This answer was written before the querant added that they remember the devil as being a snake. They have indicated that the following story is not what they were looking for.
Could this be the short story "Displaced Person" by Eric Frank Russell?
The narrator meets a strange person while sitting on a bench at the setting of the sun.
He glided out of the gathering dusk and seated himself at the other end of my bench and gazed absently across the lakes towards the Sherry Netherland.
My mind speculated about him the way minds do when momentarily they've nothing else to bother them. A European refugee, it decided. A great surgeon or sculptor or something like that. Perhaps a writer, or painter. More likely the latter.
The stranger confides that he is a refugee.
"You're not a native of this New York?" I prompted.
"No." Resting long, slender hands upon his stick, he gazed meditatively forward. "I have no country. I am a displaced person."
"In these days it is an all too familiar story," he said. "A leader became so blinded by his own glory that no longer could he perceive his own blunders. He
developed delusions of grandeur, posed as the final arbiter on everything from birth to death, and thereby brought into being a movement for his overthrow. He created the seeds of his own destruction. It was inevitable in the circumstances."
"I organized that opposition. I still think it was justified. But I dare not go back."
Then he gets up to leave.
"My name," he murmured softly, "is Lucifer."
According to the ISFDb, it was published first in the September 1948 issue of Weird Tales and has been collected in a number of anthologies which can be found through its entry in the ISFDb.