Satan’s Diary Leonid Andreyev (ebook reader play store TXT) 📖

I did not lie. But you won’t do for me. You would always be hanging on to my coat tails. Just now you shouted: liar, scoundrel, thief.⁠ ⁠… It’s strange, but you are yet only learning to be a man and you have already imbibed so much pettiness. When I shall raise my hand to strike someone, your contempt will begin to whine: don’t strike, leave him alone, have pity. Oh, if you could only hate! No, you are a terrible egotist, old man.”

I shouted:

“The devil take you with your harping on this egotism! I am not in the least more stupid than you, you beast, and I cannot understand what you find so saintly in hatred!”

Magnus frowned:

“First of all: don’t shout or I’ll throw you out. Do you hear? Yes, perhaps you are no more stupid than I am, but man’s business is not your business. Do you realize that, you beast? In blowing up things, I only intend to do business and you want to be the ruler of another’s plant. Let them steal and break down the machinery and you⁠—you will be concerned only about your salary and the respect due you? And I⁠—I won’t stand that! All this,”⁠—he swept the room with a broad gesture⁠—“is my plant, mine, do you hear, and it is I who will be robbed. I will be robbed and injured. And I hate those who rob me. What would you have done, in the long run, with your billions, if I had not taken them from you? Built conservatories and raised heirs⁠—for the perpetuation of your kind? Private yachts and diamonds for your wife? And I⁠ ⁠… give me all the gold on earth and I will throw it all into the flames of my hatred. And all because I have been insulted! When you see a hunchback you throw him a lire. So that he may continue to bear his hump, yes? And I want to destroy him, to kill him, to burn him like a crooked log. To whom do you appeal when you are fooled or when a dog bites your finger? To your wife, the police, public opinion? But suppose the wife, with the aid of your butler, plants horns on your head or public opinion fails to understand you and instead of pitying you prefers to give you a thrashing⁠—then do you make your appeal to God? But I, I go to no one. I plead before no one, but neither do I forgive. You understand? I do not forgive! Only egotists forgive! I consider myself personally insulted!”

I heard him in silence. Perhaps it was because I was so close to the fireplace, gazing into the fire and listening to Magnus’s words, each new word intermingled with a fresh blaze of a burning log; no sooner would the glowing red mass fall apart than the words, too, would break up into particles, like hot coals. My head was not at all clear and, under the influence of these burning, flaming, flying words I fell into a strange, dark drowsiness. But this was what my memory retained:

“Oh, if you could only hate! If you were not so cowardly and weak of soul! I would take you with me and would let you behold a fire which would forever dry your miserable tears and burn your sentimental dreams to ashes! Do you hear the song of the fools of the world? They are merely loading the cannons. The wise man need only apply the fire to the fuse, you understand? Could you behold calmly the sight of a blissful sheep and hungry snake lying together, separated only by a thin partition? I could not! I would drill just a little opening, a little opening⁠ ⁠… the rest they would do themselves. Do you know that from the union of truth and falsehood comes an explosion? I want to unite. I shall do nothing myself: I shall only complete what they have begun. Do you hear how merrily they sing? I will make them dance, too! Come with me, comrade! You sought some sort of a play⁠—let me give you an extraordinary spectacle! We shall bring the whole earth into action and millions of marionettes will begin to caper obediently at our command: you know not yet how talented and obliging they are. It will be a splendid play and will give you much pleasure and amusement.⁠ ⁠…”

A large log fell apart and split into many sparks and hot cinders. The flame subsided, growing morose and red. A silent heat emanated from the dimmed, smoke-smeared hearth. It burned my face and suddenly there arose before me my puppets’ show. The heat and fire had conjured up a mirage. I seemed to hear the crash of drums and the gay ring of cymbals, while the merry clown turned on his head at the sight of the broken skulls of the dolls. The broken heads continued to pile up. Then I saw the scrap heap, with two motionless little legs protruding from the heap of rubbish. They wore rose slippers. And the drums continued beating: tump-tump-tump. And I said pensively:

“I think it will hurt them.”

And behind my back rang out the contemptuous and indifferent reply:

“Quite possibly.”

“Tump-tump-tump.⁠ ⁠…”

“It is all the same to you, Wondergood, but I cannot! Can’t you see: I cannot permit every miserable biped to call himself a man. There are too many of them, already. They multiply like rabbits, under the stimulus of physicians and laws. Death, deceived, cannot handle them all. It is confused and seems to have lost its dignity and moral authority. It is wasting its time in dancing halls. I hate them. It has become repulsive to me to walk upon this earth, fallen into the power of a strange, strange species. We must suspend the law, at least temporarily, and let death have its fling. However, they themselves will see to this. No, not I, but they, will do it. Think not that I am particularly cruel, no⁠—I