Thoughts about the end of the world have long disturbed human consciousness. Despite the abundance of religious teachings and philosophical theories, one of the main provisions that unite them all is the belief in the inevitably coming last day of the earth, when the forces of good and evil, God and the devil, will meet in the last battle, and finally, the punishment of all the unrighteous for deeds or dirty deeds that go against the laws of God. And, above all, such thoughts arise in people during the years of wars and great disasters. Be it natural disasters or historical events.
One of the main sources describing the long-awaited "end of the world" is the Revelation of St. John the Theologian. The author of this concluding essay connects this event with the decisive battle between God and the devil and with the overthrow of the latter to earth, where Satan will be defeated and forever sent to hell.
The motives of the Apocalypse are also reflected in the work of Leonid Andreev. Their appearance is a consequence of the fact that the writer just lived in one of these critical eras in world history, and besides, this era coincided in time with the turn of two centuries - the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century. Moreover, the 20th century turned out to be especially bloody and terrible: the global economic crisis that began at the end of the 19th century deepened; wars, one after another, shook Europe; revolutions in Russia at the beginning of the century echoed around the world, and their echoes will be heard long years…
Thus, the stormy atmosphere of the beginning of the 20th century, unprecedented upheavals, wars and revolutions aggravated and changed all the processes both in Russia itself and throughout the world. There was a need to rethink what was happening, to take a fresh look at reality and ongoing historical events.
Leonid Andreev did not stand aside either. The first decades of the 20th century were reflected in his last unfinished novel, The Diary of Satan (1919), and it was in it that, in connection with the apocalyptic events taking place in Russia and around the world, some of the Revelations of St. John the Theologian were embodied. Andreev's perception of the world at the beginning of the 20th century is imbued with anxiety, a sense of the nearness of a catastrophe, reflects the consciousness of the inevitability of the collapse of the old world, and the writer associates this death with the picture of the end of the world drawn by John the Theologian, that is, it is perceived by Andreev as last Stand good (divine) and evil (devilish) forces for power on earth. But, according to Leonid Andreev, the situation in this world has reached the highest tragic point. The tragedy lies in the fact that the world is so mired in sins, has succeeded and improved in criminal and dark deeds, that it has far outstripped the “father” of all evil, the devil, in this. It was this thought of the writer that was reflected in his last work.
Using the Revelation of St. John the Theologian Andreev in his novel "The Diary of Satan" develops a plot about the coming of the devil to earth. His devil voluntarily (and not at the behest of God) descends to earth. He has a definite goal: to know people and their world. The path that the Andreevsky devil chooses to appear among people is unusual - he “incarnates”. To achieve this, he uses human body- a material shell for his immortal soul. Moreover, the method by which Satan takes possession of this temporary "room" is fully consistent with his diabolical nature - this is murder. His victim is the 38-year-old American billionaire Henry Vandergood, who dreams of "benefiting humanity with his billions." The prerequisite for the emergence of this image was real fact- the publicized intention of the American billionaire Alfred Vanderbilt to philanthropically benefit old Europe. Vanderbilt perishes along with the passengers of the Lusitania, which was sunk by a German submarine. It happened on May 7th, 1915. The action of the novel takes place from January 18 to May 27, 1914. Thus, Andreev in his work depicts bourgeois Europe on the eve of the First World War.
So, the former "almighty, immortal, lord and ruler", and now the American billionaire Vandergood is going to Rome. Driven by lofty altruistic motives, he crosses the Atlantic Ocean and steps on the stones of the "eternal city". Henry Vandergood believes that benefiting distressed Europe with his capital is a more honorable thing than opening another university in Chicago. The excitement around the three billion Wondergood is the plot basis of Andreev's novel. This allows the writer to show representatives different classes And social classes: the Catholic clergy, the monarchs overthrown by the people, the intelligentsia, serving the money bag.
Vandergood does not suspect that Satan himself has entered his body, descending from heaven in order to play an evil trick on gullible people. Thus, Henry Vandergood acquires his "second reality". He gets his own commentator, leaving no stone unturned from the philanthropic sermon of an American billionaire philanthropist who fancies himself an emissary of "young America" and intends to heal obsolete Europe by instilling in her mind the ideals of an overseas republic.
In the novel by Leonid Andreev, Vandergood - the Devil - collective image social evil. And it is by no means contained in the personality of the former swineherd from the state of Illinois, but in his innumerable capitals, in other words, in the very nature of imperialist society. Therefore, whatever human qualities did not possess Henry Vandergood as a person, he cannot bring good to people. His money awakens base feelings in them, greedy hands reach out to billions from all sides.
Catholic Cardinal H., one of the greedy pretenders to Vandergood's billions, looks like an “old shaved monkey”, then a “talking parrot”, then a “wolf”, “fox” 25 Andreev L.. Selected. - St. Petersburg, publishing house "Peter", 2004, p. 370-371. He changes his identities depending on the circumstances and serves the only "God" - willingly joining in a share with the dark adventurer Thomas Magnus when dividing the money of an American. Not loving people, considering love as impotence and leaving it to those who are “at the bottom”, the cardinal parodicly argues about the benefits of “secret-deception”: as long as there is death, a church is needed that preaches the immortality of the soul, otherwise who will save a person from death, - and concludes that the world wants to be deceived.
It is a mockery of the church to add to the rank of saints the devil Toppy, who in his former life was a monk, died under the name of brother Vincent, whose ashes became an object of worship for believers. Piously, Mary often visits the church, the image is a symbol of some universal evil, "from head to toe corrupt, depraved and completely shameless," as Magnus characterizes her.
Foma Magnus dreams of releasing the energy contained in a small piece of matter and blowing up the earth: “We will set the whole earth in motion, and millions of puppets will jump at our command: you still don’t know how talented and obedient they are” L. Andreev. Selected. - St. Petersburg, publishing house "Peter", 2004, p. 445. The author shows that thought, not warmed and ennobled by humanity, high social aspirations, can turn into an evil and truly destructive force. Magnus, as if having exchanged roles with Satan, is trying to destroy last faith into a person. He himself, carrying hatred in his soul for the desecrated ideal (he saw the “Whore of Babylon” behind the face of the Madonna), promises to blow up the person: he wants to beckon him, instead of “deceiving” the cardinal about immortality, with an earthly “miracle” and is intensively preparing for this " experience" on people. Its gap with the “weak” and vicious humanity is growing ever larger. The hero of "Satan's Diary" believes that too many "two-legged scum" have appeared among people, they multiply unusually quickly, and death cannot cope with its work. To help her in reducing the human tribe, it is only necessary to "promise the rabbits that they will become lions", inspire faith in "immortality for a small price" or in earthly paradise. “You will see what courage and other things my rabbit will develop when I draw paradise and gardens of Eden on his wall,” prophesies Magnus. Andreev L. Selected. - St. Petersburg, publishing house "Peter", 2004, p. 453
So, as the “incarnated” Satan enters the world of people, the disgusting essence of their life and ideals becomes more and more obvious. Everything here is fake. Naked calculation, cruel instinct of destruction and venality dominate this world. There is no authentic human values. Only the hills of Campagna, the sun faithful in its generosity, nature and simple peasants cultivating the land under this sun are reminiscent of the beauty of life. "Incarnated" Satan saw modern Babylon, stepping on the stones of the "eternal city" - Rome. This is a collective image, a symbol of bourgeois Europe, the capitalist world, fraught with the greatest threat to all mankind, its culture. Nothing will save this world: neither the strength of the humanistic impulse, nor beauty, and the artist does not see his social and spiritual healing.
Being among people, getting to know them, having “incarnated” Satan undergoes evolution, during which he begins to serve in a sense goodness, love, humanity, while Magnus, who dreams of seducing and destroying millions with the help of prisons, scaffolds, wars, gets the devilish functions. .
The "venture" of Satan - Vandergood turns into a farce: robbed by Thomas Magnus, ridiculed by the cardinal, the messenger of the underworld, who once caused mystical fear in people, now looks naive and pitiful. Satan did not notice that the customs of the underworld had already reigned among people, and Thomas Magnus ironically pronounces to the disgraced and powerless devil: “If you are Satan, then you are late here too ... Look at these modest and little friends of mine and be ashamed: where in your hell will you find such charming, fearless, ready-made devils? « Andreev L. Favorites. - St. Petersburg, publishing house "Peter", 2004, p. 472.
The novel "Satan's Diary" is a sharp protest against all the institutions and values of bourgeois society, in the very nature of which there are forces hostile to man. "Satan's Diary", Andreev's last unfinished work, is both a "book of results" of the writer's entire work, and at the same time a brilliant prophecy. Andreev makes it possible to see and comprehend the terrible prospect of mankind. An alarmingly topical meaning is acquired by the warnings of the artist, who, according to M. Gorky, “was surprisingly quick-witted, observing human soul» Gorky M. Literary portraits. - M., publishing house " Fiction", 2001, p. 51 .. However, this “cunningness” of his concerned not only a person, but also a society in which the cruel law of evil, calculation and lies rules.
Current page: 1 (total book has 12 pages)
Leonid ANDREEV
SATAN'S DIARY
I
January 18, 1914
On board the Atlantic
Today is exactly ten days since I became human and lead an earthly life.
My loneliness is very great. I don't need friends, but I need to talk about myself, and I have no one to talk to. Thoughts alone are not enough, and they are not quite clear, distinct and precise, until I express them in a word: they must be lined up like soldiers or telegraph poles, stretched out like a railway line, bridges and viaducts thrown over, embankments and curves built, made in known stopping places - and only then everything becomes clear. This hard labor engineering path is called by them, it seems, logic and consistency, and is obligatory for those who want to be smart; for everyone else, it is optional, and they can wander as they please.
The work is slow, difficult and disgusting for someone who is accustomed to one ... I don’t know what to call it, to grasp everything with one breath and express everything with one breath. And it is not for nothing that they respect their thinkers so much, and these unfortunate thinkers, if they are honest and do not cheat in construction, like ordinary engineers, do not end up in a lunatic asylum in vain. I have only been on earth for a few days, and more than once its yellow walls and the welcomingly opened door flashed before Me.
Yes, extremely difficult and irritating "nerves" (also a pretty thing!). Right now - to express a small and ordinary thought about the insufficiency of their words and logic, I was forced to spoil so much beautiful shipping paper ... but what is needed to express the great and extraordinary? I will say in advance - so that you do not open your curious mouth too much, My earthly reader! - that the unusual in the language of your grumbling is inexpressible. If you don't believe Me, go to the nearest lunatic asylum and listen to those: they all knew something and wanted to express it... and you hear how these fallen engines hiss and turn their wheels in the air, you notice with what difficulty they hold in place of the scattered features of their astonished and amazed faces?
I see how even now you are ready to bombard Me with questions, having learned that I am Satan incarnate: it is so interesting! Where am I from? What are the rules in hell? Is there immortality, and also what are the prices for coal on the last infernal exchange? Unfortunately, My dear reader, with all My desire, if I had one, I am unable to satisfy your legitimate curiosity. I could make you one of those funny stories about horned and hairy devils that are so kind to your meager imagination, but you already have enough of them, and I do not want to lie to you so rudely and so flatly. I'll lie to you somewhere else where you don't expect anything, and it will be more interesting for both of us.
And the truth - how can I say it, even if My Name is inexpressible in your language? You called me Satan, and I accept this nickname, as I would accept any other: let me be Satan. But My true name sounds very different, very different! It sounds extraordinary, and I can never squeeze it into your narrow ear without tearing it apart with your brains: let me be Satan, and nothing more.
And you yourself are to blame for this, My friend: why are there so few concepts in your mind? Your mind is like a beggar's bag, in which there are only pieces of stale bread, and here you need more than bread. You have only two concepts of existence: life and death - how can I explain the third to you? Your whole existence is nonsense just because you do not have this third one, and where will I take it? Now I am a man, just like you, in My head are your brains, in My mouth your cubic words are jostling and pricking with corners, and I cannot tell you about the Unusual.
If I say that there are no devils, I will deceive you. But if I say that they are, I will also deceive you... You see how difficult it is, what nonsense it is, My friend! But even about My incarnation, from which My earthly life began ten days ago, I can tell you very little that is understandable. First of all, forget about your favorite hairy, horned and winged devils who breathe fire, turn clay fragments into gold, and old men into seductive youths and, having done all this and chatted a lot of trifles, instantly fall through the stage - and remember: when we want to come to your land, we must become human. Why this is so, you will know after death, but for now, remember: I am now a man, like you, I smell not of a stinking goat, but of good spirits, and you can calmly shake My hand, not at all afraid of being scratched by the claws: I am so I cut like you.
But how did it happen? Very simple. When I wanted to come to earth, I found one suitable as a premise, a thirty-eight-year-old American, Mr. Henry Vandergood, a billionaire, and killed him ... of course, at night and without witnesses. But you still cannot bring Me to court, despite My consciousness, since the American is alive, and we both greet you in one respectful bow: Me and Wondergood. He just rented an empty room to Me, you understand – and that’s not all, damn it! And I can go back, unfortunately, only through the door that leads you to freedom: through death.
That's the main thing. But in the future, you can also understand something, although talking about such things in your words is all the same as trying to put a mountain in a vest pocket or scoop out Niagara with a thimble! Imagine that you, My dear king of nature, wished to become closer to the ants and by the power of a miracle or magic became an ant, a real tiny ant carrying eggs - and then you will feel a little that abyss that separates the former Me from the present ... no, even worse! You were a sound, but you became a musical symbol on paper... No, it's even worse, even worse, and no comparisons will tell you about that terrible abyss, the bottom of which I myself can't see yet. Or does it have no bottom at all?
Think: I was seasick for two days after leaving New York! Is that funny to you, used to wallowing in your own filth? Well, and I - I was also lying around, but it was not funny at all. I only smiled once when I thought it wasn't me, but Wondergood, and said:
“Swing, Wondergood, pump!”
There is one more question to which you are waiting for an answer: why did I come to earth and decide on such an unfavorable exchange - from Satan, “almighty, immortal, lord and ruler”, turned into ... you? I'm tired of looking for words that don't exist, and I'll answer you in English, French, Italian and German, in languages that you and I both understand well: I got bored... in hell, and I came to earth to lie and play.
What is boredom, you know. What a lie is, you know very well, and you can somewhat judge the game by your theaters and famous actors. Maybe you yourself play some little thing in parliament, at home or in church? - then you will understand something in the feeling of enjoying the game. If, in addition, you know the multiplication table, then multiply this delight and pleasure of the game by any multi-digit figure, and then you will get My pleasure, My game. No, even more! Imagine that you are an ocean wave that plays forever and lives only in the game - this one, which I now see behind the glass and which wants to raise our Atlantic ... However, I am again looking for words and comparisons!
I just want to play. At the present moment I am still an unknown artist, a modest debutant, but I hope to become as famous as your Garrick or Olridge - when I play what I want. I am proud, proud, and perhaps even conceited... you know what vanity is when you want the praise and applause of even a fool, don't you? Further, I boldly think that I am a genius - Satan is known for his impudence - and now imagine that I am tired of hell, where all these hairy and horned swindlers play and lie almost as well as I do, and that hellish laurels are not enough for me, in which I astutely perceive a good deal of base flattery and simple stupidity. But about you, My earthly friend, I heard that you are smart, quite honest, moderately distrustful, sensitive to questions of eternal art, and you play so badly and lie yourself that you are able to highly appreciate someone else's game: after all, it is not without reason that you have so many great ones! So I came... understand?
My stage will be the earth, and the nearest stage will be Rome, where I am going, this "eternal" city, as it is called here with a deep understanding of eternity and other simple things. I still don’t have a definite troupe (do you want to join it too?), but I believe that Fate or Chance, to which I am now subject, like all your earthly things, will appreciate My disinterested intentions and send worthy partners to meet ... old Europe is so rich in talent! I believe that I will find spectators in this Europe sensitive enough to make their faces paint and soft hellish shoes to be replaced by heavy cothurni. I must admit that I used to think about the East, where some of My... compatriots once labored not without success, but the East is too trusting and prone to ballet, as well as to poison, its gods are ugly, it still stinks too much of a striped beast, its the darkness and the lights are savagely coarse and too bright for such a subtle artist as I to go into this cramped and smelly booth. Ah, My friend, I am so vain that I am starting this Diary not without a secret intention to delight you... even with My squalor as a Seeker of words and comparisons. I hope that you will not take advantage of My frankness and stop believing in Me?
Are there any other questions? I don’t really know about the play itself, it will be composed by the same impresario that will attract the actors - Fate - and My modest role for a start: a person who loves other people so much that he wants to give them everything - soul and money. Have you forgotten, of course, that I am a billionaire? I have three billion. Enough, isn't it, for one spectacular performance? Now one more detail to complete this page.
Riding with me and sharing my fate is one Erwin Toppy, my secretary, a very respectable person in his black frock coat and top hat, with his drooping nose like an unripe pear, and the shaven face of a parson. I wouldn't be surprised if they found a marching prayer book in his pocket. My Toppy came to earth - from there, that is, from hell, and in the same way as I did: he also became human, and, it seems, quite successfully - the idler is completely insensitive to pitching. However, even seasickness needs some intelligence, and My Toppy is impenetrable stupid - even for the earth. In addition, he is rude and gives advice. I already somewhat regret that I did not choose better cattle for myself from our rich stock, but I was seduced by his honesty and some familiarity with the earth: somehow it was more pleasant to embark on this walk with an experienced comrade. Once - long ago - he already took human image and so imbued religious ideas what - think! - entered the monastery of the Franciscan brothers, lived there until a hoary old age and died peacefully under the name of brother Vincent. His ashes became an object of worship for believers - not a bad career for a stupid Devil! - and he himself is with Me again and is already sniffing, where it smells of incense: an ineradicable habit! You will probably love him.
And now enough. Get out my friend. I want to be alone. I am annoyed by your flat reflection that I have caused on this stage, and I want to be alone, or at least with this Wondergood, who gave Me his premises and somehow fraudulently swindled Me. The sea is calm, I no longer feel sick, as in these damned days, but I'm afraid of something.
I'm afraid! It seems that I am frightened by this darkness, which they call night and which lies over the ocean: here it is still light from the light bulbs, but beyond the thin wall lies a terrible darkness, where My eyes are completely powerless. They are worth nothing anyway, these stupid mirrors that can only reflect, but in the dark they lose this pathetic ability. Of course, I'll get used to the darkness, I'm already used to a lot, but now it's not good and scary for me to think that only the turn of a key - and this blind, always ready darkness will embrace me. Where is she from?
And how brave they are with their dim mirrors - they see nothing and simply say: it's dark here, we need to turn on the light! Then they extinguish themselves and fall asleep. I look at these brave men with some surprise, though cold, and ... admire. Or does fear require a mind too big, like mine? You're not such a coward, Vandergood, you've always been known as a seasoned and seasoned man!
One minute in My incarnation I cannot remember without horror: when I first heard the beating of My heart. This distinct, loud, counting sound, which speaks as much about death as about life, struck Me with unexperienced fear and excitement. They stick counters everywhere, but how can they carry this counter in their chest, which, with the speed of a conjurer, sees off the seconds of life?
At the first moment I wanted to scream and immediately rush down, not yet accustomed to life, but I looked at Toppy: this newborn fool is calmly cleaning his top hat with the sleeve of his frock coat. I laughed and shouted:
- Toppy! brush!
And we both cleansed ourselves, and the counter in My chest counted how many seconds it lasted, and, it seems, added. Then, later, listening to his importunate ticking, I began to think: "I won't make it in time!" What can't I do? I myself did not know this, but for two whole days I was in a mad hurry to drink, eat, even sleep: after all, the counter does not doze while I lie like a motionless carcass and sleep!
Now I am no longer in a hurry. I know that I will be in time, and My seconds seem inexhaustible to Me, but My counter is agitated by something and knocks like a drunken soldier on a drum. And how - these small seconds that he is now throwing away - are they considered equal to large ones? Then it's a scam. I protest as an honest citizen of the United States and a businessman!
I do not feel good. Now I wouldn't alienate a friend either, that's probably a good thing friends. Oh! But in the whole universe I am alone!
February 7, 1914
Rome, Hotel Internationale
I get mad every time I have to take a policeman's stick and put things in order in My head: facts to the right! thoughts to the left! sentiment back! - the road to His Majesty Consciousness, which barely hobbles on its crutches. But it is impossible - otherwise there will be rebellion, noise, confusion and chaos. So - to order, gentlemen-facts and ladies-thoughts! I start.
Night. Darkness. The air is polite and warm, and smells of something. Toppy sniffs it with delight, saying it's Italy. Our swift train is already approaching Rome, we are blissful on soft sofas, when - collapse! - and everything flies to hell: the train went crazy and turned over. I confess without shame - I'm not a brave man! – that I was seized with horror and almost unconsciousness. The electricity went out, and when I with difficulty got out of some dark corner where I was thrown, I completely forgot where the exit was. Everywhere walls, corners, something pricks, beats and silently climbs on me. And all in the dark! Suddenly a corpse under my feet, I stepped right on the face; later I found out that it was My lackey George, killed on the spot. I screamed, and here My invulnerable Toppy rescued Me: he grabbed Me by the hand and dragged Me to the open window, since both exits were broken and cluttered with debris. I jumped to the ground, but Toppy got something stuck there; My knees were trembling, my breath came out with a groan, but it still did not appear, and I began to scream.
Suddenly he leaned out of the window:
- Why are you shouting? I'm looking for our hats and your briefcase.
And indeed: soon he handed me a hat, and then he got out himself - in a top hat and with a briefcase. I laughed and shouted:
- Human! You forgot your umbrella!
But this old jester did not understand humor and answered seriously:
- I don't carry an umbrella. And you know: our George is killed and the cook too.
So this carrion, which does not feel like stepping on his face, is our George! Fear seized me again, and suddenly I heard groans, wild cries, squeals and screams, all the voices that a brave man cries out when he is crushed: before I was like a deaf man and did not hear anything. The wagons caught fire, fire and smoke appeared, the wounded screamed louder, and, not waiting for the roast to ripen, I rushed into the field in unconsciousness. It was a jump!
Fortunately, the gentle hills of Roman Campagna are very suitable for such a sport, and I turned out to be not the last runner. When I, suffocating, fell down on some hillock, nothing could be seen or heard, and only Toppy, who had lagged behind, was stomping far behind. But what a terrible thing, a heart! It got into my mouth so much that I could spit it out. Writhing from suffocation, I pressed my face to the ground itself - it was cool, firm and calm, and here I liked it, and as if it returned my breath and returned my heart to its place, I felt better. And the stars above were calm... But why should they worry? This does not concern them. They shine and celebrate, this is their eternal ball. And at this brightest ball, the Earth, dressed in darkness, seemed to Me a charming stranger in a black mask. (I find that this is not badly expressed, and you, My reader, should be pleased: My style and manners are improving!)
I kissed Toppy on the crown - I kiss on the crown of those I love - and said:
“You have become very human, Toppy. I respect you. But what are we going to do next? This glow of lights - Rome? Far!
“Yes, Rome,” said Toppy, holding up his hand. - You hear - whistle!
From there came the drawn-out and groaning whistles of locomotives; they were anxious.
“They whistle,” I said and laughed.
- They whistle! repeated Toppy, grinning, "he can't laugh."
But I got sick again. Chill, strange longing and trembling at the very base of the tongue. I was troubled by this carrion, which I crushed with my feet, and I wanted to shake myself like a dog after a bath. Understand, it was the first time I saw and felt your corpse, My dear reader, and I didn't like it, I'm sorry. Why did he not object when I trampled his face with my foot? George had a young, handsome face and carried himself with dignity. Think that a heavy foot will be pressed into your face, and you will be silent?
To order! We did not go to Rome, but went to look for an overnight stay at good people closer. They walked for a long time. Tired. I was thirsty - oh, how I was thirsty! Now let me introduce my new friend Signor Thomas Magnus and his beautiful daughter Mary.
At first, it was a faintly flickering light that "calls the weary traveler." Up close, it was a small secluded house, with white walls barely visible through a thicket of tall black cypresses and something else. Only one window had light, the rest were closed with shutters. Stone fence, iron bars, strong doors. And - silence. At first glance, it looked suspicious. Toppy knocked - silence. I knocked for a long time - silence. And finally a stern voice from behind iron door asked:
- Who you are? What do you need?
Barely moving his dry tongue, My brave Toppy told about the catastrophe and our flight, he talked for a long time - and then the iron lock clanged, and the door opened. Following the stern and silent stranger, we entered the house, passed several dark and silent rooms, climbed the creaking stairs and entered a lighted room, apparently the stranger's workroom. It is light, there are many books and one, open, lies on the table under a low lamp with a simple green cap. We noticed her light in the field. But I was struck by the silence of the house: despite the rather early hour, there was not a rustle, no voice, no sound.
- Sit down.
We sat down, and Toppy, exhausted, began his story again, but the strange host interrupted him indifferently:
Yes, a disaster. This often happens on our roads. Many victims?
Toppy murmured, and the owner, half listening to him, took a revolver out of his pocket and hid it on the table, casually explaining:
“It's not exactly a quiet area. Well, please, stay with me.
For the first time he raised his dark, almost without luster, large and gloomy eyes and attentively, like a curiosity in a museum, examined Me and Toppy from head to toe. It was an impudent and indecent look, and I got up from my seat.
“I’m afraid we’re superfluous here, sir, and—”
But he stopped me with a slow and slightly mocking gesture.
- Empty. Stay. Now I will give you some wine and something to eat. The servant comes to me only during the day, so I myself will serve you. Wash and freshen up, there's a tub behind this door while I get the wine. Actually, don't be shy.
While we ate and drank, though greedily, this unfriendly gentleman read his book as if there was no one in the room and as if it was not Toppy munching, but a dog fiddling with a bone. Here I have a good look at it. Tall, almost my height and build, face pale and as if tired, black pitch, gangster beard. But the forehead is big and smart and the nose... what do you call it? - Here I am again looking for comparisons! - The nose is like a whole book about a big, passionate, extraordinary, hidden life. Beautiful and made with the thinnest incisor, not from meat and cartilage, but ... - how can I say this? - from thoughts and some daring desires. Apparently - too brave! But I was especially surprised by his hands: very large, very white and calm. Why surprised, I don’t know, but suddenly I thought: how good it is that there are no fins! It's good that it's not tentacles! How good and wonderful that exactly ten fingers; exactly ten thin, evil, smart swindlers!
I politely said:
Thank you, sir...
My name is Magnus. Thomas Magnus. Have some more wine. Americans?
I waited for Toppy to introduce Me in the English way and looked at Magnus. You had to be an illiterate brute and not read a single English, French or Italian newspaper in order not to know who I am?
“Mr. Henry Wondergood of Illinois. His secretary, Erwin Toppy, is your most obedient servant. Yes, citizens of the United States.
The old jester delivered his tirade with some pride, and Magnus yes.” He winced slightly. Billions, my friend, billions! He looked long and hard at Me:
- Mr Wondergood? Henry Wondergood? Is it not you, sir, that American billionaire who wants to benefit mankind with his billions?
I modestly shook my head.
- Weiss, I.
Toppy shook his head and confirmed... donkey:
Weiss, we are.
Magnus bowed to both of us and said with defiant mockery:
“Humanity is waiting for you, Mr. Wondergood. Judging by the Roman newspapers, it is in complete impatience! But I have to apologize for my modest dinner: I didn't know...
With splendid directness I grabbed his big, strange hot hand and firmly, in an American way, shook her:
Leave it, Signor Magnus! Before becoming a billionaire, I was a swineherd, and you are a straight, honest and noble gentleman, to whom I respectfully shake hands. Hell, not one yet human face did not awaken in Me ... such sympathy as yours!
Then Magnus said...
Magnus didn't say anything! No, I can't do this: "I said", "he said" - this damn sequence kills My inspiration, I become a mediocre tabloid novelist and lie like mediocrity. I have five senses, I am a whole person, and I talk about one rumor! What about vision? Trust me, it hasn't been idle. And this feeling of the earth, Italy, My existence, which I felt with a new and sweet power. Do you think all I did was listen to the clever Thomas Magnus? He speaks, and I look, I understand, I answer, and I myself think: how good the earth and grass smells in Campania! I also tried to feel into this whole house (so they say?), into its hidden silent rooms; he seemed mysterious to me. And every minute I was more and more glad that I am alive, I say, I can play for a long time ... and suddenly I began to like that I am a man!
I remember, I suddenly handed to Magnus My business card Story by: Henry Vandergood. He was surprised and did not understand, but politely put the card on the table, and I wanted to kiss him on the crown of the head: for this politeness, for the fact that he is a man – and I am also a man. I also really liked My leg in the yellow shoe, and I quietly swayed it: let it sway, the beautiful human American leg! I was very sensitive that evening! I even wanted to cry once: to look directly into the eyes of the interlocutor and at my open, full of love, kind eyes squeeze out two tears. It seems that I did it, and my nose prickled pleasantly, like from lemonade. And on Magnus, My two tears, as I noticed, made a wonderful impression.
But Toppy!.. While I experienced this wonderful poem of incarnation and shed tears like moss, he slept like a dead man at the same table where he sat. Isn't he too human? I wanted to get angry, but Magnus held me back:
“He's worried and tired, Mr Wondergood.
However, it was already late time. We had been talking and arguing with Magnus for two hours when this happened to Toppy. I sent him to bed and we continued to drink and talk for a long time. I drank more wine, and Magnus was reserved, almost gloomy, and I liked his stern, sometimes even angry and secretive face more and more. He said:
“I believe in your altruistic impulse, Mr. Wondergood. But I do not believe that you, a smart, businesslike and ... somewhat cold, it seems to me, could place any serious hopes on your money ...
“Three billion is a huge force, Magnus!”
“Yes, three billion is a huge force,” he agreed calmly and reluctantly, “but what can you do with them?
I laughed.
- You mean: what can this ignorant American do with them, this former swineherd, who knows pigs better than people? ..
One knowledge helps another.
“That extravagant philanthropist to whom gold rushed to his head like milk to a wet nurse?” Yes, of course, what can I do? Another university in Chicago? Another almshouse in San Francisco? Another humane penitentiary in New York?
– The latter would be a true boon for mankind. Don't look at me so reproachfully, Mr. Vandergood: I'm not joking at all, you won't find in me that... selfless love for people that burns so brightly in you.
He boldly mocked Me, and I felt so sorry for him: not to love people! Poor Magnus, I'd love to kiss him on the crown of the head! Don't love people!
“Yeah, I don’t like them,” Magnus confirmed. “But I'm glad you're not going to follow the stereotyped path of all American philanthropists. Your billions...
“Three billion, Magnus!” With this money you can create a new state ...
Or destroy the old one. With this gold, Magnus, you can make a war, a revolution...
I did manage to impress him: his large white hand trembled slightly, and respect flashed in his dark eyes: “And you, Wondergood, are not as stupid as I first thought!” He got up and, once walking across the room, stopped in front of Me and with a mockery, sharply asked:
– Do you know exactly what your humanity needs: the creation of a new or the destruction of the old state? War or peace? Revolution or peace? Who are you, Mr. Vandergood of Illinois, to undertake these matters? I was wrong: build an almshouse and a university in Chicago, it's... safer.
I liked the audacity of this little man! I lowered my head modestly and said:
“You are right, Signor Magnus. Who am I, Henry Vandergood, to decide these questions? But I don't solve them. I only put them, I put them and look for an answer, I look for an answer and a person who will give it to Me. I am an ignoramus, an ignoramus, I have not read a single book properly, except the ledger, and here I see enough books. You are a misanthrope, Magnus, you are too European not to be slightly disappointed in everything, and we, young America, we believe in people. Man must be made! You are bad masters in Europe and have made a bad person, we will make a good one. I apologize for the harshness: while I, Henry Vandergood, made only pigs, and My pigs, I will say this with pride, have orders and medals no less than Field Marshal Moltke, but now I want to make people ...
Magnus chuckled.
- You are an alchemist from the Gospel, Vandergood: you take lead and want to turn it into gold!
– Yes, I want to make gold and look for the philosopher's stone. But hasn't it already been found? It is found, only you do not know how to use it: it is love. Ah, Magnus, I don't know yet what I'm going to do, but My plans are broad and... majestic, I would say, were it not for that misanthropic smile of yours. Believe in man Magnus and help Me! You know what a person needs.
He repeated coldly and sullenly:
“He needs prisons and a scaffold.
I exclaimed in indignation (indignation I especially succeed):
“You are slandering yourself, Magnus! I see that you have experienced some kind of severe grief, perhaps betrayal and ...
“Stop, Wondergood!” I never talk about myself, and I don't like others to talk about me either. Suffice it to say that in four years you are the first to break my loneliness, and then ... thanks to chance. I don't like people.
- ABOUT! I'm sorry, but I don't believe.
Magnus walked over to the bookshelf and, with an expression of contempt and white hand first available volume.
“And you, who haven’t read the books, do you know what these books are about?” Only about evil, mistakes and suffering of mankind. It's tears and blood, Wondergood! Look: in this thin book, which I hold with two fingers, there is a whole ocean of red human blood, and if you take them all ... And who shed this blood? Devil?
I felt flattered and wanted to bow, but he dropped the book and shouted angrily:
- No, sir: a man! A man spilled it! Yes, I read these books, but only for one thing: to learn to hate and despise a person. You turned your pigs into gold, didn't you? And I already see how this gold turns into pigs again: they will devour you, Wondergood. But I don't want to either ... burst or lie: throw your money into the sea, or ... build prisons and a scaffold. Are you ambitious, like all philanthropists? Then build a scaffold. Serious people will respect you, and the herd will call you great. Or do you, an American from Illinois, not want to go to the Pantheon?
But Magnus!
- Blood! Can't you see there's blood everywhere? Here it is already on your boot ...
I confess that at these words of the madman, as Magnus seemed to me at that moment, I jerked my leg in fright, on which I only now noticed a dark reddish spot ... such an abomination!
Magnus smiled and, immediately mastering himself, continued coldly and almost indifferently:
“Did I unwittingly frighten you, Mr. Wondergood?” Nothing, you probably stepped on... something with your foot. This is nonsense. But this conversation, which I haven't had in years, worries me too much and... Good night, Mr Wondergood. Tomorrow I will have the honor of introducing you to my daughter, but now let me...
Andreev Leonid
Satan's Diary
Andreev Leonid
SATAN'S DIARY
On board the Atlantic
Today is exactly ten days since I became human and lead an earthly life.
My loneliness is very great. I don't need friends, but I need to talk about myself, and I have no one to talk to. Thoughts alone are not enough, and they are not quite clear, distinct and precise, until I express them in a word: they must be lined up like soldiers or telegraph poles, stretched out like a railway line, bridges and viaducts thrown over, embankments and curves built, made in known stopping places - and only then everything becomes clear. This hard labor engineering path is called by them, it seems, logic and consistency, and is obligatory for those who want to be smart; for everyone else, it is optional, and they can wander as they please.
The work is slow, difficult and disgusting for someone who is accustomed to one thing ... I don’t know what to call it, to grasp everything with one breath and express everything with one breath. And it is not for nothing that they respect their thinkers so much, and these unfortunate thinkers, if they are honest and do not cheat in construction, like ordinary engineers, do not end up in a lunatic asylum in vain. I have only been on earth for a few days, and more than once its yellow walls and the welcomingly opened door flashed before Me.
Yes, extremely difficult and annoying "nerves" (also a pretty thing!). Right now - to express a small and ordinary thought about the insufficiency of their words and logic, I was forced to spoil so much beautiful shipping paper ... but what is needed to express the big and unusual? I will say in advance - so that you do not open your curious mouth too much, my earthly reader! - that the unusual in the language of your grumbling is inexpressible. If you don't believe Me, go to the nearest lunatic asylum and listen to those: they all knew something and wanted to express it... and you hear how these fallen engines hiss and turn their wheels in the air, you notice with what difficulty they hold in place of the scattered features of their astonished and amazed faces?
I see how even now you are ready to bombard Me with questions, having learned that I am Satan incarnate: after all, this is so interesting! Where am I from? What are the rules in hell? Is there immortality, and also what are the prices for coal on the last infernal exchange? Unfortunately, my dear reader, with all my desire, if I had one, I am unable to satisfy your legitimate curiosity. I could make you one of those funny stories about horned and hairy devils that are so kind to your meager imagination, but you already have enough of them, and I do not want to lie to you so rudely and so flatly. I'll lie to you somewhere else where you don't expect anything, and it will be more interesting for both of us.
And the truth - how can I say it, even if my Name is inexpressible in your language? You called me Satan, and I accept this nickname, as I would accept any other: let me be Satan. But my true name sounds very different, very different! It sounds extraordinary, and I can never squeeze it into your narrow ear without tearing it apart with your brains: let me be Satan, and nothing more.
And you yourself are to blame for this, my friend: why are there so few concepts in your mind? Your mind is like a beggar's bag, in which there are only pieces of stale bread, and here you need more than bread. You have only two concepts of existence: life and death - how can I explain the third to you? Your whole existence is nonsense just because you do not have this third one, and where will I take it? Now I am a human being, just like you, in my head your brains, in my mouth your cubic words jostle and prick with corners, and I cannot tell you about the Extraordinary.
If I say that there are no devils, I will deceive you. But if I say that they are, I will also deceive you... You see how difficult it is, what nonsense it is, my friend! But even about my incarnation, from which ten days ago my earthly life began, I can tell you very little that is understandable. First of all, forget about your favorite hairy, horned and winged devils who breathe fire, turn clay fragments into gold, and old men into seductive youths and, having done all this and chatted a lot of trifles, instantly fall through the stage - and remember: when we want to come to your land, we must become human. Why this is so, you will know after death, but for now, remember: I am now a man, like you, I smell not of a stinking goat, but of good spirits, and you can calmly shake my hand, not at all afraid of being scratched by the claws: I am so I cut like you.
But how did it happen? Very simple. When I wanted to come to earth, I found one suitable as a premise, a thirty-eight-year-old American, Mr. Henry Vandergood, a billionaire, and killed him ... of course, at night and without witnesses. But you still cannot bring Me to court, despite My consciousness, since the American is alive, and we both greet you in one respectful bow: Me and Wondergood. He just rented an empty room to me, you know - and that's not all, damn it! And I can go back, unfortunately, only through the door that leads you to freedom: through death.
That's the main thing. But in the future, you can also understand something, although talking about such things in your words is all the same as trying to put a mountain in a vest pocket or scoop out Niagara with a thimble! Imagine that you, my dear king of nature, wished to become closer to the ants and, by the power of a miracle or magic, became an ant, a real tiny ant carrying eggs - and then you will feel a little that abyss that separates the former Me from the present ... no, even worse! You were a sound, but you became a musical symbol on paper... No, it's even worse, even worse, and no comparisons will tell you about that terrible abyss, the bottom of which I myself can't see yet. Or does it have no bottom at all?
Think: I was seasick for two days after leaving New York! Is that funny to you, used to wallowing in your own filth? Well, and I - I was also lying around, but it was not funny at all. I only smiled once when I thought it wasn't me, but Wondergood, and said:
Rock, Wondergood, rock!
There is one more question to which you are waiting for an answer: why did I come to earth and decide on such an unfavorable exchange - from Satan, "almighty, immortal, lord and ruler", turned into ... you? I'm tired of looking for words that don't exist, and I'll answer you in English, French, Italian and German, in languages that both of you and I understand well: I got bored ... in hell, and I came to earth to lie and play.
What is boredom, you know. What a lie is, you know very well, and you can somewhat judge the game by your theaters and famous actors. Maybe you yourself play some little thing in parliament, at home or in church? - then you will understand something in the feeling of enjoying the game. If, in addition, you know the multiplication table, then multiply this delight and pleasure of the game by any multi-digit figure, and then you will get my pleasure, my game. No, even more! Imagine that you are an ocean wave that plays forever and lives only in the game - this one, which I now see behind the glass and which wants to raise our Atlantic ... However, I am again looking for words and comparisons!
I just want to play. At the present moment I am still an unknown artist, a modest debutant, but I hope to be as famous as your Garrick or Olridge when I play what I want. I am proud, proud, and perhaps even conceited... you know what vanity is when you want the praise and applause of even a fool, don't you? Further, I boldly think that I am a genius - Satan is known for his impudence - and now imagine that I am tired of hell, where all these hairy and horned swindlers play and lie almost as well as I do, and that hellish laurels are not enough for me, in which I astutely perceive a good deal of base flattery and simple stupidity. But about you, my earthly friend, I heard that you are smart, quite honest, moderately distrustful, sensitive to questions of eternal art, and you play so badly and lie yourself that you are able to highly appreciate someone else's game: after all, it is not without reason that you have so many great ones! So I came... understand?
My stage will be the earth, and the nearest stage will be Rome, where I'm going, this "eternal" city, as it is called here with a deep understanding of eternity and other simple things. I still don’t have a definite troupe (do you want to join it too?), but I believe that Fate or Chance, to which I am now subject, like all your earthly things, will appreciate my disinterested intentions and send worthy partners to meet ... old Europe is so rich in talent! I believe that I will find spectators in this Europe sensitive enough to make their faces paint and soft hellish shoes to be replaced by heavy cothurni. I must admit that I used to think about the East, where some of my ... compatriots once labored not without success, but the East is too trusting and prone to ballet, like poison, its gods are ugly, it still stinks too much of a striped beast, its darkness and the lights are barbarically rough and too bright for such a subtle artist as I to go into this cramped and smelly booth. Ah, my friend, I'm so vain that I'm starting this Diary not without a secret intention to delight you ... even with my misery as a Seeker of words and comparisons. I hope that you will not take advantage of my frankness and stop believing in me?
Satan's Diary is a very naive novel, in my opinion. Doesn't mean bad, but naive. You know, it's like everyone wrote at least one poem at the age of 13. And the ideas that come to people's minds are the same at a certain age and historical period. It is the same with the Diary - there is nothing more logical and natural than the fact that it was in the 1920s in Russia that Andreev thought about writing a diary of Satan incarnated in the human form. It's nice, but ... very naive, or something. Revolution, the debunking of Orthodoxy and religion in general on the one hand (try to write this in the 19th century under autocracy-Orthodoxy-nationality), and at the same time general eschatological moods due to the horror that is happening around. Andreev's poor Satan turns out to be a pitiful weak loser compared to the first people he comes across who cruelly cheat him. Ah, where is this world heading if Satan himself cannot surpass them! And so on. They don't write like that these days. And in general, the novel, despite its obvious artistic merit, gives the impression that it was written by a very young person. About fifteen years old (despite the fact that Andreev was actually under fifty). And this is not a criticism, but a statement of fact; the text is pompous not in content, but in essence, in its very idea. In addition, alas, this is never Bulgakov’s level, and Andreev’s Satan is more likely to match the gentle, quivering Turgenev youths who dream of “plunging into the abyss of vice”, but are speechless when they see the modest daughter of neighbors in a white dress. It's cute, but disappointing because it doesn't live up to expectations at all.
Score: 4
The last book Leonid Andreev makes a strong and creepy impression. But psychologically it is somewhat weaker than the early stories. Satan, who decided to walk in the shoes of a man, looks too rustic and helpless. Perhaps this is not actually Satan, but just a middle-ranking devil, like Lewis's Troublemaker.
The book is deeply depressing, with a touch of misanthropy. This is not surprising if we recall Andreev's state of mind in the last year of his life. The democratic intelligentsia called for the revolution, hurried it on, helped it to the best of its ability, and when it started, they were horrified. I had to admit the collapse of my ideals and either take up arms or fall into black melancholy. Andreev, by age and temperament, was left with only melancholy. It was in this environment that Satan's Diary was born.
The most striking thing in the "Diary" is not reasoning about the nature of man, but the process of humanizing the devil, who ended up in Wondergood's body. The process turned out to be extremely interesting. But the people surrounding Vandergood did not turn out very well. Well, in fact, who can cling to a visiting eccentric oligarch? The one who wants to charm him (in a stupid or smart way), lure out more money, and then, of course, throw him away. That is, little people are worse than the last oligarch. It is surprising that in such an environment the process of humanization of the devil did not reverse.
Of all human characters the unbelieving cardinal and Thomas Magnus stand out. Moreover, the cardinal is even more interesting than Thomas. Thomas was seen by the author as something like a superman-superrevolutionary, the earthly counterpart of Satan. Doesn't pull. And in general, the revolutionaries of all nations either did their job at home, or hung out in Switzerland and had discussions there on third-rate issues. Foma is clearly not from their company. Enough common man who managed to give himself a false significance and deceive the devil. And he didn't even realize what he had done. Devil's gold has never done anyone any good.
Score: 9
In Mikhail Bulgakov's great novel The Master and Margarita, a devil named Woland pronounces the following phrase: “They are people like people. They love money, but it has always been... [...] Well, frivolous... [...] ordinary people... in general, they resemble the former ones.
With Andreev, the opposite is true. People still love money, but they don't remember the old ones anymore. And they certainly are not frivolous.
Rather, Satan turns out to be extremely gullible, who fell victim to the most daring scam in the fictional history of mankind. And the prince of lies! It's time to take lessons from our crooks.
"Satan's Diary" can be safely called a dystopia. Andreev draws a society that has already begun to turn into hell. Absolutely everyone is mired in sin: not only thieves and murderers, but also priests of all stripes - and recent author draws with even darker colors. Although ... Can black have a degree of comparison?
The very idea of the coming of the devil to Earth during the last battle between good and evil is not new. But Andreev's Apocalysis is frightening in the first place because it suggests fearing not devils with pitchforks, but the evil hidden inside each of us.
Can we win? Andreev gives a not painfully comforting answer. And the narration, broken off at the climactic monologue, plunges the reader into the abyss of complete hopelessness.
Probably, if Leonid Nikolaevich had completed the book, he would not have been able to achieve such an effect.
However, in the "Satan's Diary", if desired, you can find a bright motive. If even the devil himself on Earth began to serve good in some way, perhaps we will learn this too?
Score: 9
In the world literature, one and the same technique has been repeatedly played up - the coming of Satan to Earth.
Leonid Andreev found new, rather original plot twists for his novel. The devil is embodied in the American billionaire Henry Vandergood, with the aim of bestowing charity on people, deceiving them with false noble actions, slogans and promises. Together with Satan, his henchman appears - the devil from hell, who has taken the form of Toppy's servant.
Already the first days of stay on Earth dumbfound Satan. People have changed, become angrier, more cunning, more insidious. God's commandments are trampled and forgotten. People hate each other, do not believe in anything, they are ready to destroy each other with the help of violence, wars, revolutions. Bigotry, greed, deceit and debauchery reign on Earth. Capitalists kindle the flames of war, terrorists bleed the streets... Satan fails, his naive plans fooling humanity is child's play compared to reality!
Andreev especially succeeded in the scenes with the Pope, who only craved power and money by any means. Even the infernal servant Toppy is mistaken by the clergy for a saint.
The writer turned out to be especially sinister in the image of the real “Devil” - Thomas Magnus, dressed in the toga of “a fighter for the bright future of mankind”, but really ready to “blow it up”, pour blood over it. Foma hates people and does not trust people. He easily deceives Vandergood, appropriating his capital, leaving the entrepreneur practically a beggar.
At first, Maria seems to be a “beam of light” to Satan - a girl of extraordinary beauty and meekness, presented as the daughter of Magnus. He even considers her the embodiment of the Madonna. But she also turns out to be only Magnus' mistress, devoid of feelings and thoughts, the embodiment of lust and depravity, who entered into sexual intercourse at a young age...
The novel is bitter to read, it is riddled with disbelief in Man. And further. Having found an original plot move, the writer cannot develop it. The plot gets bogged down in optional conversations of characters, endless repetitions. Nevertheless, Andreev's destiny is stories and short stories.
The writer never managed to finish the novel.
Score: 8
Satan has come to earth...
It would seem that Woland's retinue, two decades later, merrily swept through Moscow, and at Merezhkovsky's, even earlier, the Antichrist dominated humanity with his stern face. But the gloomy romantic Leonid Andreev brought to the face of his world, the world of a dying man, another Satan. We will never know what he really is - after all, he had to incarnate in order to feel all the nuances of created being, and thus reflect in the crooked mirror of Man as such - a creature that fallen Angel so despises...
But even in his contempt, he believes in the Crown of Creation, believes in the commandments and the initially bright nature of man. That is why he comes into this world as a romantic, a kind of good-natured playboy who sincerely loves people. He embodies nobility and sincere, bright and pure love, love for the beautifully spiritual essence of Man, his path to perfection and virtue, his humility and deep holiness.
Some literary scholars say that Andreeva's Satan is the Nietzsche Ubermensch, "superman." But it seems to me that he is more of an “Aussermensch”, “out of man”, some idealistic idea of him, and, yes, in this the author merges with classical German philosophy. Satan is a being outside of Humanity, more precisely, he is an extra-cultural, supra-cultural entity, he came here to learn. He is individualistic to the limit, insanely lonely and unrestrainedly romantic. No ties connect Humanized Evil, which is no longer Evil, with this created and cruel world. Satan is an idealist, the last romantic, trying to boldly look for in people an initially good and bright beginning that would prevail if the foundations of this slightly grotesque world were destroyed. Satan in isolation from everything embodies the ideal of Man.
"Ubermensch" is Thomas Magnus, who rejected principles and seams social structure who desired to become King in the new, earthly hell, a cruel and intelligent conqueror of the world ... But all his aspirations are shattered by earthliness, the lack of a flight of fancy and the pettiness of the evil done. He, like his own namesake - the Apostle Thomas - questioned the idea of Man, and stood above it, rejected it. But he did not become something higher, only a monkey crawled out from under the crushed Idea, an evil, bald and tailless monkey, which is the essence of Man without a holy ideal. And Maria... what is Maria? It carries the image, but not the essence. She is an interweaving of two principles, the beginning of holiness, more precisely, the image of holiness, and self-revealing Evil, vice and vile, as if stolen, sweet-putrid passions.
So a new anti-hero, the opposite of a hero, came into the world. Gone are the rushing Pechorin, the vile Luzhin, the empty flowers Helen and Anatole Kurakins, the talkative and rustic Famusov. Now in new literary space, following the bewildered swindler Magnus, the resilient Julio Hurenito, the great trickster Nevzorov with Ibicus under his arm, the confused "thief" created by the imagination of Alexei Leonov, the great schemer Ostap-Suleiman-Berta-Maria Bender and - as an apotheosis - Woland's retinue, nicely walked on expanses of this world, and looping it in itself. It's a world of crooks building new world on completely different principles, where there is no place for the Idea of Man.
So the dying Leonid Andreev anticipated the whole era that followed the Revolution. Indeed, a different era was going on, but this was not at all the Man that enlighteners and encyclopedists, Marxists and populists dreamed of, not the one whom the American Dream and Christian preachers were looking for.
P.S. But in the gloomy world of Leonid Andreev there is something that still carries a piece of the Ideal, something that brings peace to the soul of Satan, who has become too human. This is Art that bears the imprint of genius, not vulgarized and not mutilated by the mass of ape-like "humanity". Indeed, there is something right in the fact that people cherish art and keep it in peace and quiet, so that it can be on its own, and an imperfect person feels timidity next to him ...
As always, I do not quite agree with the feeling of Leonid Andreev ... But I bow my head before him, with all due respect ...
Score: 8
The devil incarnated to play theatrical play on sinful earth. He wants to act. Clothed in a body, he has already become a little human, but so far he is indifferent. He plays the role of a benefactor of mankind in front of the first who met on His path - Thomas Magnus, cruel, but smart person, a murderer who settled in a secluded house in Campania with his daughter Maria. Magnus sees in the eyes of the American billionaire and philanthropist, whose body was occupied by the Devil, an unearthly indifference, and contrasts this indifferent, feigned love for Man with burning and heavy hatred. First it turns out that he is playing, a little later - that he is only partly playing.
The world will begin to rapidly change the Devil; incarnation will go further than He expected. It's all about Mary, who painfully resembles another that lived two millennia before. And the Devil will fall in love. My God, how good Andreev is! How beautifully, skillfully, he showed through the diary of this unfortunate Devil how he changes and at some point finds himself between two blank walls. On one side - the world of man, to which He is still far away, on the other - eternity, from where he came - with its essences inexpressible in earthly languages, which will have to be forgotten for the sake of ... Mary. So far, the Devil has the opportunity to return back, retaining his pride, remaining indifferent - to shoot at the temple of Mr. Wondergood, whose body he has occupied; to return, taking with it a slight contempt for people, worms, crawling away from death, creating cults in the hope of finding solace in a life that ends and, thus, contemplating the ratio, choosing instead a miracle - the miracle of a monarch given by God, instead of "low" parliament, the miracle of creation instead of reason; people who turn even the purest undertakings of the Great, because of the dullness of their bulk, into a farce and dirt. The devil will be blind. Precisely because in the beginning He put a person so low, a person will deceive and humiliate him - defenseless, completely humanized, “descended” to his secretary named Toppy, a petty devil who, out of love for church rituals, almost immediately forgot where he came from. And even the greedy cardinal, who looks like an old monkey, will laugh, saying jokingly "Vade retro, Satane."
I always really liked the monologues about the “trembling creature” and everything like that (in this case, the characters “have the right”); nevertheless, I have never projected the postulates of such reflections of book characters onto the realities of life. If you project it, it will be scary. And, in my opinion, wrong. Let the food for the mind remain so. Andreev is right, but he is right in terms of his view of humanity - the disappointed look of a tired person who is close to death. Within the framework of his “world picture”, I accept his conclusions, so beautifully and logically written out. But no more.
Score: 8
One of the most wonderful features of the works of Leonid Andreev, in my opinion, is the almost complete impossibility of drawing a line between the real and the unreal, the fantastic, the transcendent. It doesn't matter if it's Satan, or the crazy Wondergood who imagines himself to be Satan. As part of the phantasmogorical delirium taking place before the eyes of the unfortunate Satan, in the Apocalypse, which began safely without the participation of otherworldly forces, when the role of the prince of darkness common man succeeds better than Satan - Satan is not needed.
Leonid Nikolaevich Andreev is an outstanding Russian writer. Born August 21, 1871 in Orel in the family of a land surveyor, who (according to family traditions) was illegitimate son landowner. The mother was also from a noble family, so it can be argued that the person who appeared in this world was an aristocrat both in spirit and in blood.
In 1882, he was sent to the Oryol gymnasium, in which Leonid, by his own admission, "studied badly." But I read a lot: Jules Verne, Edgar Poe, Charles Dickens, Dmitry Ivanovich Pisarev, Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy, Eduard Hartmann, Arthur Schopenhauer. The latter had a particularly strong influence on the outlook of the future writer: Schopenhauer's motifs permeate many of his works.
In 1889, the young man is grieving the loss of his father. In the same year, another test awaits him - a severe spiritual crisis due to unhappy love. The psyche of the impressionable young man could not stand it, and he even tried to commit suicide: to try his luck, he lay down under the train between the rails. Fortunately, everything worked out, and Russian literature was enriched by another great name.
In 1891, after graduating from high school, Leonid Andreev entered the Faculty of Law Petersburg University, from where he was expelled in 1893 for non-payment. He managed to transfer to Moscow University, for which the Society for Assistance to the Needy paid a fee. At the same time, Andreev began to publish: in 1892, his story “In Cold and Gold” was published in the Zvezda magazine, telling about a hungry student. However, life's troubles again bring the novice writer to suicide, but the attempt is again unsuccessful. (He will try his luck again in 1894. And again he remains alive.)
All this time, the poor student drags out a half-starved existence, lives by private lessons, paints portraits to order. In addition, in 1895, Leonid Andreev fell under police surveillance for participating in the affairs of the Oryol student community in Moscow, since the activities of such organizations were banned.
Nevertheless, he continues to be published in the Oryol Bulletin. And in 1896 he met future wife- Alexandra Mikhailovna Veligorskaya.
In 1897, Leonid Andreev graduated from the university with a candidate of law. He began serving as an assistant barrister, appearing in court as a defense attorney. Perhaps, from his practice, he took out the plot of the work, which is considered the beginning of his literary career: April 5, 1898 in the newspaper "Courier" (in which in the coming years they will also be published - under the pseudonyms James Lynch and L.-ev - Andreev's feuilletons) the story "Bargamot and Garaska" is published. This debut did not go unnoticed - Andreev's first story was approved by M. Gorky, was highly appreciated by then influential critics. Inspired by success, the novice writer felt an extraordinary surge of creative energy. From 1898 to 1904, he wrote over fifty stories, and in 1901 the Znanie publishing house published eight editions of the first volume of his works one after another. Before the young writer, who quickly gained a reputation among his generation as the “ruler of thoughts”, the doors of the editorial offices of the best magazines opened wide, his talent was recognized by Tolstoy, Chekhov, Korolenko, not to mention Gorky, with whom he struck up close friendly relations (which eventually grew into "friendship-enmity" and culminating in a break).
In 1900, Gorky introduced his young writer to the literary circle Sreda. Here is how Gorky himself describes the meeting with Leonid: “Dressed in an old sheepskin coat, in a shaggy sheepskin hat on one side, he resembled young actor Ukrainian troupe. His handsome face seemed to me inactive, but the gaze of his dark eyes shone with that smile that shone so well in his stories and feuilletons. He spoke hurriedly, in a muffled, thumping voice, coughing with a cold, choking a little on his words, and waving his arm monotonously, as though he were conducting. It seemed to me that it was healthy, invariably cheerful person able to live laughing at the hardships of life.
Gorky attracted Andreev to work in the Journal for All and the literary and political journal Life. But because of this work (as well as raising money for illegal student funds), the writer again came to the attention of the police. Both he and his works were widely discussed literary critics. Rozanov, for example, wrote: "Mr. Artsybashev and Messrs. Leonid Andreev and Maxim Gorky tore the veil of fantasy from reality and showed it as it is."
On January 10, 1902, the story “The Abyss” was published in the newspaper “Courier”, which stirred up the reading public. In it, man is represented as a slave to base, animal instincts. A broad controversy immediately unfolded around this work of L. Andreev, the nature of which was no longer literary, but rather philosophical. (Later, the writer even conceived the "Anti-Abyss", where he wanted to portray the best sides of a person, but did not realize his plan.)
After his marriage to Alexandra Mikhailovna Veligorskaya on February 10, 1902, the most calm and happy period in Andreev's life began, which, however, did not last long. In January 1903, he was elected a member of the Society of Lovers of Russian Literature at Moscow University. He continued his literary activity, and now more and more rebellious motives appeared in his work. In January 1904, the story “No Forgiveness” was published in the Courier, directed against agents of the tsarist secret police. Because of him, the newspaper was closed.
An important event - not only literary, but also social - was the anti-war story "Red Laughter". The writer enthusiastically welcomes the first Russian revolution, tries to actively promote it: he works in the Bolshevik newspaper Borba, participates in a secret meeting of the Finnish Red Guard. He again comes into conflict with the authorities, and in February 1905, for providing an apartment for meetings of the Central Committee of the RSDLP, he is imprisoned in solitary confinement. Thanks to the bail made by Savva Morozov, he manages to get out of prison. Despite everything, Andreev does not stop his revolutionary activities: in July 1905, together with Gorky, he performs at a literary and musical evening, the collection from which goes to the St. Petersburg Committee of the RSDLP and the families of the striking workers of the Putilov factory. From the persecution of the authorities now he has to hide abroad: at the end of 1905, the writer leaves for Germany.
There he experienced one of the most terrible tragedies of his life - the death of his beloved wife at the birth of his second son. At this time, he was working on the play The Life of a Man, about which he later wrote to Vera Figner: “Thank you for your review of The Life of a Man. This thing is very dear to me; and now I see that it will not be understood. And this offends me very painfully, not as an author (I have no pride), but as a “Man”. After all, this thing was the last thought, the last feeling and pride of my wife - and when they take it apart coldly, scold me, I feel some kind of huge insult in this. Of course, what do the critics care about the fact that the "man's wife" has died - but it hurts me. Yesterday and today the play is being staged in St. Petersburg, and it makes me sick to think about it. In December 1907, L. Andreev met with M. Gorky in Capri, and in May 1908, having somehow recovered from grief, he returned to Russia.
He continues to promote the revolution: he supports the illegal fund of prisoners of the Shlisselburg fortress, shelters the revolutionaries in his house.
The writer works as an editor in the anthology "Rosehip" and the collection "Knowledge". Invites A. Blok to "Knowledge", whom he highly appreciates. Blok, in turn, speaks of Andreev in the following way: “They find something in common with Edgar Poe in him. This is true to a certain extent, but the huge difference is that there is nothing "extraordinary", "strange", "fantastic", "mysterious" in Mr. Andreev's stories. All simple everyday cases.
But the writer had to leave Znanie: Gorky resolutely rebelled against the publications of Blok and Sologub. Andreev also broke with Rosehip, which published the novels by B. Savinov and F. Sologub after he rejected them.
However, the work, large and fruitful, continues. Perhaps the most significant work of this period was Judas Iscariot, where the well-known biblical story. The disciples of Christ appear as cowardly philistines, and Judas is an intermediary between Christ and people. The image of Judas is dual: formally - a traitor, but in fact - the only devoted to Christ Human. He betrays Christ in order to find out whether any of his followers are capable of sacrificing themselves to save the teacher. He brings weapons to the apostles, warns them of the danger threatening Christ, and after the death of the Teacher follows him. The author puts a very deep ethical postulate into the mouth of Judas: “Sacrifice is suffering for one and a shame for all. You took on all the sin. You will soon be kissing the cross on which you crucified Christ!.. Did he forbid you to die? Why are you alive when he is dead?.. What is the truth itself in the mouths of traitors? Doesn't it become a lie?" The author himself described this work as "something in psychology, ethics and the practice of betrayal."
Leonid Andreev is constantly busy searching for style. He develops techniques and principles of not pictorial, but expressive writing. At this time, such works were born as The Tale of the Seven Hanged Men (1908), which tells about government repressions, the plays Days of Our Life (1908), Anatema (1910), Ekaterina Ivanovna (1913), the novel Sashka Zhegulev" (1911).
L. Andreev hailed the First World War as "the struggle of the democracy of the whole world against Caesarism and despotism, of which Germany is a representative." He expected the same from all figures of Russian culture. At the beginning of 1914, the writer even went to Gorky in Capri to convince him to abandon his "defeatist" position and at the same time restore shaken friendly relations. Returning to Russia, he began working for the Utro Rossii newspaper, the organ of the liberal bourgeoisie, and in 1916 became editor of the Russkaya Volya newspaper.
Andreev greeted enthusiastically and February Revolution. He even allowed violence if it was used to achieve "lofty goals" and served the people's good and the triumph of freedom.
However, his euphoria subsided as the Bolsheviks strengthened their positions. As early as September 1917, he wrote that "the conqueror Lenin" was stepping "in pools of blood." An opponent of any dictatorship, he could not come to terms with the Bolshevik dictatorship either. In October 1917, he left for Finland, which was actually the beginning of emigration (in fact, thanks to a sad curiosity: when the border between Soviet Russia and Finland was established along the Sestra River, Andreev and his family lived in a dacha and, willy-nilly, ended up “abroad” ).
On March 22, 1919, the Parisian newspaper Common Cause published his article “S.O.S!”, in which he turned to the “noble” citizens for help and urged them to unite in order to save Russia from the “savages of Europe who rebelled against its culture, laws and morality" that turned it "into ashes, fire, murder, destruction, graveyards, dungeons and lunatic asylums".
restless state of mind The writer also affected his physical well-being. On December 9, Leonid Andreev died of heart failure in the village of Neivala in Finland at the dacha of a friend, writer F. N. Valkovsky. His body was temporarily buried in a local church.
This "temporary" period lasted until 1956, when his ashes were reburied in Leningrad on the Literary bridges of the Volkov cemetery.
The ideas and plots of Leonid Andreev turned out to be poorly compatible with the ideology Soviet state, and for many years the name of the writer was forgotten. The first sign of the revival was a collection of short stories and novels, published by the State Publishing House of Fiction in 1957. A collection of plays followed two years later. The composition of these books is emphatically neutral; "dangerous" works like "The Abyss" and "Thoughts" were not included in them.
The first and only to date (except for the two-volume 1971) posthumous collected works of Leonid Andreev was published by the publishing house Khudozhestvennaya Literatura (Moscow) in 1990-1996.
IN last years historical justice has been restored: Andreev's collections come out year after year and are reprinted, individual stories and the writer's stories are included in the school curriculum.
Fantasy in the work of Leonid Andreev
Many works of Leonid Andreev are directly related to the genre of science fiction and horror. First of all, the following should be mentioned:
"Satan's Diary" - an unfinished novel in which the Prince of Darkness appears in the world of the beginning of the 20th century in human form;
the mystical story "He", close in spirit to the works of Howard Phillips Lovecraft;
the terrible story "Red Laughter" - about the horrors of war, which found a supernatural embodiment;
surreal nightmare "The Wall";
the story "Eleazar", which treats the story of the biblical Lazarus in a peculiar way and has been repeatedly included in Western anthologies of ghost stories;
mischievous fable "Devil at the wedding";
the story about the end of the world "The Resurrection of All the Dead", the genre of which the author himself defined as a "dream";
philosophical fairy tale "So it was";
the parable “The Rules of Good” is about the devil who loves good;
the satirical story "Gulliver's Death", which tells about the funeral of Swift's hero;
fantastic-symbolist plays ("Tsar Hunger", "Anatema").
In addition, a significant number of stories and novels (including such outstanding ones as "Flight", "Grand Slam", "Abyss", "The Life of Basil of Thebes", "Curse of the Beast", "Nabat", etc.) cannot be attributed with certainty to any science fiction or traditional literature. This would be called magical realism these days.
