Satan's Diary. Леонид Андреев

and I looked toward Magnus. One had to be an ignorant, illiterate animal not to know me.

      Toppi broke in:

      “Mr. Henry Wondergood of Illinois. His secretary, 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 American billionaire who seeks to bestow upon humanity the benefits of his billions?”

      I modestly shook my head in 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 Roman 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-herd before I became a billionaire, while you 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 into 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 assure you it did not remain idle. And this sensation 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, understand, answer, while I think: what a beautiful earth, what a beautiful Campagna di Roma! I persisted in penetrating the recesses of the house, into its 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 implanting a kiss on his brow 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 foot! 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 wondrous poem of feeling human and even of weeping,—he slept like a dead one at the very same table. I was rather angered. This was really going too far. I wanted to shout at him, but Magnus restrained me:

      “He has had a good deal of excitement and is weary, 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 beginning to develop an admiration for his grim and, at times, evil, secretive countenance. He said:

      “I believe in your altruistic passion, Mr. Wondergood. But I do not believe that you, a man of wisdom and of action, and, it seems to me, somewhat cold, could place any serious hopes upon your money——”

      “Three billion dollars—that is a mighty power, Magnus!”

      “Yes, three billion 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 ignoramus 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 reproach, 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 Magnus. 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 philanthropists. Your billions——”

      “Three billions, Magnus! One could build a nation on this money——”

      “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 white hands trembled slightly and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a look of respect: “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 destruction of the old state? War or peace? Rest or revolution? Who are you, Mr. Wondergood of Illinois, that you essay to solve these problems? You had better keep on building your maternity hospitals and universities. That is far less dangerous 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 indicate 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 better 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 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 heroic 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