{"id":9650,"date":"2015-11-20T12:54:09","date_gmt":"2015-11-20T15:54:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/culturedarm.com\/?p=9650"},"modified":"2016-01-07T04:33:21","modified_gmt":"2016-01-07T07:33:21","slug":"katherine-mansfields-green-goggles-a-gogol-pastiche","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/culturedarm.com\/staging\/5793\/katherine-mansfields-green-goggles-a-gogol-pastiche\/","title":{"rendered":"Katherine Mansfield’s ‘Green Goggles’: A Gogol Pastiche"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Katherine<\/a><\/p>\n

Between recent pieces on the British literary magazine The New Age<\/em><\/a>,\u00a0Carl Erich Bechh\u00f6fer’s regular feature ‘Letters from Russia’<\/a>, and Katherine Mansfield’s short drama ‘Stay-Laces’<\/a>, I came across a couple of short pastiches contributed by the two writers\u00a0for the Vol. XI No. 10 issue of 4 July 1912<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Katherine Mansfield<\/a>‘s pastiche is entitled ‘Green Goggles’, clearly a send-up of Russian literature and its numerous tales of provincial life, overburdened with philosophy and long names, encapsulating something of the ‘superfluous man’. It could just as well target Turgenev, but Mansfield’s biographer Kathleen Jones has\u00a0referred to it as a pastiche of Gogol – and beyond the title, in its conversational hesitations, its materiality and strange sort of shopkeeping, perhaps this is true. We can trace the transmission\u00a0of Nikolai Gogol<\/a> in the English-speaking world.<\/p>\n

Working separately, Carl Lefevre and Anthony Cross have suggested that the first English comment on Gogol<\/a> in print occurred\u00a0in the\u00a0Westminster Review<\/em> of July 1841, where\u00a0William Henry Leeds wrote in dismissive terms about Mirgorod<\/em>, the collection of stories published in Russia in 1835 and containing ‘Old World Landowners’, ‘Taras Bulba’, ‘Viy’, and ‘The Tale of How Ivan Ivanovich Quarrelled With Ivan Nikiforovich’. Leeds, writing anonymously under just the initial ‘L.’, reserved special disdain for ‘Old World Landowners’, ‘considered the gem of the whole’, which he found\u00a0‘nothing more than a tedious, prosy account of a stupid, good-sort-of Philemon and Baucis couple, who live in clover on their estate, and suffer themselves to be imposed upon by a set of lazy, cheating, overfed servants’.<\/p>\n

Lefevre states that the first English translation of any of Gogol’s works came in 1847, when the short story ‘The Portrait’ was translated by Thomas Budge Shaw\u00a0– a professor of English literature at the Imperial Lyceum in Tsarskoye Selo\u00a0–\u00a0and published first in Blackwood’s\u00a0Edinburgh Magazine<\/em>,\u00a0then in the American\u00a0Living Age<\/em>.<\/p>\n

A translation of ‘Viy’ followed in 1854 in Sharpe’s London Magazine\u00a0<\/em>under the title ‘A Russian Ghost Story’, but the translator was unattributed and Gogol’s name mentioned only in the introduction. The same year his great ‘poem in prose’ Dead Souls<\/em>\u00a0emerged in a spurious translation entitled\u00a0Home Life in Russia, by a Russian Noble; Revised by the Author of ‘Revelations of Siberia’<\/em>. In two volumes, the work\u00a0was\u00a0courtesy of the London publisher Hurst and Blackett, who in 1852 had taken over the long-established business of Henry Colburn. In his book-length study of Gogol, Vladimir Nabokov<\/a> notes that it\u00a0appeared:<\/p>\n

‘with the remarkable notice “This Work is Copyright and the Publishers reserve to themselves the Right of Translation” and a foreword containing the following no less remarkable passages:<\/em><\/p>\n

“The Work is written by a Russian nobleman, who offered the Ms. in English to the publishers, and the editor’s task has been confined to altering such verbal errors as might be expected, when we bear in mind that the Author has written in a language which is\u00a0not his own. . . .\u00a0It gives us an insight into the internal circumstances and relations of Russian society. . . . The Author affirms that the story is true, and that the main facts are well known in Russia.<\/em><\/p>\n

“. . . In conclusion we may regret that we are not at liberty to mention the Author’s name – not that the work itself requires any further verification, for its genuineness is avouched by almost every line – but the truth is, that the writer is still anxious to return to his native country, and is perfectly well aware that the avowal of his handiwork and such a display of his satirical power, will not serve as a special recommendation except possibly as a passport to the innermost regions of the Siberian wilds.”‘<\/em><\/p>\n

Cross laments this translation of Dead Souls<\/em>\u00a0as ‘an outrageous act of plagiarism’, while Lefevre argues it was the work of the ‘Polish colonel Lach-Szmyrna’ (i.e. Krystyn Lach Szyrma), who was then ‘spoiling for a fight with Russia, or anything Russian, even a literary masterpiece by Gogol’. This was the time of the Crimean War<\/a>, which meant a growing interest in the Russian ‘interior’, and various attempts to convert\u00a0literature for the purposes of propaganda.<\/p>\n

Home Life in Russia<\/em>\u00a0had been preceded in 1853 by Sketches of life in the Caucasus, by a Russe, Many Years Resident amongst the Various Mountain Tribes<\/em> – a similarly plagiarised translation, published in London, of Mikhail Lermontov’s A Hero of Our Time<\/em>. It\u00a0was followed in 1855 by Russian Life in the Interior, or, The Experiences of a Sportsman. Edited by James D. Meiklejohn.<\/em> – a translation of A Sportsman’s Sketches<\/em> published in Edinburgh,\u00a0which at least credited ‘Ivan Tourghenieff of Moscow’, although it was based on a distorted French copy of his work.<\/p>\n

The foreword to Home Life in Russia<\/em> spurred a brief flurry of criticism in the pages of\u00a0Athenaeum<\/em> and Eclectic Review<\/em>, whose writers condemned the forgery and unveiled\u00a0Gogol’s identity as the original author of the translated text. Then in 1855, ‘Old World Landowners’ was translated in the\u00a0Dublin University Magazine<\/em>; and in 1860,\u00a0someone\u00a0named George Tolstoy translated under the title Cossack Tales<\/em> the stories ‘Taras Bulba’ and ‘Christmas Eve’.<\/p>\n

But it was not until the translations of Isabel Hapgood, published in the United States from the middle of the 1880s, that Gogol began to establish a firm\u00a0reputation among English readers. Hapgood translated\u00a0‘Taras Bulba’ and Dead Souls<\/em> in 1886, and over the next\u00a0two decades went on to publish her translations of\u00a0‘St. John’s Eve’, ‘Old World Landowners’, ‘The Tale of How Ivan Ivanovich Quarrelled With Ivan Nikiforovich’, ‘The Portrait’, and ‘The Overcoat’.<\/p>\n

If Mansfield’s pastiche draws explicitly from Gogol’s fiction, it is surely\u00a0based on a reading of Hapgood’s translations. Mansfield’s taste for\u00a0Russian literature began with Chekhov, to whom she was introduced during her stay in the spa town of Bad W\u00f6rishofen in Bavaria in 1909. She began contributing to The New Age<\/em> immediately upon her return to London, with more than thirty short pieces appearing between February 1910 and October 1917. The issue of 4 July 1912 which featured ‘Green Goggles’ itself contained a translation, by Paul Selver, of Chekhov’s comic short ‘In Search of Information’, which has also been translated as ‘An Enquiry’<\/a>.<\/p>\n

In 1917 Mansfield was diagnosed with tuberculosis. By October 1922, she had moved to\u00a0George Gurdjieff’s Institute for the Harmonious Development of Man in Fontainebleau, France, where she was cared for by Olgivanna Lazovich (who later married Frank Lloyd Wright<\/a>), and spent her\u00a0time in the company\u00a0of Alfred Richard Orage – then still the editor of The New Age<\/em>, but preparing to sell the magazine and move to\u00a0the Institute full-time.<\/p>\n

Mansfield had only months to live, and she died on 9 January 1923 at the age of just thirty-four. In a letter sent soon after her arrival in Fontainebleau to her husband John Middleton Murry, on 18 October 1922, she wrote:<\/p>\n

‘I don’t know whether Mr. Gurdjieff will let me stay. I am ‘under observation’ for a fortnight first. But if he does I’ll stay here\u00a0for the time I should have been abroad and get really cured – not half cured, not cured in my body only and all the rest still as ill as ever. I have a most lovely sumptuous room a kind of glorified Garsington for the fortnight. As for the food it is like a Gogol feast. Cream, butter – but what nonsense to talk about the food. Still, it’s very important, and I want you to know that one is terribly well looked after, in every way.’<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As for the transmission of Gogol in English, after Hapgood, in 1916 Thomas Seltzer translated The inspector-general: a comedy in five acts<\/em> for Alfred A. Knopf. It was left to Constance Garnett to produce the full body of Gogol’s literature in English. This careful and prolific woman – who translated seventy-one volumes of Russian literature in all\u00a0throughout her life – translated Dead Souls<\/em> in 1922, The Overcoat and Other Stories<\/em> in 1923, Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka<\/em> and The Government Inspector and Other Plays<\/em> in 1926, and Mirgorod<\/em> in 1928.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Green Goggles (A Pastiche)<\/strong><\/h3>\n

By Katherine Mansfield (1912)<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n
\u201cGreen goggles, green goggles,
\nThe glass is so green. . . .\u201d\u00a0<\/em>
\n(Russian Folk Song.)<\/p>\n

The servant girl, wearing a red, sleeveless blouse, brought in the samovar. \u201cBut it is\u00a0impossible to speak of a concrete ideal,\u201d thought Dimitri Tchernikofskoi. \u201cIn the first place,\u00a0concrete is a composition. It is not a pure substance. Therefore it must be divided against\u00a0itself.\u201d\u00a0\u201cThere is a gentleman in the passage,\u201d bawled the servant girl. Dimitri Tchernikofskoi\u00a0disguised his nervousness by frowning deeply and plucking at the corners of his collar, as\u00a0though the starch were permeating his skin and stiffening the throat muscles. \u201cShow him in,\u201d\u00a0he muttered, \u201cand,\u201d – he closed his eyes for a moment – \u201cbring some cucumbers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven so, Little Father.\u201d<\/p>\n

A young man, wearing a bear-skin coat and brown top boots, entered the room. His head was\u00a0completely covered in an astrakhan cap, having enormous ear-flaps, and his pale, kind eyes\u00a0smiled timidly from behind a pair of green goggles. \u201cPlease to sit down,\u201d said Dimitri\u00a0Tchernikofskoi; and he thought: \u201cHow do I know those eyes? Are they green? Da, if they\u00a0were green I should not know them. I feel that they are blue. Lord help me! I must try to keep
\ncalm, at all events.\u201d The young man sat down and pulled his coat over his knees. Twice he\u00a0opened his mouth and twice he closed it. A round spot of red, about the size of a five-rouble\u00a0piece, shone on his cheek-bones. Dimitri Tchernikofskoi fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for\u00a0his watch, and then he remembered that he had pawned it three months before – or sold it, he\u00a0could not remember which – to Ivan Dvorsniak. And he saw again the little evil-smelling\u00a0shop and the grotesque, humped figure of the Jew, bending over a green-shaded lamp,\u00a0weighing the watch on the index finger of his right hand. He fancied he heard it ticking quite\u00a0sharply and distinctly. Then he realised it was the voice of the young man. \u201cMy name is Olga\u00a0Petrovska \u201cEh? What\u2019s that? What\u2019s that you are saying?\u201d Olga Petrovska. raised her band.\u00a0\u201cPlease do not speak so loudly. You must remember we are only on the fifth floor, and the\u00a0servant girl may be listening in the basement.\u201d Her brilliant grasp of the technique of the\u00a0house calmed him. He waited for her to explain. \u201cI came to see you,\u201d she said, \u201cbecause I\u00a0could not stay away, Dimitri Tchernikofskoi. I am leaving Russia to-night, and I felt that I owed it to you to\u00a0explain my reasons. For I shall not return -at least, not for a long time. And – people speak so\u00a0falsely. Truth must be first-hand.\u201d Her words fell upon his soul like flakes of snow; he\u00a0counted them – one, two, three, four-wondering, grimly, how large his soul was, how many\u00a0flakes it would take to cover it completely. \u201cWhy are you going?\u201d he asked gently. The\u00a0young girl stiffened. \u201cI am going because they will not arrest me. Think of it! I have killed\u00a0five officials, I have kidnapped the children of three noblemen-and look at me!\u201d She\u00a0stretched out her arms, lifting her bosom so that it strained the buttons of her coat.<\/div>\n

\u201cAh, it is\u00a0shameful – shameful! I do not mind about the noblemen, but the children\u201d – she suddenly\u00a0spoke in French – \u201c je sais ce que je dis; even the noblest soul does not care to have three\u00a0children thrust upon him without . . .\u201d She paused, and for the first time in his life Dimitri\u00a0saw her smile.\u00a0It caught his heart; it was miraculous, as the unfolding of a lily on a desolate\u00a0sea. His emotion was so terrible that he turned up his coat collar and began to pace the room.\u00a0Olga Petrovska continued speaking: \u201cBut that is all over now. Da, da; I am free again,\u201d\u00a0\u201cBut,\u201d stammered the unfortunate man, pouring out a glass of tea and thoughtlessly stirring\u00a0into it a spoonful of peach preserve, \u201cwhat have you done with the children?\u201d \u201cNow that\u00a0was quite simple. I borrowed this suit from a young coachman, then I hired a sleigh, and,\u00a0having carefully labelled the little ones with their correct names and addresses, I drove them\u00a0to the chief Post Office. They were very good. Only Ani cried a little-the darling – she bit off\u00a0the fingers of her gloves and her hands grew quite cold. When we arrived I told them to wait\u00a0for me while I posted a letter, and I simply disappeared round a corner. They are bound to be\u00a0found you know.\u201d she added confidently. His admiration for her knew no bounds. Taking a\u00a0book from a shelf covered in black \u201cAmerican\u201d cloth,\u201d bound in red cotton, he turned the\u00a0pages feverishly.\u00a0\u201cThe women of Russia do not only hear children, they keep them alive,\u201d he\u00a0read. Yes, that was deep! Olga Petrovska removed her cap. He sat down opposite to her and\u00a0searched her face: the red colour had faded, giving place to green shadows cast by the\u00a0goggles.\u00a0\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d She did not know. All she knew was that, like all of them, \u201cshe was\u00a0going on.\u201d \u201cBut,\u201d he cried, \u201cyou must take a ticket, Olga Petrovska.\u201d With a quick movement\u00a0she seized his hands and bent her face over them. He felt her tears falling – her tears on his\u00a0hands. \u201cAh,\u201d he thought, with fierce, intense joy, \u201cthey must never be washed again. They\u00a0are purified. They must never know sweeter water.\u201d \u201cSometimes,\u201d she whispered, \u201cit seems\u00a0to me that the universe itself is nothing but an infernal machine hurtling through space and\u00a0destined to shiver, \u2019- a crack of laughter, harsh as blood, burst from her lips – \u201cthe hosts of\u00a0heaven.\u201d He did not answer; he was infinitely troubled at this. In the silence they heard the\u00a0servant girl wiping down the stair rails with a greasy rag. Olga raised her head. \u201cHave I white\u00a0hairs?\u201d The\u00a0fringe of her stiff black hair was covered in fine white snow-crystals. \u201cThey will melt, Olga\u00a0Petrovska.\u201d At that she laid her cheek a moment against his hands. \u201cWhat a child you are,\u201d\u00a0she murmured; \u201cI did not mean that.\u201d<\/p>\n

And suddenly all that he had imagined and thought and dreamed – the values and revalues\u00a0and supervalues of good and evil, his hopes, his ambitions – faded away. He knew only one\u00a0thing. He must go with this woman. That settled, action became easy. He drew his\u00a0handkerchief from his pocket and spread it on the table. She watched him. He went over to\u00a0the washstand and, taking a toothbrush and a half-used cake of some yellowish soap, he\u00a0wrapped them neatly in the handkerchief. \u2018\u2018What are you doing?\u201d she asked? vaguely\u00a0troubled. Come,\u201d he said, \u201cit is time.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Between recent pieces on the British literary magazine The New Age,\u00a0Carl Erich Bechh\u00f6fer’s regular feature ‘Letters from Russia’, and Katherine Mansfield’s short drama ‘Stay-Laces’, I came across a couple of short pastiches contributed by the two writers\u00a0for the Vol. XI No. 10 issue of 4 July 1912. Katherine Mansfield‘s pastiche is entitled ‘Green Goggles’, clearly […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9680,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3878],"tags":[4078,2278,4166,4165],"class_list":{"0":"post-9650","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-literature","8":"tag-katherine-mansfield","9":"tag-nikolai-gogol","10":"tag-pastiche","11":"tag-the-new-age"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nKatherine Mansfield's 'Green Goggles': A Gogol Pastiche<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/culturedarm.com\/katherine-mansfields-green-goggles-a-gogol-pastiche\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Katherine Mansfield's 'Green Goggles': A Gogol Pastiche\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Between recent pieces on the British literary magazine The New Age,\u00a0Carl Erich Bechh\u00f6fer’s regular feature ‘Letters from Russia’, and Katherine Mansfield’s short drama ‘Stay-Laces’, I came across a couple of short pastiches contributed by the two writers\u00a0for the Vol. XI No. 10 issue of 4 July 1912. Katherine Mansfield‘s pastiche is entitled ‘Green Goggles’, clearly […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/culturedarm.com\/katherine-mansfields-green-goggles-a-gogol-pastiche\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Culturedarm\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:author\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/culturedallroundman\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2015-11-20T15:54:09+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2016-01-07T07:33:21+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/culturedarm.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Katherine-Mansfield-6.jpg?fit=1200%2C801&ssl=1\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1200\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"801\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Christopher Laws\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta 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