Satan's Diary

For a moment the cardinal was lost in thought and suddenly I recalled: Yes, this is simply a shaven monkey! This must be its sad, boundless pensiveness, its evil gleam within the narrow pupil!

But in a moment the Cardinal laughed, jested and gesticulated like a Neapolitan lazzarone – he was no longer telling me the history of the palace. He was playing, he was interpreting it in facial expression and dramatic monologue! He has short fingers, not at all like those of a monkey, and when he gesticulates he rather resembles a penguin while his voice reminds me of a talking parrot – Who are you, anyhow?

No, a monkey! He is laughing again and I observe that he really does not know how to laugh. It is as if he had learned the human art of laughter but yesterday. He likes it but experiences considerable difficulty in extracting it from his throat. The sounds seem to choke him. It is impossible not to echo this strange contagious laughter. But it seems to break one’s jaws and teeth and to petrify the muscles.

It was really remarkable. I was fascinated when Cardinal X. suddenly cut short his lecture on the Villa Orsini by a fit of groaning laughter which left him calm and silent. His thin fingers played with his rosary, he remained quiet and gazed at me with a mien of deepest reverence and gentle love: something akin to tears glistened in his dark eyes. I had made an impression upon him. He loved me!

What was I to do? I gazed into his square, ape-like face. Kindliness turned to love, love into passion, and still we maintained the silence…another moment and I would have stifled him in my embrace!

“Well, here you are in Rome, Mr. Wondergood,” sweetly sang the old monkey, without altering his loving gaze.

“Here I am in Rome,” I agreed obediently, continuing to gaze upon him with the same sinful passion.

“And do you know, Mr. Wondergood, why I came here, i.e., in addition, of course, to the pleasure I anticipated in making your acquaintance?”

I thought and with my gaze unchanged, replied:

“For money, Your Eminence?”

The Cardinal shook, as though flapping his wings, laughed, and slapped his knee – and again lost himself in loving contemplation of my nose. This dumb reverence, to which I replied with redoubled zest, began to wield a peculiar influence upon me. I purposely tell you all this in detail in order that you may understand my wish at that moment: to begin cavorting about, to sing like a cock, to tell my best Arkansas anecdote, or simply to invite His Eminence to remove his regalia and play a game of poker!

“Your Eminence…”

“I love Americans, Mr. Wondergood.”

“Your Eminence! In Arkansas they tell a story…”

“Ah, I see, you want to get down to business? I understand your impatience. Money matters should never be postponed. Is that not so?”

“It depends entirely upon one’s concern in these matters, Your Eminence.”

The square face of the Cardinal grew serious, and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a ray of loving reproach:

“I hope you are not vexed at my long dissertation, Mr. Wondergood. I love so much the history of our great city that I could not forego the pleasure…the things you see before you are not Rome. There is no Rome, Mr. Wondergood. Once upon a time it was the Eternal City, but to-day it is simply a large city and the greater it grows the further it is from eternity. Where is that great Spirit which once illumined it?”

I shall not narrate to you all the prattle of this purple parrot, his gently-cannibal look, his grimaces and his laughter. All that the old shaven monkey told me when it finally grew weary was:

“Your misfortune is that you love your fellow beings too much…”

“Love your neighbor…”

“Well, let neighbors love each other. Go on teaching that but why do you want to do it? When one loves too well one is blind to the shortcomings of the beloved and still worse: one elevates these faults to virtues. How can you reform people and make them happy without realizing their shortcomings or by ignoring their vices? When one loves, one pities and pity is the death of power. You see, I am quite frank with you, Mr. Wondergood, and I repeat: love is weakness. Love will get the money out of your pocket and will squander it…on rouge! Leave love to the lower classes. Let them love each other. Demand it of them, but you, you have risen to greater heights, gifted with such power!..”

“But what can I do, Your Eminence? I am at a loss to understand it all. From my childhood on, especially in church, I have had it drummed into me that one must love his neighbor, and I believed it. And so…”

The Cardinal grew pensive. Like laughter, pensiveness was becoming to him and rendered his square face immovable, filling it with dignity and lonely grief. Leaning forward with his lips compressed and supporting his chin upon his hand, he fixed his sharp, sleepy eyes upon me. There was much sorrow in them. He seemed to be waiting for the conclusion of my remark, and not having patience to do so, sighed and blinked.

“Childhood, yes”…he mumbled, still blinking sorrowfully. “Children, yes. But you are no longer a child. Forget this lesson. You must acquire the heavenly gift of forgetfulness, you know.”

He gnashed his white teeth and significantly scratched his nose with his thin finger, continuing seriously:

“But it’s all the same, Mr. Wondergood. You, yourself cannot accomplish much… Yes, yes! One 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. Wondergood, 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. Wondergood, but do not forget that one finds the devil, too, in swine!”

Ceasing his laughter he proceeded:

“In teaching others, we learn ourselves. I do not contend that all the methods of education and training employed by the Church were equally successful. No, we often made mistakes, but every one of our mistakes served to improve our methods…we are approaching perfection, Mr. Wondergood, we are approaching perfection!”

I hinted at the rapid growth of rationalism which, it seemed to me, threatened to destroy the “perfection” of the Church, but Cardinal X. again flapped his wings and almost screeched with laughter.

“Rationalism! You are a most talented humorist, Mr. Wondergood! Tell me, was not the celebrated Mark Twain a countryman of yours? Yes, yes! Rationalism! Just think a moment. From what root is this word derived and what does it mean —ratio? An nescis, mi filis quantilla sapientia rigitur orbis? Ah, my dear Wondergood! To speak of ratio on this earth is more out of place than it would be to speak of a rope in the home of a man who has just been hanged!”

I watched the old monkey enjoying himself and I enjoyed myself too. I studied this mixture of a monkey, parrot, penguin, fox, wolf – and what not? And it was really funny: I love merry suicides. For a long time we continued our fun at the expense of ratio until His Eminence calmed himself and assumed the tone of a teacher:

“As anti-Semitism is the Socialism of fools…”

“And are you familiar…?”

“I told you we are approaching perfection!.. So is rationalism the wisdom of fools. The wise man goes further. The ratio constitutes the holiday dress of a fool. It is the coat he dons in the presence of others, but he really lives, sleeps, works, loves and dies without any ratio at all. Do you fear death, Mr. Wondergood?”

I did not feel like replying and remained silent.

“You need not feel ashamed, Mr. Wondergood: one should fear death. As long as there 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 evidence: One look upon this distorted, befogged and confused human face was sufficient to compel reverence for the Great Irrational! And how weak is their steadiness: My Wondergood also grew pale and cringed…ah, the rogue! He was now seeking protection and help from Me!

“Will you have some wine, Your Eminence?”

But His Eminence was himself again. He curved his thin lips into a smile and shook his head in the negative. And suddenly he broke out again with surprising fury:

“And as long as there is death, the Church is unshakable! Let all of you who seek to undermine her, tear her, and blow her up – you cannot conquer her. And even if you should succeed in destroying her, the first to perish beneath her ruins would be yourselves. Who will then defend you against death? Who will give you sweet faith in immortality, in eternal life, in everlasting bliss?.. Believe me, Mr. Wondergood, the world is not seeking your ratio. It is all a misunderstanding!”

“But what does it seek, Your Eminence?”

“What does it want? Mundus vult decipi…you know our Latin? the world wants to be fooled!”

And the old monkey again grew merry, begun to wink, to beam with satisfaction, slapped his knee and burst into laughter. I also laughed. The rascal was so funny!

“And is it you,” said I, “who wants to fool it?”

The Cardinal again grew serious and replied sadly:

“The Holy See needs funds, Mr. Wondergood. The world, while it has not grown rational, has become weaker in its faith and it is somewhat difficult to manage it.”

He signed and continued:

“You are not a Socialist, Mr. Wondergood? Ah, do not be ashamed. We are all Socialists now. We are all on the side of the hungry: the more satisfied they will be, the more they will fear death. You understand?”

He flung out his arms and drew them in again, like a net filled with fish and said:

“We are fishermen, Mr. Wondergood, humble fishermen!.. And tell me: do you regard the desire for liberty 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 death? 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 objection to that. You can have as much as you please of that! Of course, provided men themselves ask for it. Are you sure they really want it? If they do, please help yourself! It is all nonsense and calumny to say that the Holy See is in favor of reaction… I had the honor to be present on the balcony of the Vatican when His Holiness blessed the first French aëroplane that appeared over Rome, and the next Pope, I am sure, will gladly bless the barricades. The time of Galileo has passed, Mr. Wondergood, and we all know now that the earth does move!”

He drew a circle in the air with his finger, indicating the revolution of the earth.

I said:

“You must permit me to think over your proposal, Your Eminence.”

Cardinal X. jumped up from his chair and gently touched my shoulder with two of his aristocratic fingers:

“Oh, I am not hurrying you, my good Mr. Wondergood. It was you who were hurrying me. I am even convinced that you will at first refuse me, but when, after some little experience, you will have realized the 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 abbés, whose face resembled a black plate. The Cardinal’s countenance no longer reminded me of a monkey: it was rather the face of a shaven, hungry, tired lion. This able actor needed no dressing room for his make-up! Behind him stood a tall lackey, all dressed in black, reminding one of an English baronet. Whenever His Eminence turned about in his direction, he would respectfully lift his faded silk hat.

Following the departure of His Eminence I was surrounded by a merry group of friends, with whom I had filled the spare rooms of my palace for the purpose of alleviating my loneliness and ennui. Toppi looked proud and happy: he was so satiated with blessings that he fairly bulged. The artists, decorators and others – whatever you call them – were greatly impressed by the Cardinal’s visit, and spoke with much glee of the remarkable expression of his face and the grandeur of his manner! The Pope himself… But when I remarked with the naïveté of a Redskin that he reminded me of a monkey, the shrewd canailes burst into loud laughter and one of them immediately sketched a portrait of Cardinal X. – in a cage. I am not a moralist to judge other people for their petty sins: they will get what is due them on their Judgment Day – and I was much pleased by the cleverness of the laughing beasts. They do not appear to have much faith in love for one’s fellow beings and if I should rummage about among their drawings, I would probably find a pretty good sketch of the ass Wondergood. I like that. I find relief in communion with my 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 all!”

Toppi said with determination:

“Don’t you give him all. He promised to make me a prelate, but, all the same, don’t you give him all. One should save his money.”

Every day I have unpleasant experiences with Toppi: people are constantly foisting counterfeit coin on him. When they first gave him some, he was greatly perturbed and was impressed with what I said to him.

“You really astonish me, Toppi,” I said, “it is ridiculous for an old devil like you to accept counterfeit money from human beings, and allow yourself to be fooled. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Toppi. I fear you will make a beggar of me.”

Now, however, Toppi, entangled in the mesh of the counterfeit and the genuine, seeks to preserve both the one and the other: he is quite clever in money matters and the Cardinal tried in vain to bribe him. Toppi – a prelate!..

But the shaven monkey does really want my three billions. Apparently the belly of the Holy 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 beneath the gray ashes of terror. The bestial and the human is here, but it is not molded into that extraordinary mask which, now that a long distance separates me from the Cardinal and I no longer hear his heavy laughter, is beginning to exercise a most disagreeable influence over me. Or is it because the extraordinary is inexpressible through pencil?

In reality he is a cheap rascal, no better than a plain pickpocket, and told me nothing new: he is human enough and wise enough to cultivate that contemptuous laughter of his at the expense of the rational. But he 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 understand: it was as if some one were strangling you, and you, in stifled voice, cried to heaven: Murder! Police! Ah, you do not know that third, which is neither life nor death, and I know who it was that was strangling you with his bony fingers!

But do I know? Oh, laugh at him who is laughing at you, comrade. I fear your turn is coming to have some fun at my expense. Do I know? I came to you from the innermost depths, merry and serene, blessed in the consciousness of my Immortality… And I am already hesitating. I am already trembling before this shaven monkey’s face which dares to express its own low horror in such audaciously grand style: Ah, I have not even sold my Immortality: I have simply crushed it in my sleep, as does a foolish mother her newborn babe. It has simply faded beneath your sun and rains. It has become a transparent cloth without design, unfit to cover the nakedness of a respectable gentleman! This reeking Wondergood swamp in which I am submerged to my eyes, envelops me with mire, befogs my consciousness and stifles me with the unbearable odors of decay. When do you usually begin to decay, my friend: on the second, the third day or does it depend upon the climate? I am already in the process of decay, and I am nauseated by the odor of my entrails. Or are you so used to the work of 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 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 appreciate your good taste…

No, I am still Satan! I still know that I am immortal and when my will shall command me I will strangle myself with my own bony fingers. But if I should forget?

Then I shall distribute my wealth among the poor and with you, my friend, shall crawl up to the old shaven monkey. I shall cling with my American face to his soft slipper, emitting blessings. I shall weep. I shall rave with horror: “Save me from Death!” And the old monkey, brushing the hair from his face, reclining comfortably, gleaming with a holy light, illuminating all about it – and itself trembling with fear and horror – will hastily continue to fool the world, the world which so loves to be fooled!

But I am jesting. I wish to be serious now. I like Cardinal X. and I shall permit him to begild himself with my gold. I am weary. I must sleep. My bed and Wondergood await me. I shall extinguish the light and in the darkness I shall listen for a moment to the clicking of the counting machine within my breast. And then will come the great pianist, a drunken genius, and begin drumming upon the black keys of my brain. He knows everything and has forgotten everything, this ingenious drunkard, and confuses the most inspiring landscapes with a swamp.

That is – a dream.

February 22.Rome, Villa Orsini.

Magnus was not at home. I was received by Maria.

A glorious peace has suddenly descended upon me. In wondrous calm I breathe at this moment. Like a schooner, its sails lowered, I doze in the midday heat of the slumbering ocean. Not a stir. Not a ripple. I fear to move or to open wide my eyes, dazzled by the rays of the sun. I breathe silently, and I would not rouse the slightest wave upon the boundless smoothness of the sea. And quietly I lay down my pen.

February 23.Villa Orsini.

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 mumbled and that I felt a strong impulse to laugh. I could not lift my eyes to gaze upon Maria until my thoughts cast off their soiled garb and donned clean attire. As you see, I did not lose consciousness altogether! But in vain did I take these precautions: that torture did not follow. Maria’s gaze was clear and simple and it contained neither searching, penetrating fire nor fatal forgiveness. It was calm and clear, like the sky of the Campagna and – I do not know how it happened – it penetrated my entire being.

She met me in the garden. We sat down by the gate, from which vantage point we had a good view of the Campagna. When you gaze at the Campagna you cannot prattle nonsense. No, it was she who gazed at the Campagna and I gazed into her eyes – clear to the seventh sky, where you end the count of your heavens. We were silent or – if you regard the following as conversation – we spoke:

“Are those mountains?”

“Yes, those are the mountains of Albania. And there – is Tivoli.”

She picked out little white houses in the distance and pointed them out to me and I felt a peculiar calm and joy in Maria’s gaze. The suspicious resemblance of Maria to the Madonna no longer troubled me: how can I possibly be troubled by 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 calm… I am forever conjuring up before me that accursed schooner with its lowered sails, on which I never really sailed, for I am afraid of seasickness! Or is it because on this night of my loneliness, my road is being illuminated by 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 comparisons.

I was so calm 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 Nothing. 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 must be extremely pleasant to traverse it by automobile.”

“Have you a swift car, Signor?”

“Oh, yes, Signorina, very swift! But those,” I continued in gentle reproach, “who are themselves limitless distances and endlessness are in no need of any movement.”

Maria and an automobile! A winged angel entering a trolley car for the sake of speed! A swallow riding on a turtle! An arrow on the humpy back of a hod carrier! Ah, all comparisons lie: why speak of swallows and arrows, why speak of any movement for Maria, who embraces all distances! But it is only now that I thought of the trolley and the turtle. At that time I felt so calm and peaceful, I was deep in such bliss that I could think of nothing except that countenance of eternity and undying light!

A great calm came upon Me on that day and nothing could disturb my endless bliss. It was not long before Thomas Magnus returned, and a flying fish, gleaming for a moment above the ocean, could no more disturb its blue smoothness than did Magnus disturb me. 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 and merry. He pressed 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 you, let me say right now that I remained until late in the evening. When Maria had retired I told Magnus of the visit of Cardinal X. His merry face darkened slightly and in his eyes appeared his former hostile flame.

“Cardinal X.? 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 small caliber. Magnus frowned and said sternly:

“You laugh in vain, Mr. Wondergood. I have long known Cardinal X. and…I have been keeping a close eye on him. He is evil, cruel and dangerous. Despite his ridiculous exterior, he is as cunning, merciless and revengeful as Satan!”

And you, too, Magnus! Like Satan! This blue-faced, shaven orang-outang, this caressing gorilla, this monkey cavorting before a looking-glass! But I have exhausted my capacity for insult. Magnus’ remark fell like a stone to the bottom of my bliss. I listened further: