Скорбь сатаны / The sorrows of Satan. Уровень 4

Needless to say I refused all appeals for money; no one had helped me in my distress, with the exception of my old chum �Boffles’.

Yet with all the advantages which I now possessed I could not honestly say I was happy. I knew I could have every possible enjoyment and amusement the world had to offer. I knew I was one of the most envied among men, and yet, I was conscious of a bitterness rather than a sweetness in the full cup of fortune. For example, I had flooded the press with the prominent advertisements of my forthcoming book.

A fog began to darken down over the streets in company with the rain, and disgusted with the weather and with myself, I turned away from the window and settled into an arm-chair by the fire. A tap came at the door, and in answer to my somewhat irritable “Come in!” Rimanez entered.

“What, all in the dark Tempest!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “Why don’t you light up?”

“The fire’s enough,” I answered crossly. “Enough at any rate to think by.

”

“And have you been thinking?” he inquired laughing. “Don’t do it. It’s a bad habit. No one thinks nowadays, people can’t stand it[17 - can’t stand it – не могут этого выдержать]. Their heads are too frail. Just begin to think – and the foundations of society will go down. Besides thinking is always dull work.”

“I have found it so,” I said gloomily. “Lucio, there is something wrong about me somewhere.”

“Wrong? Oh no, surely not! What can there be wrong about you, Tempest? Are you not one of the richest men living?”

“Listen, my friend,” I said earnestly.

“You know I have been busy for the last fortnight correcting my book for the press. I have come to the conclusion that the book is not Me. It is not a reflex of my feelings at all. I cannot understand how I wrote it.”

“You find it stupid perhaps?” said Lucio sympathetically.

“No,” I answered with indignation.

“I do not find it stupid.”

“Dull then?”

“No, – it is not dull.”

“Melodramatic?”

“No, – not melodramatic.”

“Well, my good fellow, if it is not dull or stupid or melodramatic, what is it!” he exclaimed merrily. “It must be something!”

“Yes, it is this, it is beyond me altogether.” And I spoke with some bitterness. “Quite beyond me. I could not write it now. I wonder I could write it then.