Скорбь сатаны / The sorrows of Satan. Уровень 4

Wishing you both a cordial friendship,

I am, dear Geoffrey,

Yours sincerely

I glanced furtively at my silent companion. He caught my stray look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. I spoke,

“This letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that I should have greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. No apology can condone my rudeness, but you cannot imagine how mortified I felt and still feel, to be compelled to receive you in this miserable den.”

The prince waived aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand.

“Why be mortified?” he demanded. “Rather be proud that you can dispense with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. Genius thrives in a garret and dies in a palace. Is not that the generally accepted theory?”

“Rather a mistaken one I consider,” I replied. “Genius usually dies of starvation.”

“True! But there is an all-wise Providence in this, my dear sir! Schubert perished of want, but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his compositions! Honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for the sustenance of knaves!”

He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise.

“You speak sarcastically of course?” I said. “You do not really believe what you say?”

“Oh, do I not!” he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes. “I always realize the proverb ‘needs must when the devil drives[11].’ The devil drives the world, whip in hand, and oddly enough, succeeds!”

His brow clouded and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and hardened. Anon he laughed again lightly and continued,

“But let us not moralize. Morals sicken the soul both in church and out of it. Every sensible man hates to be told what he could be and what he won’t be. I am here to make friends with you if you permit. To put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where I have ordered supper?”

By this time I had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice. The satirical turn of his humour suited mine. My first annoyance abated.

“With pleasure!” I replied. “But first of all, you must allow me to explain matters a little. You have heard about my affairs from my friend John Carrington. I know from his private letter to me that you have come here out of pure kindness and goodwill. For that generous intention I thank you! I know you expected to find a poor wretch of a literary man. A couple of hours ago you would have amply fulfilled that expectation. But now, things have changed. I have received news which completely alters my position. I got a letter…”

“An agreeable one I trust?” interposed my companion suavely.

I smiled.

“Judge for yourself!”

I handed him the lawyer’s letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired fortune.

He glanced it through rapidly, then folded and returned it to me with a courteous bow.

“I suppose I should congratulate you,” he said. “And I do. Though of course this wealth which seems to content you, to me appears a mere trifle. It can be exhausted in about eight years or less. To be rich, really rich, one should have about a million a year. Then one might reasonably hope to escape the workhouse!”

He laughed, and I stared at him stupidly, not knowing how to take his words, whether as truth or idle boasting. Five millions of money a mere trifle! He went on,

“The inexhaustible greed of a man, my dear sir, can never be satisfied. If he gets one thing, he wants another, and his tastes are generally expensive. A few pretty and unscrupulous women for example, will soon relieve you of your five millions. Horse-racing will do it still more quickly. No, no, you are not rich, you are still poor, only your needs are no longer so pressing as they were.”

He broke off and raised his head,

“What is that?” he asked.

It was the violinist next door playing a well-known “Ave Maria.” I told him so.

“Dismal, very dismal!” he said with a contemptuous shrug. “I hate all that kind of mawkish devotional stuff. Well, Mr. Millionaire! There is no objection, I hope, to the proposed supper? What do you say?”

He clapped me on the shoulder cordially and looked straight into my face. Those wonderful eyes of his completely dominated me. I made no attempt to resist the singular attraction which now possessed me for this man whom I had but just met. Only for one moment more I hesitated, looking down at my shabby attire.

“I am not fit to accompany you, prince,” I said. “I look more like a tramp than a millionaire.”

Примечания