to-day you are only a woman 
 and I want you. My hands are trembling. The 
 obstacles, the halls, the paces and the thresholds 
 separating us drive me mad. I want you I I did 
 not recognize my own eyes in the mirror: there 
 is a thick shadow upon them. I breathe heavily 
 and irregularly, and all day long my thoughts are 
 wandering lustfully about your naked breast. I 
 have forgotten everything. 
 
 In whose power am I? It bends me like soft, 
 heated iron. I am deafened, I am blinded by my 
 own heat and sparks. What do you do, man, when 
 that happens to you? Do you simply go and take 
 the woman? Do you violate her? Think: it is 
 night now and Maria is so close by. I can ap- 
 proach her room without a sound. . . . and I want 
 to hear her cries ! But suppose Magnus bars the 
 road for me ? I will kiU Magnus. 
 
 Nonsense. 
 
 No, tell me, in whose power am I? You ought 
 to know that man? To-day, just before evening, 
 as I was seeking to escape from myself and Maria, 
 I wandered about the streets,' but it was worse 
 
 201 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 there: everywhere I saw men and women, men 
 and women. As if I had never seen them before ! 
 They all appeared naked to me. I stood long at 
 Monte-Picio and tried to grasp what a sunset was 
 but could not: before me there passed by in end- 
 less procession those men and women, gazing into 
 each other's eyes. Tell me — ^what is Woman? I 
 saw one — ^very beautiful — in an automobile. The 
 sunset threw a rosy glow upon her pale face alid 
 in her ears there glistened two diamond sparks. 
 She gazed upon the sunset and the sunset gazed 
 on her, but I could not endure it : sorrow and love 
 gripped my heart, as if I were dying. There be- 
 hind her were trees, green, almost black. 
 Maria! Maria! 
 
 April 19, Isle of Oapri. 
 
 Perfect calm reigned upon the sea. From a 
 high precipice I gazed long upon a little schooner, 
 motionless in the blue expanse. Its white sails 
 were rigidly still and it seemed as happy as on 
 that memorable day. And, again, great calm de- 
 scended upon me, while the holy name of Maria 
 resounded purely and peacefully, like the Sabbath 
 bells on the distant shore. 
 
 There I lay upon the grass, my face toward 
 the sky. The good earth warmed my back, while 
 my eyes were pierced with warm light, as if I had 
 
 202 
 
S.atcm's Diary 
 
 thrust my face into the sun. Not more than three 
 paces away there lay an abyss, a steep precipice, 
 a dizzying wall, and it was delightful to imbibe 
 the odor of grass and the Spring flowers of Capri. 
 There was also the odor of Toppi, who was lying 
 beside me : when he is heated by the sun he emits 
 the smell of fur. He was all sunburned, just as if 
 he had been smeared with coal. In general, he is 
 a very amiable old Devil. 
 
 The place where we lay is called Anacapri and 
 constitutes the elevated part of the island. The 
 sun had already set when we began our trip down- 
 ward and a half moon had risen in the sky. But 
 there was the same quiet and warmth and from 
 somewhere came the strains of mandolins in love, 
 calling to Maria. Maria everywhere! But my 
 love breathed with great cahn, bathed in the pure 
 moonlight rays, like the little white houses below. 
 In such a house, at one time, did Maria live, and 
 into just such a house I will take her in about 
 four days. 
 
 A high wall along which the road ran, concealed 
 the moon from us and here we beheld the statue 
 of an old Madonna, standing in a niche, high above 
 the road and the surrounding bushes. Before her 
 burned with a weak flame the light of an image- 
 lamp, and she seemed so aHve in her watchfiol 
 silence that my heart grew cold with sweet terror. 
 
 203 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Toppi bowed Ms head and mumbled a prayer, 
 wliile I removed my bat and tbougbt : 
 
 How high above tbis eartbly vessel, filled 
 witb moonlit twiligbt and mysterious cbarms, you 
 stand. Thus does Maria stand above my soul. . . . 
 
 Enougb ! Here again tbe extraordinary begins 
 and I must pause. "We shall soon drink some 
 champagne and then we shall go to the cafe. I 
 understand they expect some mandolin players 
 from Naples there to-day. Toppi would rather be 
 shot than follow me : his conscience troubles him 
 to this day. But it is good that I will be alone. 
 
 April 23 — ^Eome, 
 Palazzo Orsini. 
 
 . s . Night. My palace is dead and silent, as if 
 it were one of the ruins of ancient Rome. Beyond 
 the large window lies the garden: it is transpai"- 
 ent and white with the rays of the moon and 
 the vaporous pole of the fountain resembles a 
 headless vision in a silver veil. Its splash is 
 scarcely heard through the thick window-pane — ■ 
 as if it were the sleepy mumbling of the night 
 guard. 
 
 Yes, this is all beautiful and . . . how do you 
 put it? — ^it breathes with love. Of course, it 
 would be good to walk beside Maria over the blue 
 
 204 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 sand of the garden path, and to trample upon her 
 shadow. But I am disturbed and my disquiet is 
 wider than love. In my attempts to walk lightly 
 I wander about the room, lean against the wall, 
 recline in silence in the comers, and all the time 
 I seem to hear something. Something far away, 
 a thousand kilometers from here. Or is this all 
 lodged in my memory — that which I strain my 
 ear to catch? And the thousand kilometers — are 
 they the thousand years of my life? 
 
 You would be astonished if you saw how I was 
 dressed. My fine American costume had suddenly 
 become unbearably heavy, so I put on my bathing 
 suit. This made me appear thin, tall and wiry. 
 I tried to test my nimbleness by crawling about 
 the floor, isuddenly changing the direction, like a 
 noiseless bat. But it is not I who am restless. 
 It is my muscles that are filled with this unrest, 
 and I know not what they want. Then I began 
 to feel cold. I dressed and sat down to write. I 
 drank some wine and drew down the curtains to 
 shut the white garden from my eyes. Then I 
 examined and fixed my Browning. I intend to 
 take it with me to-morrow for a friendly chat with 
 Magnus. 
 
 You see, Thomas Magnus has some coUaboror- 
 tors. That is what he calls those gentlemen un- 
 known to me who respectfully get out of my way 
 
 205 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 wHen we meet, but never greet me, as if we were 
 meeting in the street and not in my house. There 
 were two of them when I went to Capri. Now 
 they are six, according to what Toppi tells me, 
 and they live here. Toppi does not like them. 
 Neither do I. They seem to have no faces. I 
 could not see them. I happened to think of that 
 just now when I tried to recall them. 
 
 "These are my assistants," Magnus told me 
 to-day without trying in the least to conceal his 
 ridicule. 
 
 "Well, I must say, Magnus, they have had bad 
 training. They never greet me when we meet." 
 
 ' ' On the contrary, dear Wondergood ! They are 
 very well-mannered. They simply cannot bring 
 themselves to greet you without a proper intro- 
 duction. They are . . . extremely correct people. 
 However, you will learn all to-morrow. Don't 
 frown. Be patient, Wondergood ! Just* one more 
 night!" 
 
 "How is Signorina Maria's health?" 
 
 "To-morrow she will be well." He placed his 
 hand upon my shoulder and brought his dark, evil, 
 brazen eyes closer to my face: "The passion of 
 love, eh?" 
 
 I shook off his hand and shouted: 
 
 " Signer Magnus ! I . . . " 
 
 "You?" — ^he frowned at me and calmly turned 
 206 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Ms baok upon me : * * Till to-morrow, Mr. "Wonder- 
 good!" 
 
 That is why I loaded my revolver. In the 
 evening I was handed a letter from Magnus : he 
 begged my pardon, said his conduct was due to 
 unusual excitement and he sincerely sought my 
 friendship and confidence. He also agreed that 
 his collaborators are really ill-mannered folk. I 
 gazed long upon these hasty illegible lines and 
 felt like taking with me, not my revolver, but a 
 cannon. 
 
 One more night, but how long it is! 
 
 There is danger facing me. 
 
 I feel it and my muscles know it, too. Do you 
 think that I am merely afraid? I swear by eter- 
 nal salvation — ^no ! I know not where my fear has 
 disappeared, but only a short while ago I was 
 afraid of everything: of darkness, death and the 
 most inconsequential pain. And now I fear noth- 
 ing. I only feel strange ... is that how you put 
 it: strange? 
 
 Here I am on your earth, man, and I am think- 
 ing of another person who is dangerous to me and 
 I myself am — ^man. And there is the moon and 
 the fountain. And there is Maria, whom I love. 
 And here is a glass and wine. And this is — ^my 
 and your life. Or did I simply imagine that I was 
 Satan once? I see it is all an invention, the foun- 
 
 207 
 
■Satan's BiairiJ 
 
 tain and Maria and my very thouglits on the man 
 — Magnus, but the real my mind can neither tin- 
 ravel nor understand. I assiduously examine my 
 memory and it is silent, like a closed book, and I 
 have no power to open this enchanted volume, con- 
 cealing the whole past of my being. Straining my 
 eyesight, I gaze into the bright and distant depth 
 from which I came upon this pasteboard earth — 
 but I see nothing in the painful ebb and flow of the 
 boundless fog. There, behind the fog, is my coun- 
 try, but it seems — it seems I have quite forgotten 
 the road. 
 
 I have again returned to Wondergood's bad 
 habit of getting drunk alone and I am slightly 
 drunk now. No matter. It is the last time. I 
 have just seen something after which I wish to see 
 nothing else. I felt like taking a look at the white 
 garden and to imagine how it would feel to walk 
 beside Maria over the path of blue sand. I turned 
 off the light in the room and opened wide the drap- 
 eries. And the white garden arose before me, like 
 a dream, and — think of it ! — over the path of blue 
 sand there walked a man and a woman — and the 
 woman was Maria! They walked quietly, tram- 
 pling upon their own shadows, and the man em- 
 braced her. The little counting machine in my 
 breast beat madly, fell to the floor and broke, 
 when, finally, I recognized the man — ^it was Mag- 
 
 208 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 nus, only Magnus, dear Magrnis, the father. May 
 he be cursed with his fatherly embraces ! 
 
 Ah, how my love for Maria surged up again 
 within me ! I fell on my knees before the window 
 and stretched out my hands to her. . , To be 
 sure, I had already seen something of that kind in 
 the theater, but it's all the same to me : I stretched 
 out my hands — ^was I not alone and drunk? Why 
 should I not do what I want to do? Madonna! 
 Then I suddenly drew down the curtain ! 
 
 Quietly, like a web, like a handful of moonlight, 
 I will take this vision and weave it into night 
 dreams. Quietly! > . . Quietly! . . . 
 
 209 
 
IV 
 
 May 25, 1914.— Italy. 
 
 HAD I at my disposal, not the pitiful word 
 but a strong orohestra, I would compel all 
 the brass trumpets to roar. I would raise 
 their blazing mouths to the sky and would compel 
 them to rave incessantly in a blazen, screeching 
 voice which would make one's hair stand on end 
 and scatter the clouds in terror. I do not want the 
 lying violins. Hateful to me is the gentle murmur 
 of false strings beneath the fingers of liars and 
 scoundrels. Breath! Breath! My gullet is like 
 a brass horn. My breath — a hurricane, driving 
 forward into every narrow cleft. And all of me 
 rings, kicks and grates like a heap of iron in the 
 face of the wind. Oh, it is not always the mighty, 
 wrathful roar of brass trumpets. Frequently, 
 very frequently it is the pitiful wail of burned, 
 rusty iron, crawling along lonely, like the winter, 
 the whistle of bent twigs, which drives thought 
 cold and fiiUs the heart with the rust of gloom and 
 homelessness. Everything that fire can touch has 
 burned up within me. Was it I who wanted to 
 
 210 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 play? Was if I who yearned for the game ? Then 
 —look upon this monstrous ruin of the theater 
 wrecked by the flames : all the actors, too, have lost 
 their lives therein ... ah, all the actors, too, have 
 perished, and brazen Truth peers now through the 
 beggarly holes of its empty windows. 
 
 By my throne, — ^what was that love I prattled 
 of when I donned this human form? To whom 
 was it that I opened my embraces? Was it you 
 . . . comrade? By my throne! — if I was Love 
 but for a single moment, henceforth I am Hate 
 Eind etemcdli/ thus I remain. 
 
 Let us halt at this point to-day, dear comrade. 
 It has been quite some time since I moved my pen 
 upon this paper and I must now grow accustomed 
 anew to your dull and shallow face, smeared o'er 
 with the red of your cheeks. I seem to have for- 
 gotten how to speak the language of respectable 
 people who have just received a trouncing. Get 
 thee hence, my friend. To-day I am a brass trum- 
 pet. Tickle not my throat, little worm. Leave 
 me. 
 
 May 26, Italy. 
 
 It was a month ago that Thomas Magnus blew 
 
 me up. Yes, it is true. He really blew me up and 
 
 it was a month ago, in the holy City of Rome, 
 
 in the Palazzo Orsini, when I still belonged to the 
 
 211 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 billionaire Henry Wondergood — do you remember 
 that genial American, with his cigar and patent 
 gold teeth? Alas! He is no longer with ns. He 
 died suddenly and you will do well if you order a 
 requiem mass for him : his Hlinois soul is in need 
 of your prayers. 
 
 Let us return, however, to his last hours. I 
 shall try to be exact in My recollections and give 
 you not only the emotions but also the words of 
 that evening — ^it was evening, when the moon was 
 shining brightly. Perhaps I shall not give you 
 quite the words spoken but, at any rate, they will 
 be the words I heard and stored away in my 
 memory. ... If you were ever whipped, worthy 
 comrade, then you know how difficult it was for 
 you to count aJl the blows of the whip. A change 
 of gravity! You understand? Oh, you under- 
 stand everything. And so let us receive the last 
 breath of Henry Wondergood, blown up by the 
 culprit Thomas Magnus and buried by . . . Maria. 
 
 I remember : I awoke on the morning after that 
 stormy evening, cahn and even gay. Apparently 
 it was "the effect of the sun, shining into that same, 
 broad window through which, at night, there 
 streamed that unwelcome and too highly signifi- 
 cant moonlight. Tou understand: now the moon 
 and now the sun? Oh, you understand every- 
 thing. It is probably for the very same rea- 
 
 212 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 son I acquired my touching faith in the integrity 
 of Magnus and awaited toward evening that cloud- 
 less bliss. This expectation was all the greater 
 because his collaborators . . . you remember his 
 collaborators? — ^had begun to greet and how to 
 me. What is a greeting? — ah, how much it means 
 to the faith of man ! 
 
 You know my good manners and, therefore, will 
 believe me when I say that I was cold and re- 
 strained like a gentleman who has just received 
 a legacy. But if you had put your ear to my belly 
 you would have heard violins playing within. 
 Something about love, you understand. Oh, you 
 understand everything. And thus, with these vio- 
 lins did I come to Magnus in the evening when 
 the moon was shining brightly. Magnus was 
 alone. We were long silent and this indicated 
 that an interesting conversation awaited me. Fi- 
 nally I said: 
 
 "How is the Signorina's health?" . . . 
 
 But he interrupted me : 
 
 "We are facing a very difficult talk, Wonder- 
 good? Does that disturb you?" 
 
 "Oh, no, not at aQ." 
 
 "Do you want wine ? Well, never mind. I shall 
 drink a little but you need not. Yes, Wonder- 
 good?" 
 
 He laughed as he poured out the wine and here 
 213 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I noticed with astonishment that he himself was 
 very excited: his large, white, hangman's hands 
 were quite noticeably trembling. I do not kno-w 
 exactly just when my violins ceased — ^I think 11 
 was at that very moment. Magnus gulped down 
 two glasses of wine — ^he had intended to take only 
 a little — and, sitting down, continued: 
 
 "No, you ought not to drink, Wondergood. I 
 need all your senses, undimmed by anything . . . 
 you didn't drink anything to-day? No? That's 
 good. Your senses must be clear and sober. One 
 must not take anesthetics in such cases as . . . 
 as . . ." 
 
 "As vivisection?" 
 
 He shook his head seriously in affirmation. 
 
 "Yes, vivisection. You have caught my idea 
 marvelously. Yes, in cases of vivisection of the 
 soul. For instance, when a loving mother is in- 
 formed of the death of her son or ... a rich man 
 that he has become penniless. But the senses, 
 what can we do with the senses, we cannot hold 
 them in leash all our life ! Yon imderstand, "Won- 
 dergood? In the long run, I am not in the least 
 so cruel a man as I occasionally seem even to my- 
 self and the pain of others frequently arouses in 
 me an unpleasant, responsive trembling. That is 
 not good. A surgeon's hand must be firm." 
 
 214 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 He looked at Ms fingers : they no longer trem- 
 bled. He continued with a smile : 
 
 "However, wine helps some. Dear Wonder- 
 good, I swear by eternal salvation, |)y which you 
 love so to swear, that it is extremely unpleasant 
 for me to cause you this little . . . ^ain. Keep 
 your senses, "Wondergood! Your senses, your 
 senses! Your hand, my friend?" 
 
 I gave him my hand and Magnus enveloped my 
 palm and fingers and held them long in his own 
 paw, strained, permeated with some kind of elec- 
 tric currents. Then he let them go, sighing with 
 relief. 
 
 "That's it. Just so. Courage, Wondergood!" 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders, lit a cigar and asked : 
 
 "Your illustration of the very wealthy man 
 who has suddenly become a beggar, — does that 
 concern me? Am I penniless?" 
 
 Magnus answered slowly as he gazed straight 
 into my eyes : 
 
 * * If you wish to put it that way — ^yes. You have 
 nothing left. Absolutely nothing. And this pal- 
 ace, too, is already sold. To-morrow the new 
 owners take possession." 
 
 *"^0h, that is interesting. And where are my 
 billions?" 
 
 "I have them. They are mine. I am a very 
 wealthy man, Wondergood." 
 
 215 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I moved my cigar to the otlier comer of my 
 mouth, and asked : 
 
 "And yon are ready, of course, to give me a 
 helping hand? You are a contemptible scoundrel, 
 Thomas Magnus." 
 
 "If that's what you call me — ^yes. Something 
 on that order." 
 
 "AndaUar!" 
 
 "Perhaps. In general, dear "Wondergood, it is 
 very necessary for you to change your outlook 
 on life and man. You are too much of an 
 idealist. ' ' 
 
 "And you" — ^I rose from my chair — "for you 
 it is necessary to change your f eUow conversation- 
 alist. Permit me to bid you good-by and to send 
 a police commissary in my place.*' 
 
 Magnus laughed. 
 
 ' ' Nonsense, Wondergood ! Everything has been 
 done within the law. You, yourself, have handed 
 over everything to me. This Will surprise no one 
 . . . with your love for humanity. Of course, you 
 can proclaim yourself rusane. You understand? 
 — and then, perhaps, I may get to the peniten- 
 tiary. But you — ^you wiU land in an insane asy- 
 lum. You would hardly like that, dear friend. 
 Police! Well, go on talking. It will relieve the 
 first effects of the blow. " 
 
 I think; it was really difficult for me to conceal 
 216 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 my excitement. I hurled my cigar angrily into 
 the fireplace, while my eye carefully measured 
 both the window and Magnus . , . no, this car- 
 cass was too big to play ball with. 
 
 At that moment the loss of my wealth had not 
 yet fully impressed itself upon my mind and it 
 was that which maddened me as much as the 
 brazen tone of Magnus and the patronizing man- 
 ner of the old scoundrel. In addition, I dimly 
 sensed something portentous of evil and sorrow, 
 like a threat: as if some real danger were lurking 
 not in front of me but behind my back. 
 
 "What is this aU about?" I shouted, stamping 
 my foot. 
 
 "What is this all about?" replied Magnus, like 
 an echo. "Yes, I really cannot understand why 
 you are so excited, Wondergood. You have so fre- 
 quently offered me this money and even forced it 
 upon me and now, when the money is in my hands,, 
 you want to call the police! Of course," Magnus 
 smiled — "there is a slight distinction here: in 
 placing your money so magnanimously at my dis- 
 posal, you still remained its master and the mas- 
 ter of the situation, while now . . . you under- 
 stand, old friend : now I can simply drive you out 
 of this house ! ' ' 
 
 I looked at Magnus significantly. He replied 
 217 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 witli no less a significant shrug of the shoulders 
 and cried angrily : 
 
 ' ' Stop your nonsense. I am stronger than you 
 are. Do not try to be more of a fool than is abso- 
 lutely necessitated by the situation." 
 
 "You are an unusually brazen scoundrel, Sig- 
 ner Magnus ! " 
 
 "Again! How these sentimental souls do seek 
 consolation ip. words ! Take a cigar and listen to 
 me. I have long needed money, a great deal of 
 money. In my past, which I need not disclose to 
 you, I have suffered certain . . . failures. They 
 irritated me considerably. Fools and sentimental 
 souls, you understand? My energy was impris- 
 oned under lock and key, like a bird in a cage. 
 For three years I sat in this cursed cage, await- 
 ing my chance ..." 
 
 "And all that — in the beautiful Campagna?" 
 
 "Yes, in the beautiful Campagna . . . and I 
 had already begun to lose hope, when you ap- 
 peared. I find it difficult to express myself at this 
 point ..." 
 
 "Be as direct as you can. Have no compunc- 
 tions. ' ' 
 
 "You seemed very strange with all this love of 
 yours for men and your play, as you finally termed 
 it, and, my friend, for a long time I had grave 
 doubts as to what you really were : an extraordin- 
 
 218 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ary fool or just a scoundrel, like myself. You see, 
 such extraordinary asses appear so seldom that 
 even I had my doubts. You are not angry?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all." 
 
 "You forced money upon me and I thought: a 
 trap I However you made your moves quickly and 
 certain precautions on my part ..." 
 
 "Pardon me for interrupting. So, those books 
 of yours, your solita^ contemplation of life, that 
 little white house and everything was all a lie? 
 And murder — do you remember all that drivel 
 about hands steeped in blood?" 
 
 "Yes, I did kill. That is true. And I have pon- 
 dered much upon life, while awaiting you, but the 
 rest, of course, was falsehood. Very base false- 
 hood, but you were so credulous. ..." 
 
 "And . . . Maria?" 
 
 I confess that I had hardly uttered this name 
 when I felt something clutching at my throat. 
 Magnus looked at me sharply and said gloomily: 
 
 "We will discuss Maria, too. But how excited 
 you are I Even your nails have turned blue. Per- 
 haps you'll have some wine? "Well, never mind. 
 Have patience. I shall continue. When you be- 
 gan your affair with Maria ... of course with 
 my slight assistance ... I finally concluded that 
 you were ..." 
 
 "An extraordinary ass?" 
 219 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Magnus raised his hand is consoling gesture : 
 
 ' ' Oh, no ! You seemed to me to be that at the 
 beginlling. I will tell you quite truthfully, as I do 
 everything I am telling you now: you are not a 
 fool at all, Wondergood. I have grown to know 
 you more intimately. It doesn't matter that you 
 have so naively surrendered your billions to me 
 . . . many wise men have been fooled before by 
 clever . . . scoundrels ! Your misfortune is quite 
 another thing." 
 
 I had the strength to smile : 
 
 "My love for human beings?" 
 
 "No, my friend: your contempt for human 
 beings ! Your contempt and at the same time your 
 naive faith in them arising from it. You regard 
 human beihgs so far below you, you are so con- 
 vinced of their fatal powerlessness that you do 
 not fear them at all and are quite ready to pat the 
 rattlesnake's head: such a nice little rattlesnake! 
 One should fear people, comrade! I know your 
 ffome, but at times you were quite sincere in your 
 prattle about man, you even pitied him, but from 
 an elevation or from a sidetrack — ^I know not 
 which. Oh, if you could only hate people I would 
 take you along with me with pleasure. But you 
 are an egotist, a terrible egotist, Wondergood, 
 and I am even beginning to shed my regrets for 
 
 220 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 having robbed you, when I think of that ! Whence 
 comes this base contempt of yours?" 
 
 "I am still only learning to be a man." 
 
 "Well, go on learning. But why do you call 
 your professor a scoundrel : -For I am your pro- 
 fessor, Wondergood!" 
 
 "To the devil with this prattle. So . . . you 
 do not intend to take me along with you?" 
 
 "No, my friend, I do not." 
 
 "So. Only my billions. Very well, but what 
 about your plan: to blow up the earth or some- 
 thing of that kind? Or did you lie on this point, 
 too? I cannot believe that you simply intend to 
 open ... a money changer's bureau or become 
 some ragged king!" 
 
 Magnus looked at me gloomily There was even 
 a gleam of sympathy in his eyes as he replied 
 slowly: 
 
 ' * No, on that point I did not lie. But you won 't 
 do for me. You would always be hanging on to 
 my coat tails. Just now you shouted : liar, scoun- 
 drel, thief. . . .It's strange, but you are yet only 
 learning to be a man and you have already im- 
 bibed so much pettiness. When I shall raise my 
 hand to strike some one, your contempt will begin 
 to whine: don't strike, leave him alone, have pity. 
 Oh, if you could only hate I No, you are a ter^ble 
 egotist, old man." 
 
 221 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 I shouted : 
 
 ' ' The devil take you with your harping on this 
 egotism ! I am not in the least more stupid than 
 you, you beast, and I cannot unders^tand what 
 you find so saintly in hatred!" 
 
 Magnus frowned: 
 
 "First of all: don't shout or I'll throw you out. 
 Do you hear? Yes, perhaps you are no more 
 stupid than I am, but man's business is not your 
 business. Do you realize that, you beast? In 
 blowing up things, I only intend to do business 
 and you want to be the ruler of another's plant. 
 Let them steal and break down the machinery and 
 you — ^you will be concerned only about your salary 
 and the respect due you? And I — ^I won't stand 
 that ! All this, ' ' — ^he swept the room with a broad 
 gesture — "is my plant, mine, do you hear, and it 
 is I who will be robbed. I will be robbed and in- 
 jured. And I hate those who rob me. What 
 would you have done, in the long run, with your 
 billions, if I had not taken them from you? Built 
 conservatories and raised heirs — for the perpetua- 
 tion of your kind? Private yachts and diamonds 
 for your wife? And I . . . give me all the gold 
 on earth and I will throw it all into the flaines of 
 my hatred. And all because I have been insulted ! 
 When you see a hunchback you throw him a lire. 
 So that he may continue to bear his hump, yes? 
 
 222 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 And I want to destroy him, to kill him, to bum 
 him like a crooked log. To whom do you appeal 
 when you are fooled or when a dog bites your 
 finger?^ To your wife, the police, public opinion? 
 But suppose the wife, with the aid of your butler, 
 plants horns on your head or public opinion fails 
 to understand you and instead of pityiiig you pre- 
 fers to give you a thrashing — then do you make 
 your appeal to God? But I, I go to no one. I 
 plead before no one, but neither do I forgive. You 
 understand? I do not forgive ! Only egotists for- 
 give ! I consider myself personally insulted ! " 
 
 I heard him in silence. Perhaps it was because 
 I was so close to the fireplace, gazing into the fire 
 and listening to Magnus's words, each new word 
 intermingled with a fresh blaze of a burning log; 
 no sooner would the glowing red mass fall apart 
 than the words, too, would break up into par- 
 ticles, like hot coals. My head was not at all clear 
 and, under the influence of these burning, flaming, 
 flying words I fell into a strange, dark drowsiness. 
 But this was what my memory retained : 
 
 "Oh, if you could only hate ! If you were not so 
 cowardly and weak of soul! I would take you 
 with me and would let you behold a fire which 
 would forever dry your miserable tears and bum 
 your sentimental dreams to ashes! Do you hear 
 the song of the fools of the world? They are 
 
 223 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 merely loading the cannons. The wise man need 
 only apiply the fire to the fuse, you understand? 
 Could you behold calmly the sight of a blissful 
 sheep and hungry snake Ijdng together, separated 
 only by a thin partition? I could not! I would 
 drill just a little opening, a little opening , . . 
 the rest they would do themselves. Do you know 
 that from the union of truth and falsehood comes 
 an explosion? I want to unite. I shall do nothing 
 myself : I shall only complete what they have be- 
 gun. Do you hear how merrily they sing? I will 
 make them dance, too ! Come with me, comrade ! 
 You sought some sort of a play — ^let me ^ve you 
 an extraordinary spectacle! We shall bring the 
 whole earth into action and millions of marion- 
 ettes will begin to caper obediently at our com- 
 mand : you know not yet how talented and oblig- 
 ing they are. It will be a splendid play and will 
 give you much pleasure and amusement. ..." 
 A large log fell apart and split into many sparks 
 and hot cinders. The flame subsided, growing 
 morose ^nd red. A silent heat emanated from the 
 dimmed, smoke-smeared hearth. It burned my 
 face and suddenly there arose before me my pup- 
 pets ' show. The heat and fire had conjured up a 
 mirage. I seemed to hear the crash of drums and 
 the gay ring of cymbals, while the merry clown 
 turned on his head at the sight of the broken 
 
 224 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 skulls of the dolls. The broken heads continued 
 to pile up. Then I saw the scrap heap, with two 
 motionless little legs protruding from the heap of 
 rubbish. They wore rose slippers. And the 
 drums continued beating : tump-tump-tump. And 
 I said pensively: 
 
 "I think it will hurt them." 
 
 And behind my back rang out the contemptuous 
 and indifferent reply : 
 
 "Quite possibly." 
 
 "Tump-tump-tump. ..." 
 
 "It is all the same to you, Wondergood, but I 
 cannot! Can't you see: I cannot permit every 
 miserable biped to call himself a man. There are 
 too many of them, already. They multiply like 
 rabbits, under the stimulus of physicians and laws. 
 Death, deceived, cannot hEindle them all. It is 
 confused and seems to have lost its dignity and 
 moral authority. It is wasting its time in dancing 
 halls. I hate them. It has become repulsive to 
 me to walk upon this earth, fallen into the power 
 of a strange, strange species. We must suspend 
 the law, at least temporarily, and let death have 
 its fling. However, they themselves will see to 
 this. No, not I, but they, will do it. Think not 
 that I am particularly cruel, no — ^I am only logi- 
 cal. I am only the conclusion, the symbol of 
 equality, the sum total, the line beneath the 
 
 225 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 column of figures. You may call it Ergo, Mag- 
 nus, Ergo! They say: 'two and two' and I reply: 
 'four.' Exactly four. Imagine that the world 
 has suddenly grown cold and immovable for a 
 moment and you behold some such picturte : here 
 is a free and careless head and above it — a sus- 
 pended axe. Here is a mass of powder and here 
 a spark about to fall upon it. But it has stopped 
 and does not fall. Hejre is a heavy structure, set 
 upon a single, undermined foundation. But ev- 
 erything has grown rigid and the foundation 
 holds. Here is a breast and here a hand aiming 
 a bullet at it. Have I prepared all this? I 
 merely touch the lever and press it down. The 
 axe falls upon the laughing head and crushes it. 
 The spark falls into the powder — all is off ! The 
 building crashes to the ground. The bullet pieVces 
 the ready breast. And I — I have merely touched 
 the lever, I, Magnus Ergo! Think: would I be 
 able to kill had I at my disposal only violins or 
 other musical instruments?" 
 
 I laughed : 
 
 "Only violins!" 
 
 Magnus replied with laughter: his voice was 
 hoarse and heavy: 
 
 "But they have other instruments, too! And I 
 will use these instruments. See how simple and 
 interesting all this is?" 
 
 226 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "And what further, Magnus Ergo?" 
 "How do I know what's to follow? I see only 
 this page and solve only this problem. I know 
 not what the next page contains." 
 
 "Perhaps it contains the same thing?" 
 "Perhaps it does. And perhaps this is the 
 final page . . . well, what of that : the sum total 
 remains as is necessary." - 
 "You spoke on one occasion about miraclesf" 
 "Yes, that is my lever. You remember what I 
 told you about my explosive? I promise rab- 
 bits to make lions of them. . . . You see, a rabbit 
 cannot stand brains. Give a rabbit brains and he 
 will hang himself. Melancholy will drive him to 
 suicide. Brains implies logic and what can logic 
 promise to a rabbit? Nothing but a sorry fate on 
 a restaurant menu. What one must promise a 
 rabbit is either immortality for a cheap price, as 
 does Cardinal X. or — ^heaven on earth. You will 
 see what energy, what daring, etc., my rabbit 
 will develop when I paint before him on the wall 
 heavenly powers and gardens of Eden!" 
 "On the wall?" 
 
 "Yes, — on a stone wall. He will storm it with 
 all the power of his species! And who knows 
 . . . who knows . . . perhaps this mass may 
 really break through this stone wall?" 
 Magnus lapsed into thought. I drew away from . 
 327 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 the now extinguished fire and lopked upon the 
 explosive head of my repulsive friend. . . . Some- 
 thing naive, like two little wrinkles, almost like 
 those of a child, lay upon his stony brow. I burst 
 into laughter and shouted: 
 
 ' ' Thomas Magnus ! Thomas Ergo ! Do you be- 
 lieve?" 
 
 Without raising his head, as if he had not heard 
 my laughter, he lifted his eyes and replied pen- 
 sively : 
 
 "We must try." 
 
 But I continued to laugh: deep, wild — appar- 
 ently human — ^laughing malice began to rise with- 
 in me: 
 
 "Thomas Magnus! Magnus Eabbit! Do you 
 beHeve?" 
 
 He thumped the table with his fist and roared 
 in a wild transport : 
 
 "Be quiet! I tell you.: we must try. How do 
 I know? I have never yet been on Mars nor seen 
 this earth inside-out. Be silent, accursed egotist I 
 You know nothing of our affairs. Ah, if only you 
 could hate! ..." 
 
 "I hate already." 
 
 Magnus suddenly laughed and grew strangely 
 calm. He sat down and scrutinizing me from all 
 possible angles, as if he did not believe me, he 
 burst out: 
 
 228 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 "You? Hate? Whom?" 
 
 "You." 
 
 He looked me over as carefully again and shook 
 his head in doubt: 
 
 "Is that true, Wondergood?" 
 
 "If they are rabbits, you are the most repulsive 
 of them all, because you are a mixture of rabbit 
 and . . . Satan. You are a coward! The fact 
 that you are a crook, a thief, a liar, a murderer is 
 not important. But you are a coward! That is 
 important. I expected something more of you. I 
 hoped your mind would lift you above the great- 
 est crime, but you lift crime itself into some base 
 philanthropy. You are as much of a lackey as 
 the others. The only difference between you and 
 them is that you have a perverted idea of 
 service!" 
 
 Magnus sighed. 
 
 "No, that's not it. You understand nothing, 
 Wondergood." 
 
 "And what you lack is daring, my friend. If 
 you are Magnus Ergo . . . what audacity: Mag- 
 nus Ergo! — then why don't you go the limit? 
 Then, I, too, would follow you . . . perhaps ! 
 
 "Will you really come?" 
 
 "And why should I not come? Let me be Con- 
 tempt, and you — Hatred. We can go together. 
 Do not fear lest I hang on to your coat tails. You 
 
 229 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 have revealed much to me, my dear putridity, and 
 I shall not seize your hand even though you raise 
 it against yourself." 
 
 ' ' Will you hetray me r ' 
 
 ' ' And you will kill me. Is that not enough? ' ' 
 
 But Magnus shook his head doubtfully and said : 
 
 "You will betray me. I am a living human 
 being, while you smell like a corpse. I do not 
 want to have contempt for myself. If I do, I 
 perish. Don 't you dare to look at me ! Look upon 
 the others]" 
 
 I laughed, 
 
 "Very well. I shall not look at you. I will 
 look at the rest. I will make it easier for you with 
 my contempt." 
 
 Magnus fell isito prolonged thought. Then he 
 looked again at me piercingly and quietly asked: 
 
 "And Maria? ..." 
 
 Oh, cursed wretch ! Again he hurled my heart 
 upon the -floor! I looked at him wildly, like one 
 aroused at night by fire. And three big waves 
 swept my breast. With the first wave rose the 
 silent violins . . . ah, how they wailed, just as if 
 the musician played not upon strings but upon 
 my veins ! Then in a huge wave with foamy surf 
 there rolled by all the images, thoughts and emo- 
 tions of my recent, beloved human state : think of 
 it : everything was there ! Eveii the lizzard that 
 
 230 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 hissed at my feet tliat evening beneath, the moon- 
 light. I recalled even the little lizzard ! And with 
 the third wave there was rolled out quietly upon 
 the shore the holy name: Maria. And just as 
 quietly it receded, leaving behind a delicate lace 
 of foam, and from beyond the sea burst forth the 
 rays of the sun, and for a moment, for one, little 
 moment, I again became a white schooner, with 
 sails lowered. "Where were the stars while await- 
 ing the word of the Lord of the universe to break 
 forth in all their brilliance ? Madonna ! 
 
 Magnus recalled me quietly. 
 
 "Where are you going? She is not there. What 
 do you want?" 
 
 "Pardon me, dear Magnus, but I would like to 
 see the Signorina Maria. Only for a moment. 
 I don't feel quite well. There is something re- 
 volving in my eyes and head. Are you smiling, 
 dear Magnus, or does it only seem so to me? I 
 have been gazing into the fire too long and I can 
 hardly discern the objects before me. Did you 
 say: Maria? Yes, I would like to see her. Then 
 we shall continue our interesting conversation. 
 You will remind me just where we stopped, but 
 meanwhile I would be extremely obliged to you, 
 if we were ... to take a little drive into the 
 Campagna. It is so sweet there. And Signoria 
 Maria ..." 
 
 231 
 
Sata/n's Diary 
 
 "Sit down. You will see lier presently." 
 
 But I continued to weave my nonsense — what 
 in the devil had happened to my head ! I prattled 
 on for a considerable period and now the whole 
 thing seems so ridiculous : Once or twice I pressed 
 the heavy, motionless hand of Thomas Magnus: 
 apparently he must have looked like my father 
 at that moment." Finally, I subsided, partially re- 
 gained my senses but, in obedience to Magnus' 
 command, remained in my chair and prepared 
 to listen. 
 
 "Can you listen now? Tou are quite excited, 
 old man. Remember: the senses, the Senses!" 
 
 "Yes, now I can go on. I . . . remember ev- 
 erything. Continue, old friend. I am all atten- 
 tion." 
 
 Yes, I recollected everything but it was quite 
 immaterial to me Just what Magnus said or what 
 he might say : I was awaiting Maria. That is how 
 strong my love was! Turning aside for some 
 reason and beating time with his fingers on the 
 table, Magnus said slowly and rather reluctantly: 
 
 "Listen, Wondergood. In reality, it would be 
 much more convenient for me to throw you out 
 into the street, you and your idiotic Toppi. You 
 wanted to experience all human life and I would 
 have viewed with pleasure any efforts on your 
 part to earn your own bread. You are apparently 
 
 232 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 no longer used to this ? It would also have been 
 very interesting to know what would become of 
 your grandiose contempt whein . . . But I am 
 not angry. Strange to say, I even nurse a feeling 
 of thankfulness for your . . . billions. And I 
 am rather hopeful. Yes, I still have a little hope 
 that some day you may really grow to be a man. 
 And while this may prove an impediment to me, I 
 am ready to take you with me, but only — after a 
 certain test. Are you still anxious to have . . . 
 Maria?" 
 
 "Yes," 
 
 "Very weU." 
 
 Magnus rose with effort and moved toward the 
 door. But he halted for a moment and turned 
 toward me and — surprising as it was on the part 
 of this scoundrel — ^he kissed my brow. 
 
 "Sit down, old man. I will call her immediately. 
 The servants are all out to-day." 
 
 He uttered the last sentence as he knocked 
 feebly at the door. The head of one of his aides 
 appeared for a moment and immediately with- 
 drew. With apparently the same effort Magnus 
 returned to his place and said with a sigh: 
 
 "She will be here at once." 
 
 We were silent. I fixed my eyes upon the tall 
 door and it opened wide. Maria entered. With 
 
 233 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 a quick step I moved to greet her and bowed low. 
 Magnus shouted: 
 "Don't kiss that hand!" 
 
 May 27. 
 I could not continue these notes yesterday. 
 Do not laugh ! This mere combination of words : 
 do not kiss that hand! — seemed to me the most 
 terrible utterance the human tongue was capable 
 of. It acted upon me like a magic curse. When 
 I recall those words now they interrupt every- 
 thing I do and befog my whole being, trans- 
 porting me into a new state. If I happen to be 
 speaking I grow silent, as if suddenly stricken 
 dumb. If I happen to be walking, I halt. If 
 standing, I run. If I happen to be asleep, no mat- 
 ter how deep my slumber, I awake and cannot fall 
 asleep again. Very simple, extremely simple 
 words: Do not kiss that hand! 
 
 And now listen to what happened further: 
 And so: I bowed over Maria's hand. But so 
 strange and sudden was Magus' cry, so great 
 was the command in his hoarse voice, that it was 
 impossible to disobey. It was as if he had stopped 
 a blind man on the edge of a precipice! But I 
 failed to grasp his meaning and raised my head 
 in perplexity, still holding Maria's hand in mine, 
 and looked at Magnus. He was breathing heav- 
 
 234 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ily, as if he had actually witnessed my fall iata the 
 abyss — and in reply to my questioning look, he 
 said in a stifled tone: 
 
 "Let her hand alone. Maria get away from 
 him." 
 
 Maria released her hand and stepped aside, at a 
 distance from me. Still perplexed I watched her, 
 standing alone I I tried to grasp the situation. 
 For a brief moment it seemed even extremely 
 ludicrous and reminded me of a scene in a comedy, 
 in which the angry father comes unexpectedly 
 upon the sweethearts, but my silly laughter died 
 away immediately and in obedient expectation I 
 raised my eyes to Magnus. 
 
 Magnus hesitated. Eising with an effort, he 
 twice paced the length of the room and halting 
 before me, with his hands clasped behind him, 
 said: 
 
 "With all your eccentricities, you're a decent 
 man, Wondergood. I have rohhed you (that was 
 how he put it) but I can no longer permit you to 
 kiss the hand of this woman. Listen ! Listen ! I 
 have already told you you must change your out- 
 look 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 chil- 
 dren. Neither is she a . . . Madonna. She is 
 
 235 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 my mistress and she was that as recently as las 
 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 no1 
 realize this and slowly stifling, my breath gradu 
 ally dying, I lost consciousness. And when witl 
 Magnus' last words the light fled from me and 
 impenetrable night enveloped my being, I whip- 
 ped 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 laugh- 
 ing, flickering flames and the movements of my 
 hand, pushing the weapon forward. I cannot re- 
 member 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 stoo.d 
 on the same spot, in the same pose, as if she had 
 not moved at all during the struggle. I was sur- 
 prised to see Toppi, who sat in a comer and gazed 
 at me strangely. At the table, with his back to 
 
 236 
 
Satan's Didry 
 
 me, stood Magnus, He was pouring out some 
 wine for himself. 
 
 When I heaved a particularly deep sigh, Mag- 
 nus turned quickly and said in a strangely famil- 
 iar 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 permis- 
 sion to stay here. You won't object if your sec- 
 retary remains while we continue our conversa- 
 tion? He is extremely devoted to you." 
 
 I looked at Toppi and snailed. 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, 
 
 237 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Ij " the wise, immdrtal, almighty ! ' ' Thus we both 
 wept, two deceived devils who happened to drop 
 in npon 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, ToppiV' 
 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 then\, 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 un- 
 conquerable power, or I began to chatter non- 
 sense, 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 every- 
 thing about { . • that woman. But as you are a 
 
 238 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 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." 
 
 "ph, 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 re- 
 ligion, with all her really unearthly beauty, chas- 
 tity 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 blush- 
 ing while she — her gaze is clear and all her feat- 
 
 239 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 ures 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 extra- 
 ordinary beauty and litheness ! As an old lover 
 of hers, I may also add the following detail which 
 you have not learned yet: she her'self, her body, 
 has the fragrance of some fldwers. 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 task in teaching her. But I 
 feared all the time that, despite your love, you 
 would be struck by her apparent lack of brains 
 and that is why I kept her from you the last few 
 days." 
 
 Toppi sobbed : 
 
 "Oh, God! Madonna l'» 
 
 "Does this astonish you, Mr. Toppi?" — ^Mag- 
 nus asked, tumtug his head. "I dare say you are 
 
 240 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 not alone. Do you remenjber, Wondergood, what 
 I told you about Maria's fatal resemblance, wMch 
 I drove one young man to suicide. I did not lie to 
 you altogether : the youth actually did kill himself 
 when he realized who Maria really was. He was 
 pure of soul. He loved as you do and as you he 
 could not bear — how do you put it? — the wreck of 
 his ideal." 
 
 Magnus laughed : 
 
 "Do you remember Giovanni, Maria?" 
 
 "Slightly." 
 
 "Do you hear, Wondergood?" asked Magnus, 
 laughing. "That is exactly the tone in which she 
 would have spoken of me a week hence if you 
 had killed me to-day. Have another orange, Maria. 
 . . . But if I were to speak of Maria in extraordi- 
 nary language — she is not at all stupid. She 
 pimply doesn't happen to have what is called a 
 soul. I have frequently tried to look deep into her 
 heart and thoughts and I have always ended in 
 vertigo, as if I had been hurled to the edge of an 
 abyss : there was nothing there. Emptiness. You 
 have probably observed, Wondergood, or you, Mr. 
 Toppi, that ice is not as cold as the brow of a 
 dead man? And no matter what emptiness famil- 
 iar to you you may imagine, my friends, it cannot 
 be compared with that absolute vacuum which 
 forms the kernel of my beautiful, light-giving star. 
 
 241 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Star of the Seas ? — tliat was what you once called 
 her, Wondergood, was it not?" 
 
 Magnus laughed again and gulped down a glass 
 of wine. He drank a great deal that evening. 
 
 "Will you have some wine, Mr. Toppi? No? 
 "Well, suit yourself. I'll take some. So that is 
 why, Mr. Wondergood, I did not want you to kiss 
 the hand of that creature. Don't turn your eyes 
 away, old friend. Imagine you are in a museum 
 and look -straight at her, bravely. Did you wish 
 to say something, Toppi?" 
 
 "Yes, Signer Magnus. Pardon me, Mr. Won- 
 dergood, but I would like to ask your permission 
 to leave. As a gentleman, although not much of 
 that, I . . . cannot remain . . . at . . ." 
 
 Magnus narrowed his eyes derisively: 
 
 "At such a scene?" 
 
 "Yes, at such a scene, when one gentleman, with 
 the silent approval of another gentleman, insults 
 a woman like that," exclaimed Toppi, extremely 
 irritated, and rose. Magnus, just as ironically, 
 turned to me : 
 
 "And What do yoti say, Wondergood? Shall we 
 release this little, extremely little, gentleman?" 
 
 "'Stay, Toppi." 
 
 Toppi sat down obediently. 
 
 From the moment Magnus resumed, I, for the 
 first time, regiained my breath and looked at Maria. 
 
 243 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Wliat shall I say to you? It was 'Maria. And 
 here I understood a little what happens in one's 
 brain when one begins to go mad. 
 
 ' ' May I continue ? ' ' asked Magnus. ' ' However, 
 I have little to add. Yes, I took her when she was 
 fourteen or fifteen years old. She herself does not 
 know how old she really is, but I was not her first 
 lover . . . nor the tenth. I could never learn her 
 past exactly. She either lies cunningly or is actu- 
 ally devoid of memory. But even the most Subtle 
 questioning, which even a most expert criminal 
 could not dodge, neither bribes nor gifts, nor 
 threats — and she is extremely cow'ardly! — could 
 compel her to reveal herself. She does not 're- 
 member.' That's aU. But her deep licentious- 
 ness, enough to shame the Sultan himself, her 
 extraordinary experienpe and daring in ars 
 amandi confirms my suspicion that she received 
 her training in a lupanaria or ... or at the court 
 of some Nero. I do not know how old she is and 
 she seems to change constantly. Why should I 
 not say that she is 20 or 2000 years old? Maria . . . 
 you can do everything and you know every- 
 thing?" 
 
 I did not look at that woman. But in her answer 
 there was a slight displeasure : 
 
 * ' Don't talk nonsense. What will Mr. Wonder- 
 good think of me?" 
 
 243 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 Magnus broke into loud laughter and struck the 
 table with is glass : 
 
 "Do your hear, Wondergood? She covets your 
 good opinion. And if I should command her to 
 undress at once in your presence. ..." 
 
 ' ' Oh, my God ! My God ! ' '—sobbed Toppi and 
 covered his face with his hands. I glanced quickly 
 into Magnus' eyes — and remained rigid in the 
 terrible enchantment of his gaze., His face was 
 laughing. This pale mask of his was s^tiQ lined 
 with traces of faint laughter but the eyes were 
 dim and inscrutable. Direicted upon me, they 
 stared off somewhere into the distance and were 
 horrible in their expression of dark and empty 
 madness : only the empty orbits of a skull could 
 gaze so threateningly and in such wrath. 
 
 And again darkness filled my head and when I 
 regained my senses Magnus had already turned 
 and calmly sipped his wine. Without changing 
 his position:, he raised his glass to the light, 
 smelled the wine, sipped some more of it and said 
 as calmly as before : 
 
 "And so, Wondergood, my friend. Now you 
 know about all there is to know of Maria or the 
 Madonna, as you called her, and I ask you: wUl 
 you take her or not? I give her away. Take her. 
 If you say yes, she will be in your bedroom to-day 
 and ... I swear by eternal salvation, you will 
 
 244 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 pass a very pleasant niglit. Well, what do you 
 say?" 
 
 "Yesterday, you, and to-day, I?" 
 
 "Yesterday I, — ^to-day, yon." He smiled: 
 "What kind of man are you, Wondergood, to 
 speak of such trifles. Or aren't you used to hav- 
 ing some one else warm your bed? Take her. 
 She is a fine girl." 
 
 "Whom are you torturing, Magnus: — ^me or 
 yourself?" 
 
 Magnus looked at me ironically: 
 
 "What a wise boy! Of course, myself I You are 
 a very clever American, Mr. Wondergood, and I 
 wonder why your career has been so mediocre. 
 Go to bed, dear children. Good night. What are 
 you looking at, Wondergood : do you find the hour 
 too early? If so, take her out for a walk in the 
 garden. When you see Maria beneath the moon- 
 night, 3000 Magnuses will be unable to prove that 
 this heavenly maiden is the same creature 
 who . . ." 
 
 I flared up: 
 
 "You are a disgusting scoundrel and liar, 
 Thomas Magnus ! If she has received her train- 
 ing in a lupanaria, then you, my worthy signor, 
 must have received your higher education in the 
 penitentiary. Whence comes that aroma which 
 permeates so thoroughly your gentlemanly jokes 
 
 245 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and witticisms. The sight of your pale face is 
 beginning to nauseate me. After enticing a woman 
 in the fashion of a petty, common hero. ..." 
 
 Magnus struck the table with his fist. His 
 bloodshot eyes were aflame. 
 
 "Silence! You are an inconceivable ass, Won- 
 dergood! Don't you understand that I myself, 
 like you, was deceived by her? Who, meeting 
 If aifo^a, can escape deception? Oh devil! What 
 are the sufferings of your little, shallow American 
 soul in comparison with the pangs of mine? Oh 
 devil! Witticism, jests, gentlemen and ladies, 
 asses and tigers, gods and devils ! Can't you see : 
 this is not a woman, ttis is — an eagle who daily 
 plucks my liver ! My suffering begins in the morn- 
 ing. Each morning, oblivious to what passed the 
 day before, I see Madonna bef o-re me and believe. 
 I think: what happened to me yesterday? Ap- 
 parently, I must be mistaken or did I miss any- 
 thing? It is impossible that this clear gaze, this 
 divine walk, this pure countenance of Madonna 
 should belong to a prostitute. It is your soul that 
 is vile, Thomas Magnus : she is as pure as a host. 
 Aad there were occasions when, on my knees, I 
 actually begged forgiveness of this creature ! Can 
 you imagine it : on my knees ! Then it was that I 
 was really a scoundrel, Wondergood. I idealized 
 her, endowed her with my thoughts and feelings 
 
 246 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and was overjoyed, like an idiot. I almost wept 
 with felicity when she mumbhngly repeated what 
 I would say. Like a high priest I painted my idol 
 and then knelt before it in intoxication! But 
 the truth proved stronger at last. "With each 
 moment, with each hour, falsehood slipped off her 
 body, so that, tbward night, I even beat her. I 
 beat her and wept. I beat her cruelly as does a 
 procurer his mistress. And then came night with 
 its Babylonian licentiousness, the sleep of the dead 
 and — oblivion. And then morning again. And 
 again Madonna. And again ... oh, devil! Over 
 night my faith again grew, as did the liver of 
 Prometheus, and like a bird of prey she tortured 
 me all day. I, too, am human, "Wondergood I ' ' 
 
 Shivering as if with cold, Magnus began to pace 
 the room rapidly, gazed into the dark fireplace 
 and approached Maria. Maria lifted her clear 
 gaze to him, as plf in question, while Magnus 
 stroked her head carefully and gently, as he Would 
 that of a parrot or a cat : < 
 
 "What a httle head! What a sweet, little 
 head. . . . Wondergood! Come, caress it!" 
 
 I drew up my torn sleeve and asked ironically : 
 
 "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 bil- 
 Hons?" 
 
 247 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 But Magnus had already calmed Mmself . Sub^ 
 duing his excitement and the drunken3iess which 
 had imperceptibly come upon him, he returned to 
 his place without haste and ordered politely : 
 
 "1 will answer you in a moment, Mr. Wonder- 
 good. 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 tete-a-tete 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 re- 
 mote 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 pro- 
 voked by my torn sleeve that kept slipping con- 
 stantly : it was necessary for me to be stem 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 
 
 248 
 
Satcm's Diary ^ 
 
 •with, studied gruffness hurled into the calm and 
 hateful face of Magnus : 
 
 "Now, you! Enough of comedy and charlatan- 
 ism. TeU me what you want. So you want me to 
 surrender to that bird of prey of yours?" 
 
 Magnus replied oahnly, although his feyes 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 hisr little teeth my 
 silly faith and gave me that clear, firm and real- 
 istic outlook upon life which permits of no decep- 
 tions and . . . sentimentalisms. You, too, ought 
 to experience and grasp it, Wondergood, if you 
 would foUow Magnus Ergo." 
 
 I remained silent, lazily chewing my cigar. 
 249 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 MagUTis lowered his eyes and continued still more 
 calmly and dryly: 
 
 "Desert pilgrims, to accustom themselves to 
 death., used to sleep in coflGbis : let Maria be your 
 coffin and when you feel like /going to church, kiss- 
 ing a woman and stretching your hand to a friend, 
 just look at Maria and her father, Thomas Mag- 
 nus. Take her, "Wondergood, and you wiU. 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 inextin- 
 guishable, human hatred and not with weak con- 
 tempt, 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 evap- 
 orated. Little flames of intoxication, now; merry, 
 now ludicrous, like the Hghts 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 str£iightened 
 his body cynically, as if trying.to reveal himself, in 
 his entirety, and well nigh spat these words at me : 
 
 250 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 * * "Well ? How long do you intend to think about 
 it, you ass? Come, quick, or I'll kick you out I 
 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 ac- 
 cursed sleeve of mine, I replied : 
 
 "I am thinking that you are an evil, contempt- 
 ible, 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 my- 
 self 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 advan- 
 tage 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 naively displayed a set 
 of white teeth. Breathing with difficulty, he re- 
 peated : 
 
 "You? Me?" 
 
 "Yes. I— you." 
 
 "Police?" 
 
 "You are not afraid of it? Very weU. Let all 
 your courts be powerless, remain unpunished on 
 
 251 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 this earth, you evil conscienceless creature ! Thfe 
 day will come when the sea of falsehood, which 
 constitutes your life, will part and all your false- 
 hood, too, will give way and disappear. Let there 
 be no foot upon this earth to crush you, hairy 
 worm. Let I 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 prosti- 
 tute and is stripped naked by the very first man 
 he meets? Tes, 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, 
 pititful 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 
 
 252 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 breath? Or has the rum 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 trivmphantly: 
 
 ''lam— Satan!" 
 
 Magnus was silent for a moment — and then 
 broke out into all the laughter that a drunken, 
 repulsive, humsiu belly can contain. Of course 
 you, old man, expected that, but I did not. I swear 
 by eternal salvation, I did not! I shouted some- 
 thing 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 com- 
 mentary 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 outbursta 
 
 253 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 shakmg his entire frame, lie moved toward tlie 
 door, flung it open and shouted : 
 
 ' ' Here ! Come here I Here is Satan 1 In huflian 
 .... 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 miser- 
 able 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 won- 
 dering, not knowing yet what it was all about, and 
 glanced how at iue 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 Emi- 
 nence : Mr. Henry "Wondergood has just informed 
 me that he is— ^Sataii. Yes, Satah, and that he has 
 merely donned the human form. And thus our 
 assumption that he is an American ttom. llliuois 
 falls. Mr. "WondergOdd is Satan and apparently 
 
 254 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 has but recently deigned to arrive from Hell. 
 What shall we do about it, Tour 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 for- 
 ward and said with an ironic bow : 
 
 "Yes, I am Satan. But I must add to the speech 
 of Signer 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, Tour Eminence ? And are you, per- 
 haps, one of them, Tour Eminence?" 
 
 Magnus alone continued to smile. The rest, it 
 seemed to me, grew serious and awaited the Car- 
 dinal's reply. It followed. The shaven monkey, 
 it developed, "vras not a bad actor. Pretending to 
 be startled, the Cardinal raised his right hand and 
 said with an expression of extreme goodness, con- 
 trasting sharply with his words and gesture : 
 
 "Vade Petro Satanas!" 
 
 I am not going to describe to you how they 
 laughed. Tou can imagine it. Even Maria's teeth 
 parted slightly. Almost losing consciousness from 
 auger and impotence, I turned to Toppi for sym- 
 pathy and aid. But Toppi, covering his face with 
 
 255 
 
'Sdtam's Diary 
 
 his hands, was cringing in the comer, silent. Amid 
 general langhter, and ringing far above it, came 
 the heavy voice of Magnus, laden with infinite 
 ridicule : 
 " Look at the plucked rooster. That is Satan 1 ' ' 
 And again there came an outburst of laugh- 
 ter. His Erninenee 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 some- 
 where 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 impo- 
 tency. Like a village vicar, frightening his igno- 
 rant 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 
 ecotraordi/nary which is inexpressible in their lan- 
 guage? 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 
 
 256 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 the indifference and shamelessness of these shal- 
 low faces, these small eyes, these mediocre souls, 
 regarding themselves ahove punishment. But 
 they remained unmoved and smug, as if in a for- 
 tress, heyond 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 1 And yet he alone could hnow 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 comer. 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 Go- 
 morrah, is it worth while speaking of cold shivers 
 
 257 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 and goose ffesh? A mere glass of wine can con- 
 quer them. 
 
 And Magnus, like the skilled healer of souls that 
 he was, said calmly: 
 
 "Will you have a glass of wine, Your Emi- 
 nence ? ' ' 
 
 "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 heen drunk, Magnus lit a 
 cigarette (he smokes cigarettes), cast his eye over 
 the audience, like a lecturer before a lecture, mo- 
 tioned pleasantly to Toppi, now grown quite pale, 
 and said the following ... although he was ob- 
 viously drunk and his eyes were bloodshot, his 
 voice was firm and his speech flowed with meas- 
 ured 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 im- 
 pression ... at certain points you reminded me 
 of the best passages of Brother Geronimo Savan- 
 arola. Don't you also fiiid the same striking re- 
 semblance. Your Eminence ? But alas ! You are 
 slightly behind the times. Those threats of hell 
 
 258 
 
Satcm's Diary 
 
 and eternal torture with wMoh you might have 
 driven the beautiful and merry Florence to panic 
 ring ''extremely unconvincing in the atmosphere of 
 contemporary Eome. 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 «ourt 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 now- 
 adays knows that history records with equal im- 
 partiality 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 re- 
 spective subjects and heroes. The lashings his- 
 tory administers to its great criminals differ but 
 little from her laurels — ^when viewed at a distance 
 and this little distinction eventually becomes quit© 
 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 
 
 259 
 
■Satcm's Diary 
 
 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 Emi- 
 nence has received a certain share of those bil- 
 lions 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 oh 
 blinking ! The mdes 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 an^el," said the Cardinal in 
 an instructive tone!, 
 
 "And as such he is in your service? I under- 
 stand," Magnus bowed his head politely 4n accept- 
 ance of this truth and turned smilingly to me: 
 
 260 
 
■Satcm's Diary 
 
 "Do you hear, "Wondergood? His Eminenoe 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 soft of misunderstanding here. I know the 
 modesty and well-informed mind of Mr. "Wonder- 
 good 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 un- 
 fortunate friend did. And, in general, has any- 
 body ever seen such a Satan?" 
 
 He stretched his hand out to me in an effective 
 gesture — and the reply to this was another out- 
 burst of laughter. The Cardinal, too, laughed, 
 and Toppi alone shook his wise head, as if to say: 
 
 "Idiots 1" . . . 
 
 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, explo- 
 sive 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 edl fools and I am quite ready to admit that 
 
 261 
 
Satan's Diary 
 
 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 my- 
 self, 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 charm- 
 ing, 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 Eome, in the Palazzo Orsini, 
 
 262 
 
Satan*s Diary 
 
 when I still belonged to the An^erican billionaire, 
 Henry Wondergood. Do you remember that 
 genial American with his cigar and patent gold 
 teeth? Alas! He is no longer with ns. 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 Won- 
 dergood, blown up by the culprit Thomas Magnus, 
 and buried by Maria in the evening, when the 
 moon was shining brightly. 
 
 THE END 
 
 263 
 

 
 
 
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