I Await the Devil's Coming - Unexpurgated and Annotated by Mary MacLane Page A
Authors: Mary MacLane
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and Charles Dickens, among others, have succeeded in doing this. They impress the world with a sense of their courage and realness.
There are people who have written books which did not impress the world in this way, but which nevertheless came out of the feeling and fullness of zealous hearts. Always I think of that pathetic, artless little old-fashioned thing Jane Eyre as a picture shown to a world seeing with distorted vision. Charlotte Bront ë meant one thing when she wrote the book and the world after a time suddenly understood a quite different thing, and heaped praise and applause upon her therefor. When I read the book I was not quite able to see just what the message was that the Bront ë intended to send out. But I saw that there was a message - of bravery, perhaps, or of that good which may come out of Nazareth. But the world that praised and applauded and gave her money seems totally to have missed it.
It takes centuries of tears and piety and mourning to move this world a tiny bit.
But still, it will give you praise and applause and money if you will prostitute your sensibilities and emotions for the gratification of it.
I have no message to hide in a book and send out. I am writing a Portrayal.
But a Portrayal is also a thing that may be misunderstood.
January 30
An idle brain is the Devil’s workshop, they say. It is an absurdly incongruous statement. If the Devil is at work in a brain it certainly is not idle. And when one considers how brilliant a personage the Devil is, and what very fine work he turns out, it becomes an open question whether he would have the slightest use for most of the idle brains that cumber the earth. But, after all, the Devil is so clever that he could produce unexcelled workmanship with even the poorest tools.
My brain is one kind of Devil’s-workshop, and it is as incessantly hard-worked and always-busy a one as you could imagine.
It is a Devil’s workshop, indeed, only I do the work myself. But there is a mental telegraphy between the Devil and me, which accounts for the fact that many of my ideas are so wonderfully groomed and perfumed and colored. I take no credit to myself for this, though, as I say, I do the work myself.
I try always to give the Devil his due - and particularly in this Portrayal.
There are very few who give the Devil his due in this world of hypocrites.
I never think of the Devil as that atrocious creature in red tights, with cloven hoofs and a tail and a two-tined fork. I think of him rather as an extremely fascinating, strong, steel-willed person in conventional clothes - a man with whom to fall completely, madly in love. I rather think, I believe, that he is incarnate at times. Why not?
Periodically I fall completely, madly in love with the Devil. He is so fascinating, so strong - so strong, exactly the sort of man whom my wooden heart awaits. I would like to throw myself at his head. I would make him a dear little wife. He would love me - he would love me. I would be in raptures. And I would love him, oh, madly, madly!
“What would you have me do, little MacLane?” the Devil would say.
“I would have you conquer me, crush me, know me,” I would answer.
“What shall I say to you?” the Devil would ask.
“Say to me, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ in your strong, steel, fascinating voice. Say it to me often, always - a million times.”
“What would you have me do, little MacLane?” he would say again.
I would answer: “Hurt me, burn me, consume me with hot love, shake me violently, embrace me hard, hard in your strong steel arms, kiss me with wonderful burning kisses - press your lips to mine with passion, and your soul and mine would meet then in an anguish of joy for me!”
“How shall I treat you, little MacLane?”
“Treat me cruelly, brutally.”
“How long shall I stay with you?”
“Through the life everlasting - it will be as one day; or for one day - it will be as the life everlasting.”
“And
There are people who have written books which did not impress the world in this way, but which nevertheless came out of the feeling and fullness of zealous hearts. Always I think of that pathetic, artless little old-fashioned thing Jane Eyre as a picture shown to a world seeing with distorted vision. Charlotte Bront ë meant one thing when she wrote the book and the world after a time suddenly understood a quite different thing, and heaped praise and applause upon her therefor. When I read the book I was not quite able to see just what the message was that the Bront ë intended to send out. But I saw that there was a message - of bravery, perhaps, or of that good which may come out of Nazareth. But the world that praised and applauded and gave her money seems totally to have missed it.
It takes centuries of tears and piety and mourning to move this world a tiny bit.
But still, it will give you praise and applause and money if you will prostitute your sensibilities and emotions for the gratification of it.
I have no message to hide in a book and send out. I am writing a Portrayal.
But a Portrayal is also a thing that may be misunderstood.
January 30
An idle brain is the Devil’s workshop, they say. It is an absurdly incongruous statement. If the Devil is at work in a brain it certainly is not idle. And when one considers how brilliant a personage the Devil is, and what very fine work he turns out, it becomes an open question whether he would have the slightest use for most of the idle brains that cumber the earth. But, after all, the Devil is so clever that he could produce unexcelled workmanship with even the poorest tools.
My brain is one kind of Devil’s-workshop, and it is as incessantly hard-worked and always-busy a one as you could imagine.
It is a Devil’s workshop, indeed, only I do the work myself. But there is a mental telegraphy between the Devil and me, which accounts for the fact that many of my ideas are so wonderfully groomed and perfumed and colored. I take no credit to myself for this, though, as I say, I do the work myself.
I try always to give the Devil his due - and particularly in this Portrayal.
There are very few who give the Devil his due in this world of hypocrites.
I never think of the Devil as that atrocious creature in red tights, with cloven hoofs and a tail and a two-tined fork. I think of him rather as an extremely fascinating, strong, steel-willed person in conventional clothes - a man with whom to fall completely, madly in love. I rather think, I believe, that he is incarnate at times. Why not?
Periodically I fall completely, madly in love with the Devil. He is so fascinating, so strong - so strong, exactly the sort of man whom my wooden heart awaits. I would like to throw myself at his head. I would make him a dear little wife. He would love me - he would love me. I would be in raptures. And I would love him, oh, madly, madly!
“What would you have me do, little MacLane?” the Devil would say.
“I would have you conquer me, crush me, know me,” I would answer.
“What shall I say to you?” the Devil would ask.
“Say to me, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ in your strong, steel, fascinating voice. Say it to me often, always - a million times.”
“What would you have me do, little MacLane?” he would say again.
I would answer: “Hurt me, burn me, consume me with hot love, shake me violently, embrace me hard, hard in your strong steel arms, kiss me with wonderful burning kisses - press your lips to mine with passion, and your soul and mine would meet then in an anguish of joy for me!”
“How shall I treat you, little MacLane?”
“Treat me cruelly, brutally.”
“How long shall I stay with you?”
“Through the life everlasting - it will be as one day; or for one day - it will be as the life everlasting.”
“And
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