canaille Wondergood gets overgrown with hair as quickly as his golden skinned pigs. I complained about this to Toppi with whom, while waiting for Magnus, I 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!”
Magnus appeared. He was no more hospitable than yesterday and his pale face carried unmistakable indications of weariness. But he was calm and polite. How black his beard is in the daytime! 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, Signor 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. Wondergood. You will soon see my daughter, Maria. She is my three billions. You understand?”
I nodded my head in approval.
“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 experience 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 will 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 stern 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” – he again assumed the attitude of cold politeness – “I ask you to come to my table. You too, Mr. Toppi!”
We had begun to eat, and were chattering of small matters, when 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 disappear again somewhere behind his narrow, ministerial collar. Of course, I thought he was choking to death with a fishbone and shouted:
“Toppi! What is the matter with you? Take some water.”
But Magnus was already on his feet, announcing coldly:
“My daughter, Maria. Mr. Henry Wondergood!”
I turned about quickly and – how can I express the extraordinary when it is inexpressible? It was something more than beautiful. It was terrible in its beauty. I do not want to seek comparisons. I shall leave that to you. Take all that you have ever seen or ever known of the beautiful on earth: the lily, the stars, the sun, but add, add still more. But not this was the awful aspect 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 learned 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 intrusion, 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.”
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 gentleman and only a scoundrel would dare to tear a mask from a lady’s face! This would have been 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 blinked —
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 evidence 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-born than indulged in frivolity.
Suddenly Toppi’s Adam’s apple gave a jerk and he inquired hoarsely:
“Has any one ever painted your portrait, Signorina?”
“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! 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 convey to the lady, suddenly appeared upon the surface. With all my secrecy I was left no more sealed than a room in a fifteen cent lodging house.
But she forgave me, said nothing and threw her gaze like 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
