ed for him in the minds of men." It
makes us, indeed, wonder why the devil was always represented in a
hideous and horrid form. Rationally conceived, the devil should by
right be the most fascinating object in creation. One of his essential
functions, temptation, is destroyed by his hideousness. To do the work
of temptation a demon might be expected to approach his intended
victim in the most fascinating form he could command. This fact is an
additional proof that the devil was for the early Christians but the
discarded pagan god, whom they wished to represent as ugly and as
repulsive as they could.

The earliest known representation of the devil in human form is found
on an ivory diptych of the time of Charles the Bald (9th century).
Many artists have since then painted his Majesty's portrait.
Schongauer, Duerer, Michelangelo, Titian, Raphael, Rubens, Poussin, Van
Dyck, Breughel and other masters on canvas vied with each other to
present us with a real likeness of Satan. None has, however, equalled
the power of Gustave Dore in the portrayal of the Diabolical. This
Frenchman was at his best as an artist of the infernal (Dante's "Great
Dis" and Milton's "Satan at the gates of Hell").

Modern artists frequently represent the devil as a woman. Felicien
Rops, Max Klinger, and Franz Stuck may be cited as illustrations.
Apparently the devil has in modern times changed sex as well as custom
and costume. Victor Hugo has said:

"Dieu s'est fait homme; soit.
Le diable s'est fait femme."

"Lucifer," as well as the other stories which form the volume _The
Well of St. Claire_, is told by the abbe Jerome Coignard on the edge
of Santa Clara's well at Siena. The book was first published serially
in the _Echo de Paris_ (1895). It has just been rendered into Spanish
(_El Pozo de Santa Clara_).

THE DEVIL

BY MAXIM GORKY

This story shows reminiscences of Le Sage's _Le Diable boiteux_. It
will be recalled that Asmodeus also lifts the roofs of the houses of
Madrid and exhibits their interior to his benefactor.

The fate of a Russian author was, indeed, a very sad affair. "In all
lands have the writers drunk of life's cup of bitterness, have they
been bruised by life's sharp corners and torn by life's pointed
thorns. Chill penury, public neglect, and ill health have been the lot
of many an author in countries other than Russia. But in the land of
the Czars men of letters had to face problems and perils which w