Скорбь сатаны

Chapter 1

           Oncepasther,andshutinmyownroom,Iflungmyuselessmanuscriptonthefloorandmyselfintoachair,and—swore.Itrefreshedmetoswear,anditseemednatural—forthoughtemporarilyweakenedbylackoffood,Iwasnotyetsoweakastoshedtears—andafierceformidableoathwastomethesamesortofphysicalreliefwhichIimagineafitofweepingmaybetoanexcitablewoman.JustasIcouldnotshedtears,sowasIincapableofapostrophizingGodinmydespair.Tospeakfrankly,IdidnotbelieveinanyGod—then.Iwastomyselfanall-sufficingmortal,scorningthetime-wornsuperstitionsofso-calledreligion.OfcourseIhadbeenbroughtupintheChristianfaith;butthatcreedhadbecomeworsethanuselesstomesinceIhadintellectuallyrealizedtheutterinefficiencyofChristianministerstodealwithdifficultlife-problems.SpirituallyIwasadriftinchaos—mentallyIwashinderedbothinthoughtandachievement—bodily,Iwasreducedtowant.Mycasewasdesperate—Imyselfwasdesperate.Itwasamomentwhenifevergoodandevilangelsplayagameofchanceforaman’ssoul,theyweresurelythrowingthediceonthelastwagerformine.Andyet,withitall,IfeltIhaddonemybest.Iwasdrivenintoacornerbymyfellow-menwhogrudgedmespacetolivein,butIhadfoughtagainstit.Ihadworkedhonestlyandpatiently;—alltonopurpose.Iknewofrogueswhogainedplentyofmoney;andofknaveswhowereamassinglargefortunes.Theirprosperityappearedtoprovethathonestyafterallwasnotthebestpolicy.

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