Just so in my case. I, as much as I could, have truthfully pointed out the horrors of prostitution. But my work saw the light of day in a far from perfect state. A supersensitive, captious, hypocritical Russian censorship mutilated it until it was unrecognisable. A touchy public became frightened at it. Thousands of abusive—for the most part anonymous letters did I receive in Russia—and still receive them, now and then. I was accused of shaking the foundations of society, of corrupting youth, of pornography, etc. Many refused to understand my sincerely well-meant intentions. The first friendly, encouraging letters I received from elderly, brainy, worldly-wise women; from honest youths who were horrified by their sexual longing; and even from young girls. I also treasure several letters from professional prostitutes; these latter epistles sin against grammar, but their contents are profound and touching. …
A strange thing: consolation, justification, and recognition I received in Paris, as an émigré. The Parisian press and the Parisian public responded very livelily to my sad novel when it came out in the French translation. The critics, with that finesse which is peculiar to French writers, pointed out the shortcomings, but their general opinion was unanimous: the work, despite certain coarse and bizarre features, was fully moral, and filled the readers’ needs, inasmuch as it was permeated with a warm, human compassion.
I breathed more freely.
And now I rejoice very much that I am to succeed, at last—even though in another tongue—in restoring Yama as it was originally conceived.
True, this is none too easy a matter. The deletions of censorship can be restored from memory. It is something else which presents difficulty. The novel was printed in Russia in a multitude of editions—but printed without plates, from previous editions, and for that reason there were set up in it a multiplicity of typographical errors, which not only aroused vexation but at times distorted the text until it was perfectly incomprehensible. I have put all this in order, and am now tranquil. My work is in the hands of the very best American translator.
And there is one more reason for me to rejoice over the fact that Yama is to appear in America. There, on a time, appeared Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Endnotes
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“Houses of Suffrance”—i.e., Houses of the Necessary Evil. —Trans. ↩
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The Russian term is “pharaoh.” —Trans. ↩
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A German exclamation of disgust or contempt, corresponding to the English fie. —Trans. ↩
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Probably a sly dig at Gautier’s Captain Fracasse. —Trans. ↩
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A small, secret opening, unnoticeable from the outside. ↩
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The Russian equivalent of “pox,” “syph.” —Trans. ↩
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Positive—Benedict Arnold; comparative—Judas Iscariot; superlative—Georgii Apollonovich Gapon, priest and political agent provocateur. —Trans. ↩
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Tony the Potato. —Trans. ↩
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An untranslatable pun on Economochka, a diminutive for “housekeeper.” —Trans. ↩
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Sourwater. —Trans. ↩
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The Russian expression is “the red flag.” —Trans. ↩
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The reference here is most probably to Chekhov. —Trans. ↩
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The heroine of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. —Trans. ↩
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“The little claw is sunk in, the whole bird is bound to perish”—a folk proverb used by Tolstoy as a subtitle to his The Power of Darkness. —Trans. ↩
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All provincial towns. —Trans. ↩
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Horizon is quoting a Nietzscheism of Gorky’s. —Trans. ↩
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While there can be but little doubt that these four stanzas are an actual transcript from life, Heinrich Heine’s “Ein Weib” is such a striking parallel that it may be reproduced here as a matter of interest. The translation is by Mr. Louis Untermeyer. —Trans.
A Woman
They loved each other beyond belief—
She was a strumpet, he was a thief;
Whenever she thought of his tricks, thereafter
She’d throw herself on the bed with laughter.The day was spent with a reckless zest;
At night she lay upon his breast.
So when they took him, a while thereafter
She watched at the window—with laughter.He sent word pleading “Oh come to me,
I need you, need you bitterly,
Yes, here and in the hereafter.”
Her little head shook with laughter.At six in the morning they swung him high;
At seven the turf on his grave was dry;
At eight, however, she quaffed her
Red wine and sang with laughter! -
“Pay attention, baroness, the girl is rather educated for one of her position.” ↩
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“Just imagine, I, too, have remarked this strange face. But where have I seen it … was it in a dream? … in semi-delirium? Or in her early infancy?” ↩
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“Don’t trouble to strain your memory, baroness. I will come to your aid at once. Just recall Kharkov, a room in Koniakine’s hotel, the theatrical manager, Solovieitschik, and a certain lyrical tenor … At that time you were not yet Baroness de …” ↩
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“But tell me, in God’s name, how you have come to be here, Mademoiselle Marguerite?” ↩
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Somewhat like a Spitzenburg, but a trifle rounder. —Trans. ↩
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Love. —Trans. ↩
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In contradistinction to “thou,” as used to familiars and inferiors in Russia. —Trans. ↩
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God is great. ↩
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The Russian phrase is “Eedet!” —Trans. ↩
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A verst is equal to two-thirds of a mile. —Trans. ↩
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Anglice, “confet” is a bonbon; “portret,” a portrait. —Trans. ↩
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A Russian bon vivant, wit and poet (1781–1839), the overwhelming majority of whose lyrics deals with military exploits and debauches.
