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 what kind of children will you bear me, little MacLane?" he would say.
"I will bear wonderful, beautiful children—with great pain."
"But you hate pain," the Devil will say, "and when you are in your pain you will hate me."
"But no," I will answer, "pain that comes of you whom I love will be ineffable exaltation."
"And how will you treat me, little MacLane?"
"I will cast myself at your feet; or I will minister to you with divine tenderness; or I will charm you with fantastic deviltry; when you weep, I will melt into tears; when you rejoice, I will go wild with delight; when you go deaf I will stop my ears; when you go blind I will put out my eyes; when you go lame I will cut off my legs. Oh, I will be divinely dear, unutterably sweet!"
"Indeed you are rarely sweet," the Devil will say. And I will be in transports.
Oh, Devil, Devil, Devil!
Oh, misery, misery of Nothingness!
The days are long—long and very weary as I await the Devil's coming.