Скорбь сатаны / The sorrows of Satan. Уровень 4. Мария Корелли

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      He surveyed me with a whimsical smile.

      “I suppose honour and virtue exist,” he answered. “But my experience has taught me that I can always buy everything. Just tell the price, and the people become bribery and corrupt in the twinkling of an eye! Curious – very curious. Pray do not imagine I am a swindler. I am a real prince, believe me, and of such descent as none of your oldest families can boast. But my dominions are broken up and my former subjects dispersed among all nations. Money I fortunately have in plenty, and with that I pave my way. Some day when we are better acquainted, you will know more of my private history. I have various other names and titles. My intimate friends generally drop my title, and call me Lucio simply.”

      “That is your Christian name?” I began.

      “Not at all – I have no ‘Christian’ name,” he interrupted swiftly and with anger. “I’m not a ‘Christian’ at all!”

      He spoke with impatience.

      “Indeed!” I murmured vaguely.

      He burst out laughing.

      “‘Indeed!’ That is all you can say! Indeed and again indeed the word ‘Christian’ vexes me. You are not a Christian, no one is really, people pretend to be. They are more blasphemous than any fallen fiend! Now I have only one faith…”

      “And that is…?”

      “A profound and awful one!” he said in thrilling tones. “And the worst of it is that it is true.”

      The carriage stopped and we descended. At first sight of the black horses and silver trappings, the porter of the hotel and two or three other servants rushed out to attend upon us; but the prince passed into the hall without noticing any of them. He addressed himself to a man in black, his own private valet, who came forward to meet him with a profound salutation. I murmured something about wishing to engage a room for myself in the hotel.

      “Oh, my man will make that for you,” he said lightly. “The hotel is not full. At any rate, all the best rooms are not taken; and of course you want one of the best.”

      A servant bowed obsequiously as I passed. A thrill of disgust ran through me, mingled with a certain angry triumph. If you are poor and dress shabbily you are thrust aside and ignored. But if you are rich, you may wear shabby clothes as much as you like. You are still courted and flattered, and invited everywhere, though you may be the greatest fool alive or the worst blackguard.

      With vague thoughts such as these, I followed my host to his rooms. He occupied nearly a whole wing of the hotel, having a large drawing-room, dining-room and study en suite, fitted up in the most luxurious manner, besides bedroom, bathroom, and dressing-room, with other rooms adjoining, for his valet and two extra personal attendants. The table was laid for supper, and glittered with the costliest glass, silver and china, with the most exquisite fruit and flowers. In a few moments we were seated. The prince’s valet acted as head-waiter, and I noticed that now this man’s face seemed very dark and unpleasant, even sinister in expression. But in the performance of his duties he was unexceptionable, quick, attentive, and deferential. His name was Amiel, his movements were as noiseless as of a cat or a tiger. I talked with freedom and confidence. The strong attraction I had for my new friend was deepening with every moment I passed in his company.

      “Will you continue your literary career now you have this little fortune?” he inquired.

      “Certainly I shall,” I replied, “maybe for fun. You see, with money I can declare my name whether the public like it or not. No newspaper refuses paying advertisements.”

      “True! But may not inspiration refuse to flow from a full purse and an empty head?”

      This remark provoked me not a little.

      “Do you consider me empty-headed?” I asked with some vexation.

      “Not at present. My dear Tempest, I assure you I do not think you empty-headed. On the contrary, your head, I believe from what I have heard, has been and is full of ideas, excellent ideas, original ideas, which the world of criticism does not want. But whether these ideas will continue to germinate in your brain, or whether, with the full purse, they will cease, is now the question. Great originality and inspiration, strange to say, seldom endow the millionaire. Inspiration is supposed to come from above, money from below! In your case however both originality and inspiration may continue to flourish and bring forth fruit, I trust they may. It often happens, nevertheless that when bags of money fall to the genius, God departs and the devil walks in. Have you never heard that?”

      “Never!” I answered smiling.

      “Well, of course the proverb is foolish, and sounds ridiculous in this age when people believe in neither God nor devil. However one must choose: an up or a down. Genius is the Up, money is the Down. You cannot fly and grovel at the same instant.”

      “The possession of money does not force a man to grovel,” I said. “It is the one thing necessary to strengthen his powers and lift him to the greatest heights.”

      “You think so?” and my host lit his cigar. “Then I’m afraid, you don’t know much about what I call natural psychology. What belongs to the earth tends earthwards, surely you realize that? Gold belongs to the earth, you dig it out of the ground, it is a metal. Genius belongs to nobody knows where. You cannot dig it up. It is a rare visitant and capricious as the wind.”

      I laughed.

      “Upon my word you preach very eloquently against wealth!” I said. “You yourself are unusually rich, are you sorry for it?”

      “No, I am not sorry, because being sorry would be no use,” he returned. “And I never waste my time. But I am telling you the truth. Genius and great riches hardly ever pull together. Anyway, let’s return to the subject of your literary career. You have written a book, you say. Well, publish it and see the result. What is your story about? I hope it is improper?”

      “It certainly is not,” I replied warmly. “It is a romance dealing with the noblest forms of life and highest ambitions. I wrote it with the intention of elevating and purifying the thoughts of my readers. I waned to comfort those who had suffered loss or sorrow…”

      Rimanez smiled compassionately.

      “Ah, it won’t do!” he interrupted. “I assure you it won’t; it doesn’t fit the age. It must simply be indecent. That is giving you a good wide margin. Write about sexual matters and the bearing of children, in brief, discourse of men and women simply as cattle, and your success will be enormous!”

      Such a flash of withering derision darted from his eyes as startled me, I could find no words to answer him for the moment, and he went on,

      “Why, my dear Tempest, do you write a book dealing with, as you say, ‘the noblest forms of life’? There are no noble forms of life left on this planet. It is all low and commercial. Man is a pigmy, and his aims are pigmy like himself. For noble forms of life seek other worlds! – there are others. People don’t want their thoughts raised or purified in the novels they read for amusement. They go to church for that. My good fellow, leave your extravagant behaviour behind you with your poverty. Live your life to yourself. If you do anything for others they will only treat you with the blackest ingratitude. Take my advice, and don’t sacrifice your own personal interests for any consideration whatever.”

      He rose from the table as he spoke and stood with his back to the bright fire. I gazed at his handsome figure СКАЧАТЬ