The Red Laugh (Dedalus European Classics) by Leonid Andreyev

By Leonid Andreyev

Translated through Alexandra Lindem

The pink chortle used to be written in 1904 in the course of the doubtful interval following Russia's ignominious defeat by the hands of the japanese it's the feverish and fragmentary monologue of a Russian officer, conquer by way of the horror of man's inhumanity and pushed to hunt shelter in insanity.Although self-consciously sleek and sensational standard The purple chortle has a annoying and prophetic strength which verified Andreyev's acceptance as an important ecu author. 'I are looking to be the apostle of self-destruction. i need my ebook to impact man's cause, his feelings, his nerves, his complete animal nature. I may still like my ebook to make humans flip faded with horror as they learn it, to impact them like a drug, like a terrifying dream, to force them mad, to lead them to curse and hate me yet nonetheless to learn me and to kill themselves.' Leonid Andreyev

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Extra info for The Red Laugh (Dedalus European Classics)

Sample text

Bowater looked over, startled. The barge was pulling away from the wall, he could see the black space opening up, the chasm between barge and wall and the dark water at the bottom. The whistle stopped and Sullivan’s voice boomed over the sound of the paddle wheels, shouting, “Come on, Cap’n! ” Bowater looked from the barge to the watchman to the barge. ” the watchman shouted. The shotgun thudded on the packed dirt as he let go of the barrel, grabbed hold of Bowater’s collar. Bowater knocked his hand aside, sprinted for the wall.

It was pointless to try to get transportation. That much was clear once they maneuvered through the smaller side streets in which Molly’s house was hidden and came out on Water Street. Streetcars stood abandoned, their traces lying empty before them as if in surrender. Wagons heavy loaded with furniture and children, entire households, rattled for the roads north to Richmond. The waterfront was crowded with steamboats and sailing vessels, fishing smacks, 52 JAMES L. NELSON coasting schooners, all scrambling to get under way.

But how will we ever . ” It did not seem possible that they could even get into the station, but before she could finish her question, Molly advanced, moving like a fox through the undergrowth, slipping sideways through gaps in the throng, exploiting THIEVES OF MERCY 53 every tiny opening in the pack of refugees. Her elbows flailed like offensive weapons, her carpetbag a battering ram, opening the way with just enough subtlety that the people she pushed past could dismiss the assault as an accident, if they were feeling charitable.

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