The Devil's Eye (Djävulens öga)

DIGITALLY RESTORED IN 2016

"A woman's chastity is a sty in the Devil's eye"

IRISH PROVERB

THE DEVIL'S EYE

A Rondo Capriccioso by

Ladies and gentlemen,

I apologize, but we must briefly discuss hell.

Hell is shaped like a funnel.

At the bottom are the first sinners whose torments are perhaps finished.

Then the other levels of hell, layered one on top of the other.

And at the top, closest to earth, lies our own inferno,

constructed by Christendom's brightest and most pompous minds.

This inverted parish is run by Satan,

who has taken shape in all stages of human development,

constantly recreated, constantly renewed, rejuvenated,

and more and more human...

I almost said spiritualized.

Here begins our comedy.

Satan has a pain in his eye.

Maybe it's a sty.

There are only two possibilities.

Either he was sitting in a draft, which is virtually impossible in hell,

or something alarming has happened on earth.

For that reason, he sends for his main advisers,

Count Armand de Rochefoucauld,

and Marquis Giuseppe Maria de Macopanza.

It should also be mentioned

that in his time, the Count was a prominent politician and poisoner

with deep insight into Gregorian chant.

The Marquis was ofsuch noble blood

that his perversions sent sensual shivers all the way up to the archangel's quills

and all the way down into hell's finest districts.

If the matter weren't so serious, I'd be inclined to find it stimulating.

We must get to the root of the evil, the sty in our master's eye.

Certainly, my dear Marquis.

And it is?

A young woman's innocence, Master.

A tremendous challenge for hell.

Twenty years old. Beautiful as a spring day.

Healthy, intelligent, good physique and beautiful teeth.

Engaged.

And still a virgin.

Still.

The situation is more than precarious.

If this woman enters her marriage undefiled

it will have unforeseeable consequences.

Heaven will rejoice. Archangels will play trumpets.

It'll be a godly racket.

Spare me.

I must also emphasize the dangerous power of setting an example.

The young woman has girlfriends.

What happens if one-by-one, they follow her example?

What happens?

Integrity, order, monogamy.

Perhaps happy marriages.

Let's not exaggerate, dear Count.

Marriage is hell's mainstay.

Our pièce de résistance.

You're right. What would hell be without marriage?

I'm in pain, gentlemen.

Something must be done.

You're absolutely right, Master. Something must be done.

Undoubtedly, something must be done.

Satan has his fine moments, gentlemen.

Admit it.

The greater the innocence, the closer at hand lurks evil.

Here in hell we have plenty of weapons

to aim and fire at this young woman's breast.

To name a few, Francesco da Pisa, who raped and killed 1,800 nuns.

And Count Berthold zum Felsenstein and Schwarzen Ferkel,

whose potency increased the population of Silesia by several thousand.

And yet

all of this is nothing...

compared to the artist,

the fanatic...

the dreamer...

the great...

Don Juan.

Good morning, Master.

How are you doing?

Since you've given me my sleep back I've felt great, thank you.

- And the dreams? - I endure them.

- Otherwise, you're satisfied? - I'm completely satisfied.

My only concern is that I've become so fragile.

It feels as if my insides have burned away,

and my skin is a thin shell around utter emptiness.

- There's a long way to go, Don Juan. - Yes, Master. I know.

And your punishment?

I don't want to complain, Master.

But I find my punishment boring.

Almost unworthy of me.

It's painful, like a toothache, but hardly unbearable.

If you'll excuse me.

Naturally.

Pablo!

Yes!

Coming.

- Do you have a cold, Pablo? - It's the smoke, Master.

I've slept and need to powder. Get my violet robe.

Yes, Master.

- Today's first punishment is waiting. - Did you recognize her?

She wore a veil, but I suspect you'll recognize her if you loosen her skirt.

Pablo, you've said the same stupid thing every day for 300 years.

I beg you, say something different.

You know it's forbidden, Master. Everything must be as it's always been.

You're right, I forgive you.

Let in the beauty, I'm ready.

- Could you tell if she was crying? - By the devil, she was.

Women live in a storm of moisture.

If it's not wet in one place, it's pouring in another.

They must have gills. A man would drown in so much salt water.

By the way, it's amazing it even happens in this dry air,

but hell has it's caprices,

and a woman's tears are more painful than molten lead in your belly button.

There we go. Now you're beautiful, Master.

You're made up like an old prostitute

and ready to enjoy your punishment with beauty intact.

You...

Don Juan, I'm sure you didn't expect me at such an early hour.

Whenever it pleases.

I'm amazed you're not in the arms of some all-too-willing hussy.

Madam, I assure you.

Presumably your servant, that swine in human form,

has already sent your nighttime companion into a side chamber.

My dear, how could you think that?

Don Juan, I've come to kill you.

You're brave, Don Juan. And you play your game.

I'll only say that you provide me with enjoyment, Madam.

My chest shall open up for your little dagger

with the same soft readiness

that your womb opened up for my love's sharp blade.

I beg you. Grant us this ultimate indulgence.

The only pleasure our bodies have not yet tasted.

I give you my death, Madam, as I gave you my life.

And I command you to consummate this sacrificial act,

which shall forever purify our love in a river of blood and tears.

My vision fades, Don Juan.

Tiny flames of silver emanate from your mouth and burn me.

Give me your hand.

My precious. My beloved.

Rest a moment on the bed.

No, Don Juan.

Drink this wine and regain your hatred.

You're breathing so heavily, your breast must be freed.

I want to help you. Let me kiss your forehead.

No, Don Juan.

Don't put away your dagger, my love.

Don't forget your humiliation and your hatred.

I'm burning, Don Juan.

It's your hatred that's burning.

I want to cool you off, free you from your clothes.

I love you, Don Juan.

The show is over, Don Juan.

The show is over, Don Juan.

In a short while, the next woman will arrive.

And the same scene will repeat again.

The same scene and the same ending.

The old demon appears and says, "The show is over, Don Juan."

I have a proposition for you, Don Juan.

You may accept or decline.

It's hell that truly practices free will.

I'm listening.

Look at this photo, Don Juan.

I'm offering you a trip to earth,

to rob this young woman of her virginity,

of her purity and of her faith in love.

What say the higher powers?

When it comes to a young woman's innocence,

the angels' naïveté is limitless.

You ought to know.

Earth, Don Juan.

One evening, one night, one morning.

All the power of hell at your back.

What is a young woman's virtue before our combined onslaught?

I'll deduct 300 years from your sentence, Don Juan,

and place you in a merciful slumber without heaven's knowledge.

A sleep without dreams, Don Juan.

Can Pablo come along?

Pablo can go with you.

Pablo, would you like to go to earth for a short visit?

I'll be damned. Are you kidding?

The earthly paradise. That's my paradise.

I'll enjoy it like a fool enjoys his own innards.

- You understand we'll be alive? - Exactly, Master.

I'm going to taste life, smack it between my lips.

I'll devour as much as I can.

Then it's settled.

My eye feels better already.

In all humility, the Marquis and I have researched various methods

of seducing young women in this Nordic land.

We found that a sudden attack

is more recommendable than a prolonged siege.

The seducer should use affection paired with relentless determination

leaving no room for doubt in the subject.

We can manage that.

A hint of unexaggerated southern vivacity,

a purity and moderation in manner and behavior

inspires trust in the subject.

We've got that.

A romantic, elegiac tone, a touch of endured pain,