The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe 9781474241083, 9781474241113, 9781474241106

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THE RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD IN EUROPE

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The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe Series Editor: Elinor Shaffer Institute of Modern Languages Research, School of Advanced Study, University of London Published Volumes VOLUME I: THE RECEPTION OF VIRGINIA WOOLF IN EUROPE Edited by Mary Ann Caws and Nicola Luckhurst VOLUME II: THE RECEPTION OF LAURENCE STERNE IN EUROPE Edited by Peter de Voogd and John Neubauer VOLUME III: THE RECEPTION OF JAMES JOYCE IN EUROPE Edited by Geert Lernout and Wim Van Mierlo VOLUME IV: THE RECEPTION OF WALTER PATER IN EUROPE Edited by Stephen Bann VOLUME V: THE RECEPTION OF OSSIAN IN EUROPE Edited by Howard Gaskill VOLUME VI: THE RECEPTION OF BYRON IN EUROPE Edited by Richard Cardwell VOLUME VII: THE RECEPTION OF H. G. WELLS IN EUROPE Edited by Patrick Parrinder and John Partington VOLUME VIII: THE RECEPTION OF JONATHAN SWIFT IN EUROPE Edited by Hermann Real VOLUME IX: THE RECEPTION OF DAVID HUME IN EUROPE Edited by Peter Jones VOLUME X: THE RECEPTION OF W. B. YEATS IN EUROPE Edited by Klaus Peter Jochum VOLUME XI: THE RECEPTION OF HENRY JAMES IN EUROPE Edited by Annick Duperray VOLUME XII: THE RECEPTION OF D. H. LAWRENCE IN EUROPE Edited by Dieter Mehl and Christa Jansohn VOLUME XIII: THE RECEPTION OF SIR WALTER SCOTT IN EUROPE Edited by Murray Pittock VOLUME XIV: THE RECEPTION OF JANE AUSTEN IN EUROPE Edited by A. A. Mandal and Brian Southam

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VOLUME XV: THE RECEPTION OF S. T. COLERIDGE IN EUROPE Edited by Elinor Shaffer and Edoardo Zuccato VOLUME XVI: THE RECEPTION OF P. B. SHELLEY IN EUROPE Edited by Susanne Schmid and Michael Rossington VOLUME XVII: THE RECEPTION OF CHARLES DARWIN IN EUROPE Edited by Eve-Marie Engels and Thomas F. Glick VOLUME XVIII: THE RECEPTION OF OSCAR WILDE IN EUROPE Edited by Stefano Evangelista VOLUME XIX: THE RECEPTION OF CHARLES DICKENS IN EUROPE Edited by Michael Hollington VOLUME XX: THE LITERARY AND CULTURAL RECEPTION OF CHARLES DARWIN IN EUROPE Edited by Thomas F. Glick and Elinor Shaffer VOLUME XXI: THE RECEPTION OF ROBERT BURNS IN EUROPE Edited by Murray Pittock VOLUME XXII: THE RECEPTION OF GEORGE ELIOT IN EUROPE Edited by Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown VOLUME XXIII: THE RECEPTION OF ALFRED TENNYSON IN EUROPE Edited by Leonee Ormond VOLUME XXIV: THE RECEPTION OF EDMUND BURKE IN EUROPE Edited by Martin Fitzpatrick and Peter Jones VOLUME XXV: THE RECEPTION OF WILLIAM BLAKE IN EUROPE Edited by Sibylle Erle and Morton D. Paley THE RECEPTION OF ISAAC NEWTON IN EUROPE Edited by Helmut Pulte and Scott Mandelbrote

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THE RECEPTION OF BRITISH AND IRISH AUTHORS IN EUROPE Series Editor: Elinor Shaffer Institute of Modern Languages Research, School of Advanced Study, University of London

THE RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD IN EUROPE

Edited by Robert Hampson and Véronique Pauly

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BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2022 Copyright © Robert Hampson, Véronique Pauly and contributors, 2022 The editors and contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on pp. xiii–xiv constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover image: Joseph Conrad © Granger Historical Picture Archive/ Alamy Stock Photo All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: ePDF: eBook:

978-1-4742-4108-3 978-1-4742-4110-6 978-1-4742-4109-0

Series: The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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CONTENTS

Series Editor’s Preface Elinor Shaffer Acknowledgements List of Contributors Abbreviations Timeline of the European Reception of Joseph Conrad

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Introduction: Joseph Conrad’s Life and Afterlife in Mainland Europe Robert Hampson Part 1 1

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The Reception of Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896‒2021) Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech

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The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim Ewa Kujawska-Lis

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Polonizing Siberia’s Heart of Darkness: Conrad Written Back in Jacek Dukaj’s Ice Daniel Schümann

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Part 2 4 5 6

The Reception of Conrad in France, Germany and Italy

Conrad’s Early Reception in the Context of the French Roman D’Aventures Mark Fitzpatrick

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The French Reception of Joseph Conrad from the 1930s to the Present Day Véronique Pauly

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Publishing under Pressure: Conrad’s Reception in Germany 1900–1945 – and After Anthony Fothergill

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The German Democratic Republic: Conrad’s Reception under Socialist Eyes Frank Förster

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Conrad Translations in Austria and Switzerland Frank Förster

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The Italian Translations of Conrad

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Mario Curreli

10 ‘The Battle for Conrad’ Inside and Outside Italian Academia in the Years 1924‒1960 Richard Ambrosini

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11 Conrad’s Critical Reception in Italy 1924‒2021

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Fausto Ciompi

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Contents

Part 3 Conrad’s Reception in Spain and Latin America 12 The Reception of Conrad in Spain

Daniel Zurbano García

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13 From Unrest to Anthropology: (Amost) a Century of Conrad in Catalonia Jacqueline Hurtley

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14 The Spanish and Catalan Reception of Conrad’s Poetics: A History in Three Vignettes Marta Puxan-Oliva

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15 The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Latin America

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16 An Interview with Mario Vargas Llosa 17 Borges and Conrad

María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia

María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia

Evelyn Fishburn

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Part 4 Conrad’s Reception in other European Countries 18 Conrad’s Artistic Returns: A Bulgarian Staging of Heart of Darkness Margreta Grigorova and Petya Tsoneva Ivanova

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19 Within the Tides: The Czech Reception of Joseph Conrad

Zdenĕk Beran

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20 Joseph Conrad’s Translations and Reception in Denmark Ebbe Klitgård

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21 Conrad in Greece: Translation, Performance, Politics

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22 The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Hungary 23 Conrad’s Reception in Ireland

Nic Panagopoulos

Balázs Csizmadia

Richard Niland

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24 The ‘Bard of Particular Elements’: Conrad’s Reception in Russia Ludmilla Voitkovska

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25 A Familial Soul in Slovenia and Former Yugoslavia

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Majda Šavle

26 The Swedish Uses of Conrad Claes Lindskog

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27 Conrad in the Academy: Recent Swedish Academic Scholarship Johan Warodell

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28 One of Us: Conrad’s Reception in Ukraine

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Ludmilla Voitkovska

29 The Early Ukrainian Critical Reception of Joseph Conrad Bibliography Index

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Dmytro Kozak

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SERIES EDITOR’S PREFACE Elinor Shaffer

The reception of British authors in Britain has in good part been studied; indeed, it forms our literary history. By contrast the reception of British authors in Europe has not been examined in any systematic, long-term or large-scale way. With our volume on Jonathan Swift (2005) we altered our Series title to ‘The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe’, as a reminder that many writers previously travelling under the British flag may now be considered or claimed as belonging to the Republic of Ireland (1948), or Eire. This opens further questions, however. How ‘British’ are the writers we prize who write in English from these shores? How British is Walter Scott, who drew European tourists in their thousands to explore Scotland? How British is Robert Burns, whose poetry of the people, in their language, was so prized by Eastern European countries seeking recognition of their own separate idioms? How British is Yeats, who lived abroad and died and was buried in France (though later dug up and reburied in Ireland)? How British is Joyce, who lived long years in Italy, Switzerland and Paris, and wrote in a language he invented? For that matter, how British was Henry James, who was born in the United States, grandson of an Irish emigrant, but chose to live in Europe, in particular in England, becoming a British subject formally only in 1915, the year before his death, in order to show his community (by then lifelong) with a country at war. Yet his subject was always ‘international’, if finally beyond matters of nationality and origin, and concerned with the exploration of consciousness. With Joseph Conrad (born Korzeniowski) (1857‒1924), who became a British subject in 1886 and took up residence on the east coast of England with his English wife, Jessie, with whom he had two sons, we come to an English writer of equal stature who across Europe is not seen as English, as this book shows. He was indeed not a native speaker of English, born in 1857 in a Poland under Russian domination, but belonging to an upper class that spoke French as its common language. His parents, exiled to north-west Russia for their underground political activities against the Russian state, found a brief respite in the milder conditions of northern Ukraine before the early death of his mother. His father died shortly afterwards. when Joseph was twelve. But in that brief time, he came to know that his father also read English, that he wrote reviews and made translations of both French and English plays for the stage, and that he admired Dickens and Shakespeare. Conrad’s autobiography, A Personal Record, while ranging over the French and English works he read in Polish translation as a small boy, pinpoints the moment when the boy climbed into his father’s chair in front of the desk where he wrote: What emboldened me to climb into his chair I am sure I don’t know, but a couple of hours afterwards he discovered me kneeling in it with my elbows on the table and my head held in both hands over the MS. of loose pages. I was greatly confused, expecting to get into trouble. He stood in the doorway looking at me with some surprise, but the only thing he said after a moment of silence was: ‘Read the page aloud.’ ix

Series Editor’s Preface

Luckily the page lying before me was not overblotted with erasures and corrections, and my father’s handwriting was otherwise extremely legible. When I got to the end he nodded and I flew out-of-doors thinking myself lucky to have escaped reproof for that piece of impulsive audacity. I have tried to discover since the reason of this mildness, and I imagine that all unknown to myself I had earned, in my father’s mind, the right to some latitude in my relations with his writing-table. A Personal Record, pp. 71–2 There is much more about the small boy’s sharing with his father his English and French translations, but this is the moment that captures the father’s recognition of his young son’s gift and the boy’s right to sit in his chair, at his desk, taking a kind of ownership of his English MS. Conrad concludes, ‘I reflect proudly that I must have read that page of Two Gentlemen of Verona tolerably well at the age of eight.’ Some years later, in his mid-teens, after his father’s death, Joseph went to Marseilles for a year, and then joined the French marines, and after another year, in order to evade the claims on him made by the Russian masters that he serve in their forces, which prevented the French from recruiting him, joined the English Navy. He is equally good at showing the moment when he became English, as he boarded an English ship, and the moment when he met Almayer, who would give his name to Conrad’s first novel: Almayer’s Folly. While many readers may associate Conrad with sea stories, his friendships with writers after he became a British subject reveal the time of his early writings as shared with contemporaries like Kipling and Ford Madox Ford, that is, not the English authors of his father’s day, not Shakespeare and Dickens, but those concerned with current British and world movements – with imperial adventures and colonial administration, and with characters like the English silver mine owners in Venezuela who lie behind Nostromo, or the Belgian adventurer in the Congo, ‘Mistah Kurtz’, who is the central figure of what has become one of Conrad’s bestknown stories: Heart of Darkness. It is these contemporaries who are his companions at sea, in the ports, travelling on the rivers inland as explorers, adventurers and traders, and, at home in England, as company directors, ambitious publishers and writers. He is more aware than they of such figures as the refugees and political exiles who appear inThe Secret Agent. Joseph Conrad becomes a leading writer of a late Victorian imperial world. It is the aim of this Series to initiate and forward the study of the reception of British and Irish authors in continental Europe, or, as we would now say, the rest of Europe as a whole, rather than as isolated national histories with a narrow national perspective. The example of Conrad shows us that this study leads us well beyond Europe, though in a period of European exploration, trade and expansion, if not hegemony. Conrad himself, from a land-bound country, exploring a wider world, is an embodiment of the new era and its capacity to draw in and absorb unfamiliar forces, acquisitions and insights. . This throws light back on the whole Series. By ‘authors’ we intend writers in any field whose works have been recognized as making a contribution to the intellectual and cultural history of our societies. Thus the Series goes beyond literary figures, such as Laurence Sterne, Virginia Woolf and James Joyce, to philosophers such as Francis Bacon and David Hume, historians and political figures such as Edmund Burke, and scientists such as Charles Darwin and Isaac Newton whose works have had a broad impact on thinking in every field. In some cases individual works of the same author have dealt with different subjects, each with virtually its own reception history; so Burke’s Reflections on the x

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French Revolution (1790) was instantaneously translated, and moulded thinking on the power struggles in the Europe of his own day; his youthful A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757) exerted a powerful influence on aesthetic thought and the practice of writing and remains a seminal work for certain genres of fiction and of art. Similarly, each of Laurence Sterne’s two major works of fiction, Tristram Shandy and A Sentimental Journey, has its own history of reception, giving rise to a whole line of literary movements, innovative progeny and concomitant critical theory in most European countries. Henry James’s body of critical writing, especially his Prefaces to the novels, has a powerful impact on the theory of fiction, often quite distinct from that of his novels and stories. Conrad contributes to an opening of familiar genres and geographies to the influences of the winds of the wide world and the incommensurable sea. The research project examines the ways in which selected authors have been translated, published, distributed, read, reviewed and discussed on the continent of Europe. In doing so, it throws light not only on specific strands of intellectual and cultural history but also on the processes involved in the dissemination of ideas and texts. The project brings to bear the theoretical and critical approaches that have characterized the growing fields of readerresponse theory and reception studies in the last quarter of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first century. These critical approaches have illuminated the horizons of the reading public or community of which the reader is a part. The project also takes cognizance of the studies of the material history of the book that have begun to explore the production, publication and distribution of manuscripts and books. Increasingly, other media too have begun to play a role in these processes, and to the history of book illustration must be added lantern slides (as in popular versions of both Scott’s and Dickens’s works), cinema (whose early impact forms an important part of our H. G. Wells volume) and more recently television (as recounted in the Jane Austen volume). Byron’s writings, like Ossian’s and Scott’s, have almost as extensive a history in images and in sound as in prose and poetry. Performance history requires strenuous tracing, beyond the texts, whether for works written for the stage or for adaptation. Henry James, who developed the art, and the critical theory, of written fiction to its highest pitch, has paradoxically been conveyed to his own as well as to a wider audience through other media, in theatre adaptations, especially subtly in opera, as well as in film and TV versions. Here perhaps his own frustrated ambitions to be a successful dramatist are demonstrated at last to have been justified. Conrad has found his medium in cinema, as befits his adventurous and geographically far-flung voyages in world waters. The study of material history forms a curious annex, that is, of the objects that form durable traces of the vogue for a particular author, which may be parts of himself (as with the macabre story told in our Shelley volume of the wish to possess the poet’s heart), or items of his wardrobe (as with Byron’s shirtsleeves, or his ‘Albanian dress’), or souvenir objects associated with the writer’s characters (Uncle Toby’s pipe), or the more elaborate memorial gardens and graveyards such as linked Rousseau and Sterne in France. The moving of Yeats’s grave in Roquebrune to his birthplace in Ireland is an aspect of such history. James’s double grave, in Boston and in Poets’ Corner, emblematizes his internationalism. The battles over ownership of Conrad in Polish and English departments of universities in Poland are another form of multiple manifestation. One might also suggest that his multilingual facility suggests a capacity for assuming different guises or adopting different attitudes or positions that still needs the attention of comparatists.

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Series Editor’s Preface

The Series as published first by Athlone, then by Continuum International Books and now by Bloomsbury is open-ended and multi-volumed, each volume based on a particular author. The authors may be regarded according to their discipline, or looked at across disciplines within their period. Thus the reception of the philosophers Bacon and Hume may be compared; or Hume may be considered as belonging to an eighteenth-century group that includes writers like Swift and Sterne, historians and political figures such as Gibbon and Burke. As the volumes accumulate they enrich each other and our awareness of the full context in which an individual author is received. The Swift volume shows that in many places Swift and Sterne were received at the same time, viewed sometimes as a pair of witty ironists and sometimes as opposites representing traditional satire on the one hand (Swift) and modern sentimentalism on the other (Sterne), and equally or diversely valued as a result. The Romantic poets were carried forward into mid-century nationalist movements and late nineteenth-century symbolist movements; Yeats often appeared to be their coevals. The fin-de-siècle aspects of Pater, Woolf and Joyce are interwoven in a wider European experience. In the twentieth century, Sterne was paired with Joyce as subversive of the novel form; and Joyce and Woolf became modernists. Henry James bestrode both worlds, of realist nineteenth-century fiction and of a fin-de-siècle modernism that seized upon the modes of internalizing narrative structures. Conrad’s absorption of imperial explorations and world conquests into unpredictable individual survivals became ever more precarious – and precious. These outsiders invented new modes of survival. For survival, much had to be sacrificed, and sacrifice made to look like gain. Division of each volume by country or by linguistic region is dictated by the historical development of Europe; each volume necessarily adopts a different selection of countries and regions, depending on period and on the specific reception of each author. Countries or regions are treated substantially, in several chapters, or sections where this is warranted. In the case of Conrad, areas of Eastern Europe as they were in his parents’ and his own time come into play more fully than in most other volumes, and the will to ‘own’ or ‘disown’ him plays a role in his reception. In some cases, there is a rich reception in an unusual place; for example, for Conrad in South America, the scene of his novel Nostromo; but also because major writers across South America have been influenced by him, as our volume shows. We are delighted to have the special account of Conrad’s presence in South American writing organized by our longstanding colleague and contributor, Maria Jesús Lorenzo-Modia, head of the English Department in the University of Corunna, Spain. If there are those who question Conrad’s English credentials, or a battle between those who would own him or assign him a homeland, there is a place reserved for Joseph Conrad in world literature. Prof. Elinor Shaffer, FBA Director, Research Project: The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The research project on The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe is happy to acknowledge the generous support of the British Academy when the reception project was initiated with a colloquium in 1998; the Leverhulme Trust; the Arts and Humanities Research Board; the Modern Humanities Research Association and other funding bodies. We are also greatly indebted to the School of Advanced Study, University of London, where the research project has been based; to the Institute of English Studies, to the Institute of Germanic Studies and the Institute of Romance Studies (merged first as the Institute of Germanic and Romance Studies, and from August 2013 renamed the Institute of Modern Languages Research), and to the Institute of Historical Studies, where much of the work of the reception project has been carried out. The Joseph Conrad Colloquium of editors and contributors in preparation of the present volume was held at the Institute of Modern Languages Research in the School of Advanced Studies, University of London, in November 2015. We are grateful to Professor Catherine Davies, the Director of the Institute of Modern Languages Research, for hosting the colloquium. A second colloquium was held at the University of London Institute in Paris in June 2016. We are grateful to Anna Louise Milne and the Institute for hosting the colloquium and to the Université de Versailles Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines for supporting the event. A number of chapters began their lives at these colloquia. The subject of the Italian reception of Joseph Conrad was long promoted by the late Mario Curreli, whose authoritative study, Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia, was published in 2009. Transnational research into the European reception of Conrad was promoted by the late Zdzisław Najder at a conference in Gdansk in 1996, at which both Mario Curreli and Anthony Fothergill presented papers. Wiesław Krajka has also encouraged this work on the European reception of Conrad through publications in his monograph series with volumes such as Conrad in Scandinavia (1995), Conrad in France (2006) and Conrad in Italy (2015), while Frank Förster has for many years pursued research into Conrad’s reception in Germany. We are grateful to Professor Fausto Ciompi for facilitating the translation of an extract from Curreli’s landmark work and giving us permission to publish it. We are grateful to Professor Krajka and the monograph series, Conrad: Eastern and Western Perspectives, for permission to use the essay by Richard Ambrosini, which originally appeared in the volume Conrad in Italy (Marie-Curie-Skłodowska University Press, 2015), edited by Mario Curreli. We are grateful to Professor Jolanta Dudek for permission to use ‘Conrad’s Artistic Returns: Perspectives on a Bulgarian debut in Staging Heart of Darkness’, a version of which has also appeared in The Yearbook of Conrad Studies, volume 14 (2019), published under the auspices of the Jagellonian University, Cracow (https://www.ejournals.eu/Yearbook-ofConrad-Studies/).

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Acknowledgements

Work on the final stages of the project has been hindered by Covid-19 and the resulting limited access to libraries. In this context, we would like to thank Agnieszka AdamowiczPośpiech, Laurence Davies and Ewa Kujawski-Lis for their readiness to provide additional information; to Frank Förster and Anthony Fothergill for bibliographic assistance; and to Amy Evans-Bauer for technical support.

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech is Associate Professor of English Literature and Translation Studies, University of Silesia, Poland, and Vice President of The Joseph Conrad Society, Poland. She has published several books on Conrad (the most recent is Travels with Conrad, 2016) and on translation (Retranslations, 2013) and a number of articles on G. B. Shaw, T. S. Eliot, J. Conrad, W. Golding, H. Pinter and J. Verma. Her research focuses on Translation Studies, British modernism, and visual/cultural studies. Richard Ambrosini is Professor of English Literature at  Roma Tre University. He is the President of the Italian Association of Conrad Studies. His books include  Conrad’s Fiction as Critical Discourse  (Cambridge University Press, 1991, 2008),  Introduzione a Conrad  (Laterza, 1991), R. L. Stevenson: la poetica del romanzo (Bulzoni, 2001) and Le storie di Conrad. Biografia intellettuale di un romanziere (Carocci, 2019). Ambrosini co-edited with Richard Dury Robert Louis Stevenson, Writer of  Boundaries  (University of Wisconsin Press, 2006) and European Stevenson (Cambridge Scholars, 2009). He has translated, among other novels, Conrad’s  An Outcast of the Islands (1994),  The Secret Agent  (1996) and Chance (2013) and Stevenson’s Treasure Island (1996) and The Beach of Falesá (2011).  Zdenĕk Beran is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Anglophone Literatures and Cultures at Charles University, Prague. His research interests focus mainly on later Victorian literature and contemporary English fiction; he has published academic articles on Walter Pater, Lewis Carroll, Charles Dickens, Ian McEwan and others, and co-edited a book on the fin-de-siècle fantastic. At present, Beran is preparing a monograph mapping the English aesthetic movement. He has contributed to the Reception of British and Irish Writers in Europe series with chapters on Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens and George Eliot. Among his translations into the Czech language are the works of Kurt Vonnegut, H. G. Wells, M. R. James and F. S. Fitzgerald. Fausto Ciompi is Associate Professor of English Literature in the Department of Philology, Literature and Linguistics at the University of Pisa. He has written extensively on Conrad, modernism, contemporary poetry and postcolonial literature. Ciompi co-edits the journals Synergies (formerly Anglistica Pisana) and Soglie. Rivista Quadrimestrale di Poesia e Critica Letteraria. He collaborated with Mario Curreli on the activities of Pisa University’s Conrad Study Centre of which he is the current curator. Among his Conrad publications is the book Conrad: nichilismo e alterità (ETS, 2012). Mario Curreli (1943–2015) taught English Literature at the Universities of Florence and, then, for over thirty years, Pisa, where he also chaired the Joseph Conrad Centre and organized two international Conrad conferences: the Ugo Mursia Memorial lectures I and II, in 1983 and 2004. He edited many Conrad novels, including his collected works, which appeared in the prestigious series Classici Bompiani: Opere. Romanzi e racconti (2001, 2002). Curreli’s Invito alla lettura di Conrad (Mursia, 1984) has long been a favourite textbook in universities, and his

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List of Contributors

Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia (ETS, 2009) represents the most exhaustive and painstakingly researched study on the Italian translations of Conrad so far available. Balázs Csizmadia is an independent scholar who received his PhD from Royal Holloway, University of London, for a thesis on narrative and identity in Joseph Conrad’s Marlow fictions. A member of the Joseph Conrad Society (UK), he has taught university courses in Hungary, published journal articles and given conference papers on Conrad and twentieth-century English literature. Evelyn Fishburn is Honorary Professor of Spanish American Studies at University College London and Professor Emeritus of London Metropolitan University. She has worked extensively on Borges: as well as numerous articles and editing Borges and Europe Revisited (London, 1998) and A Borges Dictionary (in collaboration with Psiche Hughes, London, 1990, and online, an updated version). She is the author of  Hidden Pleasures in Borges’s Fiction  (2015).  Other publications include The Portrayal of Immigration in Nineteenth Century Argentine Literature (1845–1902) (1981), Short Fiction by Spanish American Women (1998), and, as co-editor with E. L. Ortiz, Science and the Creative Imagination in Latin America (1998). Mark Fitzpatrick studied English and French Literature, and Film and Creative Writing, at University College Cork and the University of California Berkeley, and received his Master’s and PhD from Université de Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle. He has lived in France for the last twenty years and is an independent scholar and literature teacher. Fitzpatrick is currently working on a monograph on Adventure Fiction and two novels. He is engaged on a research project on Myth, Magic, Fantasy and Faery in the Insular Imaginary, and another on the Pleasures of Popular Fiction Genres. Frank Förster is Scientific Librarian at the Federal Institute of Geosciences and Natural Resources, Hanover, Germany. He has published articles on Conrad, library and information science, and research data management. Förster is the author of Die literarische Rezeption Joseph Conrads im deutschsprachige Raum (2nd edn, 2007), which examines the publication of Conrad’s works in German speaking countries. Anthony Fothergill has taught English at Exeter University (UK) since 1974 and is an Honorary Research Fellow there. He has also taught at Heidelberg University (Germany) and Kenyon College (USA). He is the author of two books on Conrad – Heart of Darkness (Open University Press, 1989) and Secret Sharers: Joseph Conrad’s Cultural Reception in Germany (Peter Lang, 2006) – and edited Tales of Unrest (Everyman/Dent, 2000). Fothergill has also written many articles on Conrad, Virginia Woolf, Brecht, Joyce, Kafka, Mmodernism and critical theory, and has translated from German The Foreign Policy of the Third Reich as well as works by Mozart and Brecht. Margreta Grigorova teaches Slavic literatures at the Department of Slavic Studies of St Cyril and St Methodius University of Veliko Turnovo, Bulgaria. Her latest academic work is concerned with the manifestations of heresy in twentieth-century Polish literature. She is also engaged in research on the Bulgarian reception of Polish literature, the interaction of art and literature, and current trends of migration and nomadism in the works of Joseph Conrad, Gustaw Herling-Grudziński, Ryszard Kapuściński, Kazimierz Nowak and Olga Tokarczuk. Grigorova’s most significant published monographs are Horizonti i patishta na polskata identichnost xvi

List of Contributors

(Horizons and Trails in Polish Identity, 2002); Literaturni posveshteniya. Ritualni zoni na slovoto w polskata literatura (Literary Initiations. Ritual Zones of the Word in Polish Literature, 2003); Jozeph Conrad Kozhenyowski. Tvorecat kato moreplavatel (Joseph Conrad: The Creator as SeaFarer, 2011); and Ochite na slovoto. Polonistichni studii (Eyes of the Word. Studies in Polish Literature and Culture, 2015). She is a member of the Polish Society for Conrad Studies (Jagiellonian University) and the International Society for Polish Studies Abroad. Grigorova is the Bulgarian translator of Marek Bieńczyk’s Książka twarzy (Face Book) and, in collaboration with Mira Kostova, Czeslaw Milosz’s Rodzinna Europa (Native Realm). Her other translations include poems by Wisława Szymborska, Roman Honet, Zbigniew Herbert and Jerzy Liebert, short stories by Gustaw Herling-Grudziński and selected literary criticism. She has been distinguished with the following awards: ‘Zasłużony dla Kultury Polskiej’ (The Decoration of Honour Meritorious for Polish Culture) (2014), the Polonicum award from the University of Warsaw (2018) and ‘Złoty krzyż zasługi’ (The Golden Cross of Merit) (2019). Robert Hampson was formerly Professor of Modern Literature in the Department of English at Royal Holloway, University of London. He is currently Professor Emeritus at Royal Holloway and Research Fellow at the Institute for English Studies, University of London. Hampson is the author of three critical monographs on Conrad: Joseph Conrad: Betrayal and Identity (St Martin’s Press, 1992), Cross-Cultural Encounters in Conrad’s Malay Fiction (Palgrave, 2000) and Conrad’s Secrets (Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). He has also recently published a critical biography, Joseph Conrad (Reaktion Books, 2020). Hampson co-edited (with Andrew Gibson), Conrad and Theory (Rodopi, 1998) and (with Katherine Isobel Baxter) Conrad and Language (Edinburgh University Press, 2016). He has also edited Lord Jim (Penguin, 1986) (with Cedric Watts); Victory (Penguin, 1989); Heart of Darkness (Penguin, 1995); Nostromo (Wordsworth, 2001); The Nature of a Crime (ReScript, 2012) and The Lingard Trilogy (Wordsworth, 2016) (with Andrew Purssell). He is on the editorial board of the Cambridge Edition of Joseph Conrad, Conradiana and The Conradian. Hampson is currently the Chair of the Joseph Conrad Society (UK). Jacqueline Hurtley is Professor Emerita at the Universitat de Barcelona. Much of her research has been of a comparative nature. Her study in Catalan Josep Janés: El combat per la cultura (1986) grew out of her PhD thesis as did her monograph José Janés, editor de literatura inglesa (1992), published in Spanish, which was awarded the Enrique García y Díez Research Prize by the Spanish Association for Anglo-American Studies (AEDEAN). More recently, her biography of the Dublin-born, first Professor of Spanish at Trinity College Dublin and founder of the British Council institute in Spain in 1940, Walter Starkie, 1894–1976: An Odyssey (2013), won the 2014 ESSE Book Award in Cultural Studies. Together with Pere Gifra-Adroher, Hurtley edited Hannah Lynch and Spain. Collected Journalism of an Irish New Woman, 1892–1903 (2018). Hurtley’s work on the censorship of literature in English under the Franco regime appeared in F. Billiani (ed.), Modes of Censorship: National Contexts and Diverse Media (2007), P. Fjågesund (ed.) Hamsun Abroad (2009) and in F. Larraz, J. Mengual and M. Sopena (eds), Pliegos alzados. La historia de la edición, a debate (2020). Her contribution to The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe is the sixth she has published in the series devoted to the Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe. Earlier chapters appeared in the Woolf, Pater, Lawrence, Yeats and Eliot volumes (the latter produced together with Marta Ortega-Sáez). xvii

List of Contributors

Petya Tsoneva Ivanova is Associate Professor/Reader in the Department of English and American Studies of St Cyril and St Methodius University of Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria. Her research interests are in the field of postcolonial studies, English and French literature and literary responses to migration and the borderline experience. Her publications include ‘ “The Ground beneath Our Feet”: Reworking the Myth of Flying in Salman Rushdie’s Fiction’, in Peregrinations of the Text: Reading, Translation, Rewriting (2013); ‘Waterways and Air Lanes: Spaces of Transition in Joseph Conrad, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and Salman Rushdie’, in the Yearbook of Conrad Studies (2015); and Negotiating Borderlines in Four Contemporary Migrant Writers from the Middle East (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2018). Ebbe Klitgård is an Associate Professor in British Studies at Roskilde University, Denmark. He has published widely in the field of Chaucer and the Late Middle Ages, including a monograph, Chaucer’s Narrative Voice in the Knight’s Tale (Museum Tusculanum Press, 1995), and his habilitation Chaucer in Denmark: A Study of the Translation and Reception History 1782–2012 (University of Southern Denmark Press, 2013). With Gerd Bayer he co-edited Narrative Developments from Chaucer to Defoe (Routledge, 2011). Klitgård’s publications also include articles in translation studies and modern British fiction. He contributed to The Reception of George Eliot in Europe, edited by Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown (Bloomsbury Academic, 2016). His most recent publications include ‘Illustrating Chaucer in Denmark 1943–58: Artistry and visual interpretation’, published in 2018 by Literature Compass. Dmytro Kozak was Managing Editor of Tempora Publishing House, Kyiv, from 2016 to 2019, where he had responsibility for the project ‘The Complete Works of Joseph Conrad in Ukrainian translation’. He is currently a freelance copy-editor and editor of translations. His recent publications also include social journalism on labour conditions and contributions to the Liquid Labour project of the journal Political Critique looking at deregulation, precaritization and digital media. Ewa Kujawska-Lis is Professor in the Institute of Literary Studies at the University of Warmia and Mazury in Olsztyn, Poland. She specializes in Victorian and post-Victorian fiction. Her current interest in theoretical and empirical research on translation focuses on literary translation, specifically on early translations of works by Dickens and Conrad and their contemporary retranslations and refractions. Kujawski-Lis has written articles for The Dickensian, Dickens Quarterly, The Conradian and Conradiana on the Polish translations and reception of these two authors as well as various aspects of their works. Her Marlow pod polską banderą. Tetralogia Josepha Conrada w przekładach z lat 1904–2004 (Marlow under the Polish Flag. Joseph Conrad’s Tetralogy in Polish Translations from 1904 to 2004) (2011) is a comprehensive analysis of Polish translations featuring Conrad’s narrator, Marlow. She is also interested in Conrad’s multilingualism, its linguistic effects and thematic representations in his fiction. Claes E. Lindskog received his PhD from Lund University for a thesis about Conrad’s epistemological aesthetics. He has since taught at a number of universities in southern Sweden and researches questions of spatiality and power in Conrad, Henry James, Charlotte Brontë and Elizabeth Bishop. Mario Vargas Llosa is a novelist, essayist, journalist and former politician. He was born in Peru and rose to international fame in the 1960s with his novels La cuidad y los peros (The City

xviii

List of Contributors

and the Dogs; published as The Time of the Hero), La casa verde (The Green House) and Conversación en la cathedral (Conversation in the Cathedral). Later novels included La guerra del fin del mundo (The War of the End of the World) in 1981, Lituma en los Andes (Death in the Andes) in 1993 and La fiesta del chivo (The Feast of the Goat) in 2000. Llosa was President of PEN International (1976–9) and ran for the Peruvian presidency in 1990. He has lived mainly in Madrid since the 1990s. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2010. María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia is Professor of English Literature and Dean of the Philology Faculty at the University of Corunna (Spain). Her main scholarly interests are modern and contemporary literature and culture, women writers, translation, and cultural relationships between Spain and the Anglo-Saxon world. She is currently researching women and animals in Irish literature. Lorenzo-Modia’s publications include Mid Eighteenth-Century Female Literary Careers in The Monthly Review and The Critical Review, with Mónica Amenedo Costa (ArCibel, 2018); journal articles in Multicultural Shakespeares (2017), Coolabah (2017), ES Review (2017), Oceánide (2020) and Estudios Irlandeses (2020); book chapters in The Reception of George Eliot in Europe (Bloomsbury, 2016), The Invention of Female Biography (Routledge, 2018), Femmes auteurs du dix-huitième siècle (Honoré Champion, 2018) and The Ethics and Aesthetics of Ecocaring, with Margarita Estévez-Sáa (Routledge, 2019); and an edition of the first Spanish version of George Eliot’s The Spanish Gypsy: A Poem (University of Valladolid, 2020) with María Donapetry. Richard Niland has published on Joseph Conrad and a range of other nineteenth- and twentieth-century writers. The author of Conrad and History (Cambridge University Press, 2010) and editor of the Norton Critical Edition of The Secret Agent (2016), he teaches at Imperial College and the City Literary Institute in London. Nic Panagopoulos is Assistant Professor of English Literature and Culture at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. He is the author of The Fiction of Joseph Conrad: The Influence of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche (1998) and Heart of Darkness and The Birth of Tragedy: A Comparative Study (2007). Panagopoulos is also co-editor, with Maria Schoina, of The Place of Lord Byron in World History: Studies in His Life, Writings, and Influence (2013). Besides his work on Joseph Conrad, he has published on a wide range of canonical writers, such as Shakespeare, Swift, Byron, Dickens, Huxley, Orwell and Beckett. Véronique Pauly is senior lecturer at the University of Versailles-St-Quentin-en-Yvelines/ University of Paris-Saclay, a former Director of the Institut d’études culturelles et internationelles and researcher at the Centre d’Histoire Culturelle des Sociétés Contemporaines. She is President of the French Conradian Society and has published on Joseph Conrad and contemporary British writers. Pauly’s publications include an edition of Nostromo (Penguin, 2007) and essays in L’Epoque Conradienne and Revue des Lettres Modernes. Marta Puxan-Oliva is a Senior Ramón y Cajal Researcher at the Universitat de les Illes Balears. Her PhD dissertation on Joseph Conrad and William Faulkner studied the uses of narrative reliability and racial ideologies. Some of this research was developed for her book  Narrative Reliability, Racial Conflicts and Ideology in the Modern Novel  (Routledge, 2019). Puxan-Oliva has been awarded prestigious fellowships, including a Marie Sklodowska-Curie Individual Fellowship (Harvard, 2012–15; Universitat de Barcelona, 2015–16), and has been a visiting

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List of Contributors

scholar at NYU, Princeton University, Harvard University and the University of Chicago. She has published articles in journals such as Amerikastudien,  The Journal of Narrative Theory,  English Studies,  L’Epoque Conradienne, the Journal of World Literature, the Journal of Global History  and  Studies in the Novel. Puxan-Oliva is currently working on literary representations of crime in oceans and is a member of the research group Literatura contemporània: estudis teòrics i comparatius – LiCETC at the Universitat de les Illes Balears and the group Global Literary Studies Research Lab – GlobaLS at the Universitat Oberta de Catalunya. Majda Šavle retired as Assistant Professor of English for Health Sciences at the University of Primorska, Slovenia, in 2019. She has published several articles on Joseph Conrad, English language teaching methodology and cross-cultural communication. Šavle is currently writing a book on her ancestors’ hometown. Daniel Schümann is senior lecturer at the University of Cologne, Germany. He earned a PhD in Russian Studies at the University of Bamberg in 2005, as well as a post-doctoral lecturing qualification in Polish and Slavonic Studies at the University of Cologne in 2018. He has taught Polish, Russian and Comparative Literature at various German universities. Schümann’s publications include Kampf ums Da(bei)sein: Darwin-Diskurse und die polnische Literatur bis 1900 (Struggle for or against participation: Darwinist discourse and its reflection in Polish literature until 1900) (Böhlau, 2015) and Oblomov-Fiktionen: Zur produktiven Rezeption von I. A. Gončarovs Roman Oblomov in deutschsprachigen Raum (Oblomov in fiction: creative responses to I. A. Goncharov’s novel Oblomov in German-speaking countries) (Ergon, 2005). Other research interests incorporate the representation of the auditory in fiction (with a focus on Dostoevsky), the cultural history of Poles in Siberia, and generally the osmosis of literary and cultural phenomena along Europe’s East–West/West–East axis. Elinor Shaffer is a Fellow of the British Academy, (Hon.) Professor, University College, London and Senior Research Fellow, Institute of Modern Languages Research, School of Advanced Study, University of London. She is the Director of Research and Series Editor of The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe, for which she co-edited The Reception of S. T. Coleridge in Europe (2009), The Literary and Cultural Reception of Charles Darwin in Europe (3 vols, 2014), The Reception of George Eliot in Europe (2016) and The Reception of Samuel Butler in Europe (2021). She is also the author of ‘Kubla Khan’ and the Fall of Jerusalem: The Mythological School in Biblical Criticism and Secular Literature (1980). Shaffer was a founder-member of the British Comparative Literature Association and Founding Editor of the Yearbook of the British Comparative Literature Association (Cambridge University Press, 1979–2004). Ludmilla Voitkovska is Professor of English at the University of Saskatchewan, Canada. She has previously taught at the University of Odessa and the University of Chernivtsi (Ukraine). She has written extensively on Conrad, including on reception and translation. Voitkova’s most recent publications include ‘On Conrad’s Birthplace’ (The Conradian), ‘Stereotypes of Russia in Under Western Eyes’ (L’Epoque Conradienne), and ‘Recent Russian Translations of The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes’, in Katherine Isobel Baxter and Robert Hampson (eds), Conrad and Language (University of Edinburgh Press, 2016). She has recently completed Living in Translation: Exile as a Continuum in Conrad’s Fiction (to be published by Routledge in 2022).

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List of Contributors

Johan Warodell was a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the Institute of English Studies, University of London, and is currently a Research Associate at the University of Sussex. His articles on Joseph Conrad have appeared in The Cambridge Quarterly, Conradiana, The Conradian, English and Notes & Queries, and have won prizes from both the British and American Joseph Conrad Societies. Warodell translated Olof Lagercrantz’s monograph on Conrad and has also published on Woolf, Nabokov and Melville. His first monograph, Conrad’s Decentered Fiction, is forthcoming with Cambridge University Press. Daniel Zurbano García is a secondary school teacher in Huelva (Spain) and an independent researcher. He wrote his doctoral dissertation on Joseph Conrad in the Department of Philology and Translation at Pablo de Olavide University in Seville (2015). He has translated Heart of Darkness into Spanish and has also published on James Joyce.

xxi

ABBREVIATIONS

AF

Almayer’s Folly

AG

The Arrow of Gold

APR

A Personal Record

C

Chance

CD

The Congo Diary

CP

Conrad’s Prefaces

HoD

‘Heart of Darkness’ (from the volume, Youth, Heart of Darkness, and The End of the Tether)

In

The Inheritors

LE

Last Essays

LJ

Lord Jim

MoS

The Mirror of the Sea

N

Nostromo

NC

The Nature of a Crime

NLL

Notes on Life & Letters

NN

The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’

OI

An Outcast of the Islands

Res

The Rescue

Rom

Romance

Rov

The Rover

S

Suspense

SA

The Secret Agent

SL

The Shadow-Line

SoS

A Set of Six

SS

The Secret Sharer

TH

Tales of Hearsay

TLS

’Twixt Land and Sea

TS

The Sisters

TT

‘The End of the Tether’ (from the volume Youth, Heart of Darkness, and The End of the Tether)

TU

Tales of Unrest

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Abbreviations

Ty

‘Typhoon’ (from the volume Typhoon; and Other Stories)

UWE

Under Western Eyes

WT

Within the Tides

Y

Youth, Heart of Darkness and The End of the Tether

Additional abbreviations: CL1–CL9

The Collected Letters of Joseph Conrad (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983–2007)

xxiii

TIMELINE: THE EUROPEAN RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD

For each language, first published translations of individual works have been listed and a small number of additional translations. We have also added singular events in Conrad’s life, the publication dates of a small number of significant critical works, and historical and political information relevant to the reception of Conrad in Europe. This timeline is indebted to Owen Knowles, A Conrad Chronology (Macmillan, 1989), for details of Conrad’s life and to the individual chapter bibliographies. Year 1857

Translations

Criticism

Other 3 December: Józef Teodor Konrad Nałecz Korzeniowski is born in Berdichiv, Ukraine, only child of Apollo and Ewa Korzeniowski.

1858 1859

Korzeniowski family move to Żytomierz in Ukraine.

1860 1861

Korzeniowski family move to Warsaw, where Apollo Korzeniowski commits himself to clandestine political activity. He is arrested on 20 October and imprisoned in the Warsaw Citadel.

1862

9 May: Apollo and Ewa Korzeniowski are sentenced to exile and escorted to Vologda, north-east of Moscow.

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Timeline 1863

January: Korzeniowskis are allowed to move south to Chernikhiv, near Kyiv. Polish Uprising begins.

1864 1865

18 April: Death of Ewa Korzeniowska.

1866 1867 1868

The seriously ill Apollo Korzeniowski settles with his son in Lwów in Austrian Poland.

1869

Apollo Korzeniowski and his son move to Cracow. 23 May Apollo dies.

1870 1871 1872 1873 1874

13 October: Conrad leaves Cracow for Marseilles. 15 December: Conrad begins his sea-life as a passenger in the Mont Blanc bound for Martinique.

1875

25 June: He repeats the voyage in the Mont Blanc, but this time as an apprentice.

1876 1877

xxv

Timeline 1878

March: Treaty of San Stefano establishes autonomous Bulgarian principality. 24 April: Conrad sails as an apprentice in the Mavis, bound for the Sea of Azov, and begins his career in the British merchant marine. 10 June: JC first sets foot on English soil at Lowestoft.

1879 1880 1881 1882 1883 1884 1885 1886

18 August: Conrad becomes a naturalized British subject. 10 November: He passes his master’s examination and becomes a British master mariner.

1887 1888

19 January: Conrad receives his only permanent command as captain of the Otago.

1889

March: Conrad resigns his command and returns to London. In the autumn he begins work on his first novel, Almayer’s Folly.

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Timeline 1890

February: On a visit to Brussels, he forms a bond with his cousin’s widow, the novelist Marguerite Poradowska. April: Through Poradowska’s support, he is given command of a Congo steamer, the Florida.

1891

January: Conrad returns to Europe, severely ill after his Congo experiences. In November, he joins the Torrens as first officer.

1892 1893 1894

January: When Conrad signs off the Adowa, after a month of idleness in Rouen, his professional life as a sailor ends. 15 February: Greenwich Observatory bombing. April: Conrad completes the first draft of Almayer’s Folly.

1895

Almayer’s Folly published.

1896

Netherlands: AF serialized in Amsterdam daily newspaper, Het Nieuws van den Dag.

March: Marries Jessie George; An Outcast of the Islands is published.

1897

Denmark: Abridged version of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (in English). Poland: OI serialized in the Tygodnik Romansów i Powiesći.

November: The Nigger of the ‘Narcisus’ published in book form.

1898

Russia: ‘Karain’, ‘The Idiots’, ‘The Lagoon’. Sweden: ‘An Outpost of Progress’ in Stockholms Dagblad.

April: Publication of Tales of Unrest.

xxvii

Timeline 1899

Finland: ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (in Swedish) serialized in Aftonposten. Germany: ‘Karain’.

France: Henry-D. Davray’s review of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, published in Mercure de France in July. Poland: Wincenty Lutosławski publishes article, ‘The Emigration of Talent’ in the St Petersburg-based journal Kraj, using JC as his example. Eliza Orzeszkowa responds in an article in a subsequent issue attacking JC for his ‘desertion’ of Poland.

1900

February–April: ‘The Heart of Darkness’ serialized in Blackwood’s Magazine.

October: Lord Jim published in book form.

1901

Russia: ‘Youth’.

1902

Poland: SA. Russia: ‘An Outpost of Progress’.

Finland: Yrjö Hirn published September: Typhoon first issued in book the first essay on Conrad form by Putnam’s (Lord Jim) in Swedish. (New York). November: Youth and Other Stories published.

1903

France: Marguerite Poradowska’s translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ . Sweden: TU, JC’s first book translation.

France: Kazimierz Waliszewski’s article on Conrad published in La Revue

1904

xxviii

Denmark: TU. Poland: LJ.

Slovenia: Franc Štingl’s article on Conrad published in Dom in svet.

April: Typhoon and Other Stories published in UK and USA. November: Secession of Panama from Colombia and signing of US– Panama Treaty.

Poland: publication of Kazimierz Waliszewski’s article ‘A Polish Writer in English Literature’ in Kraj to introduce JC to Polish readers.

February: RussoJapanese War begins; Conrad dramatizes his short story ‘Tomorrow’ as a one-act play, One Day More. October: Nostromo published.

Timeline 1905

1906

January: Start of First Russian Revolution. June: One Day More receives three performances at the Royalty Theatre. October: The Mirror of the Sea published.

France: Publication of Henry-D. Davray’s translation of ‘Karain’ in Mercure de France.

1907

September: The Secret Agent published.

1908

Germany: Ty. Russia: SA. Sweden: AF.

August: A Set of Six published.

1909

France: NN serialized in Le Correspondant. Sweden: OI.

1910

France: NN. Sweden: SA.

1911

France: ‘Typhoon’ and SA in journals. Italy: Carlo Placci, ‘Joseph Conrad’ in Il Marzocco.

1912

Czechoslovakia: ‘The Lagoon’; ‘An Outpost of Progress’; ‘The Idiots’. France: SA. Germany: ‘The Brute’; NN; SoS. Russia: UWE.

1913

Germany: UWE. Russia: ‘Il Conde’. Spain: ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’.

France: Joseph de Smet’s article on JC’s art in Mercure de France. Russia: Article on ‘Conrad and Russia’ in Russkoe Bogatstvo (Russian Wealth).

July: Visit from André Gide and Valery Larbaud. October: Under Western Eyes published. January: A Personal Record published. October: ‘Twixt Land and Sea published.

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Timeline 1914

Poland: ‘Amy Foster’. Russia: ‘Freya’. Sweden: TLS.

France: Valéry Larbaud’s review of Chance in La Nouvelle Revue Française (NRF, 1 March).

1915

January: Chance published, Conrad’s first commercially successful novel. 28 June: Archduke Franz Ferdinand is assassinated in Sarajevo. 25 July: Conrad and his family leave for planned six-week summer visit to Poland. 28 July: Austria-Hungary declares war on Serbia, and Germany declares war on Russia. March: Victory published.

1916

Denmark: AF; LJ. Sweden: V.

Sweden: Sigurd Frosterus’s essay on NN in Nya Argus.

November: Conrad joins a Q ship for a ten-day antisubmarine mission in the North Sea.

1917

Czechoslovakia: ‘The Lagoon’; ‘An Outpost of Progress’; ‘Karain’. Denmark: NN; SA. Russia: ‘The Informer’.

Poland: JC interview with Marian Dąbrowski, ‘Rozmowa z J. Conradem’, published in Tygodnik Illustrowany.

March: After the ‘February Revolution’ in Russia, the Tsar abdicates; The Shadow-Line is published. July: JC is praised in Spanish journal, España.

1918

Denmark: Ty; UWE. France: André Gide’s translation of ‘Typhoon’; SA. Sweden: Ty.

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October: Dissolution of the Dual Kingdom of Austria-Hungary; birth of Czechoslovalkia and Yugoslav state. November: Poland regains its independence, Second Polish Republic.

Timeline 1919

Czechoslovakia: AF; TT; UWE. Denmark: ‘Freya’; OI; TLS. France: AF, first volume of planned Oeuvres complètes de Joseph Conrad. Sweden: C; AG.

March: First Italy: Eugenio Giovannetti, ‘Letterature Stranieri – Joseph performance of the stage adaptation of Conrad’ in Il Tempo. Victory at the Globe Theatre, London. April: The Arrow of Gold published. June: Treaty of Versailles (Treaty of Peace between the Allied and Associated Powers and Germany). September: Creation of First Austrian Republic.

1920

Czechoslovakia: TT. Denmark: V. France: UWE. Poland: Conrad gives Aniela Zagórska Polish translation rights. Sweden: AG.

April: Polish-Soviet War begins. June: The Rescue published. September: In collaboration with his agent, J. B. Pinker, Conrad completes a film-scenario based on his short story ‘Gaspar Ruiz’. December: Conrad drafts a two-act stage adaptation of his short story ‘Because of the Dollars’.

1921

Czechoslovakia: TLS. Denmark: ‘Youth’; HoD; Res; TT. France: WT.

February: Notes on Life & Letters published. December: Anglo-Irish Treaty establishes Irish Free State.

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Timeline 1922

Denmark: SL. France: LJ.

1923

France: Ty, V. Poland: AF; NN. Russia: ‘Because of the Dollars’; ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’; ‘The Partner’; ‘Laughing Anne’; ‘The Planter of Malata’; AF. (Former) Yugoslavia: Extract from N (in Serbian).

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June: Irish Civil War begins. October: After the Blackshirts’ ‘March on Rome’, Victor Emmanuel III appoints Mussolini Prime Minister. November: Ten performances of Conrad’s stage adaptation of The Secret Agent at the Ambassadors Theatre, London. December: Soviet Union formed. Italy: Emilio Cecchi publishes feature article on JC in La Tribuna. Poland: M. Dąbrowska, ‘J. Conrad’ in Warsaw journal Bluszcz. Russia: I. D. Aksenov, ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, in Moscow journal Pechat’ i Revoliutsiia. Sweden: Joseph Conrad: An Appreciation by the Swedish critic Ernst Paulus Bendz.

September: Military coup d’etat establishes dictatorship in Spain. December: The Rover published.

Timeline August: Conrad dies at his home in Kent.

1924

Denmark: Rov. France: HoD; APR; LJ. Italy: AF; HoD. Poland: SoS; TLS. Russia: ‘A Smile of Fortune’; Ty. Spain: ‘The Lagoon’ (Catalan); ‘An Outpost of Progress’. Sweden: Rov. (Former) Yugoslavia: Rov (in Serbo-Croatian).

Bulgaria: Morski Sgovor (Marine Conversation) includes articles on JC and writing inspired by his work. Denmark: JC obituary. France: NRF publishes ‘Hommage à Joseph Conrad’. Ireland: Pádraic Ó Conaire, essay on JC and language. Italy: Henry Furst, ‘L’arte di Joseph Conrad’ and ‘Il poeta navigatore –Joseph Conrad’ in newspaper L’Idea Nazionale; Lorenzo Gigli, ‘Joseph Conrad’ in Genoa journal Le Opere ei Giorni; Emilio Cecchi essay in Il Convegno. Slovenia: Two articles on JC ‘s death published in Slovenec and Slovenski narod. Spain: obituaries for JC in La Esfera and El Siglo Futuro, article in Revista de Occidente. Ukraine: JC’s death reported in Proletarskaia Pravda (Proletarian Truth) and Dilo (Affair).

1925

Denmark: AG. Hungary: AF; AG. Poland: Rov; SL; TU; Ty, UWE. Russia: ‘Amy Foster’; ‘The Black Mate’; ‘Falk’; ‘Karain’; ‘The Idiots’; ‘The Lagoon’; ‘The Return’; ‘The Tale’; ‘Tomorrow’; ‘Typhoon’; C; NN; OI; Res; SA; SL; SS; UWE; V. Spain: AF; UWE (as start of Complete Works project).

September: Suspense Ireland: Liam O’Flaherty, published. Joseph Conrad: An Appreciation. Poland: Stephan Zeromski, ‘Joseph Conrad – rodak’ (JC – Fellow countryman), Naokolo Swiata. Spain: Launch of first Spanish collected edition; Joan Estelrich publishes part of first substantial Spanish critical study of JC. Ukraine: First article on Conrad published (on ‘An Outpost of Progress’). Conrad’s death reported in Proletarskaia Pravda (Proletarian Truth).

(Former) Yugoslavia: AF (in Serbo-Croatian).

xxxiii

Timeline 1926

Denmark: SoS; WT. France: LJ; N; Rom. Germany: C; SA; SL; Y; the start of the first complete edition of Conrad’s works in translation. Hungary: SL. Italy: Ty. Russia: ‘The Brute’; HoD; LJ; Rom; TT; Y. Spain: ‘The Brute’; N. Ukraine: TU (‘Outpost’, ‘Lagoon’, ‘Tomorrow’).

Germany: Thomas Mann gives radio broadcast on JC’s work. Hungary: First notices of Conrad’s work in Budapesti Szemle and Napkelet (the latter relating to the recent translation of The ShadowLine). Russia: Hostile article on ‘The Duel’ in Oktyabr (October).

Bulgaria: ABV newspaper carries report of JC’s death. Czechoslovakia: Comparative article on HoD Slovenia: ‘The Lagoon’. Spain: ‘Gaspar and Czech novel. Ruiz’; LJ.

1927

Denmark: SS. Germany: SA; LJ; N; NN; SS; Ty; V. Hungary: NN. Italy: LJ. Poland: V.

1928

Bulgaria: AG; ‘Typhoon’. Czechoslovakia: SoS (except ‘The Duel’). France: Rov; ‘Gaspar Ruiz’. Germany: APR. Hungary: OI. Italy: N; NN; Rom; SA; TT; Ty; UWE. Poland: AF, first volume of 28-volume Collected Works; N; TH; Ty; WT. Russia: N. Slovenia: APR (extract). Spain: ‘Typhoon’ (Catalan); SoS; TU. Ukraine: TT.

Ukraine: Essays by Olha Nemerovska (on JC and the adventure novel) and by Hryhorii Maifet (‘The Critic of Civilisation’).

1929

Bulgaria: ‘Youth’. Czechoslovakia: V. Denmark: MoS. France: AG. Hungary: ‘Youth’; ‘The End of the Tether’; ‘Amy Foster’; ‘Tomorrow’. Poland: Res; TLS. Spain: AF (in Catalan); Ty. Ukraine: AF, Res. (Former) Yugoslavia: Ty; ‘Amy Foster’; ‘Karain’; ‘Il Conde’; ‘Youth’; ‘Because of the Dollars’; ‘The Lagoon’ in Serbo-Croatian.

Germany: Ernst Freissler’s essay ‘Joseph Conrad und Deutschland’, Neue Rundschau 40, no. 1; Maryla Mazurkiewicz Reifenberg reviews ‘Freya’ in Frankfurter Zeitung.

1930

Czechoslovakia: LJ; SA. France: SL; TLS. Germany: Rov. Poland: SL; Y. Spain: Ty (Catalan); V. Ukraine: Ty.

Ireland: Liam O’Flaherty monograph, JC: An Appreciation.

1931

Denmark: C. France: TT. Germany: Res. Slovenia: SL; Ty. Spain: HoD; OI; SL; WT; Y.

Spain: Joan Estelrich monograph on JC.

Spain: Second Spanish Republic proclaimed.

1932

Czechoslovakia: C; Rov. France: TU. Germany: AG. Poland: ‘Falk’; ‘Amy Foster’; ‘Tomorrow’. Spain: NN; Res; TT.

Poland: Jan Dürr discusses OI in literary monthly Ruch Literacki. Spain: Ramon Esquerra’s article, ‘Conrad and the Cinema’ (Catalan).

July: Nazi Party win election in Germany.

xxxiv

Timeline January: Adolf Hilter becomes German Chancellor.

1933

Bulgaria: MoS (‘Tremolino’ episode). Czechoslovakia: LJ; Rom. France: C. Ireland: NN. Poland: Publication of Aniela Zagórska’s translation of LJ. Slovenia: Ty.

1934

Czechoslovakia: AG. Germany: OI. Poland: First translation APR; UWE.

1935

Czechoslovakia: N. France: N. Germany: AF. Ireland: ‘Typhoon’; ‘Amy Foster’. Poland: MoS. Slovenia: LJ; ‘Youth’; ‘Gaspar Ruiz’. Spain: AG; SA.

Bulgaria: Petar Dinekov publishes translation of Tadeusz Boy Zeleński’s article on Conrad. Hungary: Conrad included in Mihály Babits ‘s Az európai irodalom története (A History of European Literature).

1936

Czechoslovakia: N; Res. France: Res. Germany: S. Ireland: AF. Poland: OI. Slovenia: Extract from ‘Amy Foster’. Spain: ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (Catalan); TU (Catalan).

Czechoslovakia: First critical essay by a Czech scholar – Timotheus Vodička, ‘Dílo Josepha Conrada’ (The works of Joseph Conrad). Poland: Józef Ujejski publishes influential monograph, O Konradzie Korzeniowskim.

July: Start of Spanish Civil War. August: Greek dictatorship established.

1937

Bulgaria: ‘The Sinking of the Tremolino’; ‘The Lagoon’; ‘Freya’. Czechoslovakia: Res. France: OI. Germany: WT. Slovenia: LJ. Sweden: NN.

Germany: First academic monograph, Hermann Stresau, JC: The Tragic Writer of the West.

December: New Constitution establishes Republic of Ireland.

1938

Bulgaria: ‘Karain’. Czechoslovakia: UWE, last JC novel published before occupation by Nazi Germany. France: NN. Germany: TH. Poland: NN; (SoS). Slovenia (USA ): Šmalc’s translation of ‘The Lagoon’ published in the American Family Almanac.

1939

Bulgaria: ‘The Return’; NN. Germany: MoS. Poland: TT; TU.

Bulgaria: Dinekov publishes review of NN.

March: Slovak state declares independence from Czechoslovakia. Germany invades Czech Lands and Czechoslovakia ceases to exist. September: Nazi and Soviet invasions of Poland. Under the Molotov– Ribbentrop Pact, Poland is divided into two zones. xxxv

Timeline 1940

May: France invaded by Nazi Germany; subsequently divided into three zones: German-occupied, Italian-occupied and Vichy France. Hungary: Antal Szerb writes May: German briefly on JC in his history of invasion and occupation of Greece. world literature. June: German invasion of Russia.

1941

1942

Sweden: SS.

1943

Spain: Rov.

Slovenia (USA): Louis Beniger ‘s article ‘Birthdays of the Great Men’ introduces Conrad to young Slovenian readers in the USA. Spain: Josep Pla’s article on JC in Destino.

1944

Hungary: ‘The Brute’. Spain: ‘Freya’.

Bulgaria: Narod (newspaper) June: Provisional commemorates the twentieth Government of the French Republic anniversary of JC’s death. established. September: Bulgaria invaded by USSR; abolition of Bulgarian monarchy.

1945

Sweden: LJ.

xxxvi

February: Yalta Conference to determine postwar organization of Europe; Soviet hegemony over Poland established. April: Liberation Day: Italy liberated from Fascism; Second Austrian Republic created. June: Division of Germany into four zones.

Timeline France: MoS. Poland: SS.

1947

Czechoslovakia: Y. Russia: ‘The Duel’. Russia: Ivan Kashkin’s essay on JC marks turning-point. Spain: OI. Switzerland: Y, HoD, ‘Freya’.

1948

Bulgaria: Y. Hungary: ‘The Partner’. Poland: AG. Spain: Ty. Switzerland: Ty. (Former) Yugoslavia: Y (in Serbo-Croatian).

F. R. Leavis, The Great Tradition.

February: Communist coup in Czechoslovakia.

1949

Hungary: LJ. Italy: Launch of Bompiani Collected Edition. Sweden: HoD; Rom; SL. Switzerland: AF.

Italy: Italo Calvino begins his ‘battle for Conrad’ with two articles, ‘Joseph Conrad scrittore poeta e uomo di mare’ and ‘L’Opera di Conrad’, in l’Unita.

Poland: Conrad’s works banned by the Communist régime (ban continues until 1955). April: Republic of Ireland declared. May: French, US and UK sectors of Germany are merged to form Federal Republic of Germany. August: Hungarian People’s Republic declared. October: Soviet zone of Germany becomes German Democratic Republic.

1950

Sweden: OI.

1951

Greece: ‘Falk’; ‘Typhoon’. Switzerland: ‘Gaspar Ruiz’. (Former) Yugoslavia: LJ and Y (in Serbo-Croatian).

1952

Switzerland: SL. (Former) Yugoslavia: Ty and HoD (in Serbo-Croatian).

Italy: Cesare Pavese article on JC. Poland: Jan Kott attacks JC in his article ‘Secular despondency: Conrad and Malraux’. Dąbrowska defends JC in her response, ‘Conrad’s notion of fidelity’.

Bulgaria becomes one-party people’s republic. June: Italy votes to become a republic.

1946

Arnold Kettle, An Introduction to the English Novel. July: Polish People’s Republic proclaimed.

xxxvii

Timeline 1953

March: Death of Stalin ushers in period of liberalization in Soviet bloc.

1954

Denmark: Y.

1955

Poland: C. Sweden: LJ. Switzerland: SA; Y.

1956

Denmark: HoD. Poland: AF, OI, LJ.

1957

Czechoslovakia: ‘Gaspar Ruiz’; SL. Denmark: SS. East Germany: publication of N marks beginning of uncompleted collected edition. (Former) Yugoslavia: NN and HoD (in Serbo-Croatian).

Russia: Y. Kagarlitski’s positive essay for JC’s centenary.

1958

Czechoslovakia: N. Slovenia: N (in Slovenian). Russia: MoS.

(Former) Yugoslavia: Ivo Vidan’s article ‘Joseph Conrad in Yugoslavia’ published in Polish journal Kwartalnik Neofilologiczny.

1959

Poland: In. Russia: two-volume edition of JC’s Collected Works.

Czechoslovakia: Zdenĕk Vančura’s article on NN. France: Raymond Las Vergnas, JC: romancier de l’exil.

1960

Czechoslovakia: HoD. Hungary: NN; Y; HoD. Poland: Rom; S. Sweden: N. Ukraine: ‘Freya’. (Former) Yugoslavia: ‘Freya’; HoD; SS and TT (in Serbo-Croatian).

xxxviii

East Germany: Horst Bien’s critical essay on JC’s fiction as unsuitable for publication.

May: Warsaw Pact between the Soviet Union and seven ‘Eastern bloc’ socialist republics. February: 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union: Khrushchev denounces Stalin’s crimes and initiates ‘thaw’ in Cold War. October: Hungarian Uprising; political ‘thaw’ in Poland. October: Conrad Conference organized by the Polish Academy of Sciences to celebrate JC’s centenary,

Timeline Hungary: Pál Vámosi article on JC and imperialism; Agnes Heller essay on JC in Nagyvilág.

1961

Germany: Peter Suhrkamp (Fischer Verlag) decides to undertake a whole new translation of Conrad’s complete works. Greece: HoD; UWE. Italy: C. (Former) Yugoslavia: N (in Croatian).

1962

(Former) Yugoslavia: OI first translated into Serbo-Croatian.

1963

Czechoslovakia: LJ. Germany: TU. (Former) Yugoslavia: SL (SerboCroatian); Y; Ty (in Macedonian).

1964

(Former) Yugoslavia: The Rescue first Hungary: Georg Lukács translated into Serbo-Croatian. discusses JC in his study of Solzhenitsyn.

1965

Bulgaria: Paulina Pirinska publishes substantial, in-depth study of JC.

1966

Bulgaria: Ty; SS; ‘Falk’. Denmark: N. Slovenia: NN. Sweden: MoS and APR.

Spain: beginning of academic criticism of JC.

1967

Hungary: ‘The Partner’; SS. Italy: launch of Mursia Collected Edition. Poland: Si.

Bulgaria: Grigor Pavlov publishes critical essay on N. Denmark: Henrik Strandgaard publishes substantial critical introduction to JC.

1968

Bulgaria: LJ. Hungary: ‘Typhoon’.

1969

Hungary: HoD.

1970

Hungary: V.

1971

Bulgaria: HoD; N; Y; SL.

April: Coup d’etat establishes Regime of Colonels in Greece.

January: Prague Spring (attempt at reform suppressed in August).

Hungary: Miklós Vajda includes chapter on JC in his history of twentieth-century English literature. Russia: Dmitri Urnov publishes first and only Russian monograph on JC.

1972 1973

Hungary: N.

Founding of Joseph Conrad Society (UK).

xxxix

Timeline 1974

Switzerland: LJ.

1975

Greece: LJ (graphic novel).

1976

Spain: Y. (Former) Yugoslavia: LJ (in Macedonian).

1977

Italy: ‘The Duel’. Russia: Si. Switzerland: HoD. (Former) Yugoslavia: MoS; APR (SerboCroatian).

1978

Greece: NN. Hungary: ‘Il Conde’, OI, ‘Falk’. (Former) Yugoslavia: SA (Serbo-Croatian).

1979

Spain: LJ (Catalan). Sweden: UWE. Ukraine: ‘The Black Mate’; ‘The Lagoon’; ‘Youth’; MoS; TT (in Russian).

1980

Czechoslovakia: First translation of HoD. (Former) Yugoslavia: V; UWE (Serbo-Croatian).

1981

Bulgaria: SL. Spain: MoS; NLL.

1982

Hungary: UWE. Spain: Ty.

1983

xl

East Germany: JC’s work is out of copyright: this initiates GDR translation project. Hungary: Aladár Sarbu’s Joseph Conrad világa (Joseph Conrad’s World), the first book-length study of JC in Hungarian.

July: Restoration of democracy in Greece (Third Hellenic Republic),

November: Death of General Franco.

Apocalypse Now by Francis Ford Coppola.

Spain: Review of reissue of NN marks JC’s first appearance in journals since the 1920s; first doctoral thesis on JC. December: Declaration of martial law in Poland. Sweden: Gunnar Fredriksson, France: Launch of In JC’s Home Waters. Pléiade edition of Conrad’s works; founding of Société Conradienne Française. Italy: Alberto Moravia introduction to LJ. Slovenia: Mirko Jurak includes criticism of JC in his collection of essays, From Shakespeare to our Contemporaries.

Timeline 1984

Greece: AF. Slovenia: HoD. Spain: TH; UWE.

1985

Bulgaria: AF; SL; TT. Spain: HoD (Catalan); LJ; Rov. Ukraine: LJ.

1986

Hungary: SA. Slovenia: V. Spain: HoD; TU. Switzerland: V.

1987

Bulgaria: JC’s Collected Writings in Five Volumes.

1988

Sweden: Olof Lagercrantz, Voyage with ‘HoD’.

Ukraine: The People’s Joseph Conrad Museum in Terekhove founded.

Denmark: Peter Madsen essay on HoD.

1989

Spain: HoD (Catalan); N (Catalan). Denmark: Frantz Leander Slovenia: SA. Switzerland: ‘The Duel’. Hansen essay on HoD.

June: First elections in Poland since 1928 result in Solidarność landslide and end to Communist rule. November: Bulgaria transitions to parliamentary democracy; Velvet Revolution ends one-party-rule in Czechoslovakia.

1990

Greece: HoD. Spain: APR.

Free elections in Hungary. October: Reunification of Germany.

1991

Spain: Y (Catalan).

Poland: First ‘In Conrad’s Footsteps’ conference held. Slovenia: Independence. Ukraine: Independence.

1992

(Former) Yugoslavia: Ty (in Serbian); Sweden: Sven Lindqvist, Exterminate All the Brutes. a new translation of LJ into Macedonian (by Zorica Teofilova).

1993

January: Czechoslovakia splits into two sovereign states: Czech Republic and Slovakia.

xli

Timeline 1994

Greece: ‘Freya’. Hungary: APR. Slovenia: UWE. Spain: C; SA (Catalan). Switzerland: NN.

Poland: Conrad Study Greece: Review of Conrad’s life and work, entitled ‘Joseph Centre established in Conrad (1857–1924): A Great Gdansk. Novelist of the Sea’, by Theofilos Kallitsas, appears in the prestigious literary journal Nea Estia.

1995

Poland: Second Conrad Study Centre established in Lublin.

1996

Italy: SS. Spain: In. Switzerland: ‘Freya’.

1997

Slovenia: Y; SL. Spain: Rom; SL (Catalan).

1998 1999

Spain: Y. (Former) Yugoslavia: ‘The Duel’; SL (in Serbian).

2000

Spain: Res.

2001

Poland: Third translation of LJ (Michał Kłobukowski). (Former) Yugoslavia: HoD (in Croatian).

Poland: Third Conrad Study Centre opened at Opole.

2002

Austria: ‘Amy Foster’ and other stories. Spain: HoD (Catalan); CD; N.

Hungary: Stage adaptation of V. Spain: Barcelona exhibition (in Catalan) to celebrate centenary of first publication of HoD in book form.

2003

Poland: Fourth translation of LJ (Michał Filipczuk). (Former) Yugoslavia: V (in Serbian).

2004

Slovenia: HoD. Spain: TLS.

2005

Hungary: ‘The Idiots’, ‘The Warrior’s Soul’. Spain: AG; SS. (Former) Yugoslavia: HoD; Ty (in Macedonian).

2006

Denmark: CD. (Former) Yugoslavia: Denmark: Bert Blom’s ‘Freya’; NN; UWE (in Serbian). Diaries and letters from the heart of darkness. Hungary: First PhD on JC.

xlii

Ukraine: Orange Revolution. Slovenia: Mirko Jurak essay on N and UWE.

Poland: Yearbook of Conrad Studies established. Poland: Joseph Conrad Research Centre opens in Cracow.

Timeline Bulgaria: Beginning of serious research into JC. Greece: Theodoros Grigoriadis posts an article celebrating ‘150 years since the birth of Joseph Conrad’.

Bulgaria: Joins the EU; celebrates JC’s 150th anniversary through exhibition in Sofia and other events. Greece: Stage adaptation of ‘The Return,’ subtitled ‘A Lack of Communication’, performed at the prestigious Karolos Koun Art Theatre in Athens; runs until 2014. Ukraine: Conference to commemorate the 150th anniversary of Conrad’s birth.

2007

Hungary: ‘The Lagoon’. (Former) Yugoslavia: SS (in Croatian).

2008

Hungary: C. Spain: S; WT.

2009

Spain: NC. Sweden: Rov.

2010

Czechoslovakia: SA. Hungary: SoS. (Former) Yugoslavia: SA (in Serbian); SL (in Croatian).

2011

Czechoslovakia: UWE. Hungary: ‘The Black Mate’ (2 translations). (Former) Yugoslavia: ‘Amy Foster’; APR (in Serbian); UWE (in Croatian).

Czechoslovakia: Stage adaptation of HoD. Sweden: Bengt Ohlsson dramatizes SA for radio.

2012

Russia: SA; UWE. (Former) Yugoslavia: Third translation of HoD and Ty into Macedonian (by Zoran Ančevski).

Sweden: Stage adaptation of HoD.

Sweden: Radio dramatization of HoD. Ukraine: The International Museum of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski opens at Berdichiv.

Denmark: Frits Andersen, The Dark Continent: Images of Africa in European Narratives of the Congo.

xliii

Timeline 2013

Greece: Anna Mangina, essay Hungary: ‘The Tale’ (fragment). on race and representation in (Former) Yugoslavia: New translation of LJ into Macedonian (by HoD. Zorica Teofilova).

Greece: Public discussion of HoD in the context of the 28 October Annual Celebrations, marking Greek resistance against the Axis Powers during the Second World War.

2014

Spain: WT. (Former) Yugoslavia: AF (in Croatian); V (in Serbian).

Greece: Adaptation of ‘The Return’; adaptation of ‘Youth’ read at the 57th Annual Cultural Festival, ‘Filippon’, Kavala, in memory of the Asia Minor Catastrophe of 1922.

2015

Hungary: In. Ukraine: HoD. Spain: TT (Catalan).

Greece: Stage adaptation of SL. Sweden: Two Czechoslovakia: Petr Poslední’s collection of essays, stage-adaptations of HoD. Jiný Conrad (Another Conrad).

2016

2017

Spain: APR (Catalan). Ukraine: AF.

Bulgaria: Special issue of Literature Gazette for ‘Year of Joseph Conrad’; stage adaptation of HoD. Ireland: City of Galway Exhibition, ‘Joseph Conrad: Inspirations’. Poland: ‘Year of Joseph Conrad’ announced by Polish government.

2018

Ukraine: SA, B88 ‘Amy Foster’; ‘Falk’; ‘Tomorrow’. (Former) Yugoslavia: First translation of C into Macedonian (by Margarita Nenovska).

Bulgaria: Special JC issue of Sofia State University journal Literature. Poland: ‘The Darkness’, stage adaptation of HoD.

2019

Ukraine: NN; OI; SA; SL; TU; Ty; UWE.

xliv

INTRODUCTION: CONRAD’S LIFE AND AFTERLIFE IN MAINLAND EUROPE Robert Hampson

Conrad is, in many ways, an exceptional case among British and Irish writers. There is, first of all, his own transnational and multilingual background. Born in 1857 near Berdichiv in Ukraine to Polish patriot parents at a time when Poland did not exist, but had been partitioned between Austria, Prussia and Russia, he was formally a Russian subject until his British naturalization in 1886. After the arrest of his parents for their political activities, he spent his early years, from 1862 to 1869, in penal settlements in Vologda in north-west Russia and Chernikhiv in north-east Ukraine, where his mother died in 1865. In the autumn of 1867, because of his father’s failing health, father and son were allowed to move to Lwów; in 1869, they moved to Cracow. His schooling took place in Lwów and Cracow, both under Austrian rule, and an attempt was made to get Austrian citizenship for him. In 1874 he moved on his own to Marseilles, which became his base for the next four years and saw the start of his career in the French merchant navy with three voyages to the West Indies. He first arrived in England in 1878 as an apprentice in the Mavis and subsequently began to learn English as an ordinary seaman on a collier plying between Lowestoft and Newcastle. Even after he had settled in England, he continued to be very mobile.1 Although his best-known fictions take place in Malaysia, Africa, South America and Russia, his writing life involved periods spent in France, Belgium, Switzerland and Italy. Conrad was a veritable citoyen du monde. Indeed, according to Nic Panagopoulos, Conrad had seen and written about more cities than any other British writer (Panagopoulos 2021). Although the first published translation of Conrad’s work was the serialization of Almayer’s Folly (Almayers Luchtkasteel [Almayer’s Castle in the Air]) in the Amsterdam daily newspaper Het Nieuws van den Dag, during May–July 1896, the story of Conrad’s mainland European reception in the present volume begins in Poland.2 His second novel, An Outcast of the Islands, appeared in a Polish translation in 1897, just one year after its publication in England, serialized in the Warsaw weekly Tugodnik Romansów i Powieści. However, as Agnieszka AdamowiczPośpiech shows, this early translation did not make Conrad’s name in Poland. Instead, Conrad first became widely known in Poland through an 1899 controversy about talented Poles leaving the partitioned country, sparked off by an inaccurate article in the journal Kraj (Homeland) by Wincenty Lutosławski. As Adamowicz-Pośpiech shows, the reception of Conrad’s works (and

1

For a fuller account, see Hampson 2020. See Steltenpool (n.d.). Steltenpool suggests that a story set in a Dutch colony suited the newspaper’s commitment to reporting the latest news from the Dutch East Indies, but Conrad’s particular approach to the Dutch colony would not have sat comfortably with the newspaper’s patriotic agenda. A Dutch translation of Almayer’s Folly (in book form) was not published in the Netherlands until 1947: Almayer’s dwaasheid (Almayer’s folly), trans. M. E. Bunge, Amsterdam: C. Hafkamp.

2

1

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

his life) in Poland since then has always been shaped by historical and political conditions in Poland. In her chapter she traces the various phases of that reception and its entanglement with Polish cultural and ideological wars. These phases correspond to the period up to the end of the First World War; the interwar years of the Second Polish Republic; the Second World War; the period of Soviet hegemony created by the 1945 Yalta Conference; the more liberal period after 1956; and the post-communist period introduced by the success of Solidarność (Solidarity) in the 1980s. As in a number of other European reception histories, Conrad’s works were particularly widely read and influential during the Second World War. Lord Jim was the second work by Conrad to be published in Poland. The translation of Lord Jim (by E. Wesławska) was published in 1904, just four years after its publication in England. As Adamowicz-Pośpiech notes, Conrad’s early reception in Poland revolved around three key issues relating to his life which had particular relevance to Poles: his decision to leave Poland, his decision to write in a foreign language, and his attempts to return to Poland. These concerns played into the Polish reception of Lord Jim, where Jim’s jump from the Patna was read through the lens of Conrad’s own drama of leaving his mother country. Towards the end of the 1930s, with the spread of fascism across Europe, Conrad was rediscovered in Poland and, indeed, reached what can now be seen as the peak of his popularity there. Lord Jim again became a key text, but it was now read as a moral guide promoting an heroic ethic. In her chapter on the Polish translations of Lord Jim, Ewa Kujawska-Lis notes that it achieved a cult status as a source of moral inspiration for members of the underground resistance movements against both Nazi and later Soviet totalitarian rule. The novel’s focus on faithfulness and betrayal provoked an engagement with fundamental ethical issues. In her chapter, Kujawska-Lis offers a detailed examination of the four successive translations of Lord Jim that appeared between 1904 and 2003. As Adamowicz-Pośpiech notes, there were two opposed strands of Polish criticism – one focused on Conrad’s links with Polish Romanticism, the other oriented towards the latest developments in European literature – and Conrad’s work could be situated in relation to each. Kujawska-Lis shows how Lord Jim relates to this second tendency as an innovative engagement with the form of the novel drawing on a wider European culture. She provides a detailed account of the decisions made by the different translators, and how these translation decisions are inflected by the socio-economic and cultural contexts in which they appear and, in turn, reshape Conrad for their different readerships. Conrad’s Polish reception is, however, not just a matter of translations, reviews and critical essays. His work has been adapted for film numerous times since the brief public run of Niebezpieczny raj (Victory) in 1930, which was shown in Polish cinemas for only eight days. This film history, which begins in the 1960s after the relaxation of censorship in 1956, has taken the form of a succession of film adaptations for television, beginning with Jutro (Tomorrow), based on a translation by the great Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert, and Placówka postępu (An Outpost of Progress) in 1961. Subsequent television adaptations included: Korsarz (The Rover) and Ukryty sojusznik (The Secret Sharer) in 1967, Freja z Siedmiu Wysp (Freya of the Seven Isles), Falk and Murzyn z załogi ‘Narcyza’ (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’) in 1968, Jutro (Tomorrow) again in 1969; Smuga cienia (The Shadow-Line) in 1970; Lord Jim (1972); Jutro (Tomorrow), Tajny agent (The Secret Agent) and Jej powrót (The Return) in 1974; Jutro (Tomorrow) once again in 1975; Amy Foster and two more versions of Smuga cienia (The Shadow-Line) in 1976; 2

Introduction

Spiskowcy (Under Western Eyes) in 1983; and I, Axel Heyst (Victory) in 1990.3 The majority of these adaptations promote Conrad as a writer of the sea. There have also been a number of Polish stage adaptations of Conrad’s works (beginning with a performance of ‘Tomorrow’ at Sopot in 1945 and including a one-man performance of Heart of Darkness in the hold of a cargo ship in Gdansk harbour at a 1994 Conrad conference), as well as the insertion of a full performance of Conrad’s own dramatization of ‘Tomorrow’ into Ingmar Villqist’s play Conrad, about Conrad’s stay in Zakopane in 1914, which imagines Conrad in dialogue with Józef Piłsudski, the leader of the Polish Socialist Party, who played a prominent role later in the Second Polish Republic. The play had a performative reading at the ‘Conrad and the Contemporary Conference’ in Warsaw in 2017 before going on to its premiere at the Teatr Ślaski in Katowice (3 December 2017). ‘Tomorrow’, the story of a father waiting for the return of his son (and then not recognizing him when he does return), which is largely ignored in the Anglo-American critical tradition, has repeatedly reappeared in Polish film adaptations and clearly strikes a chord. The theme of a parent waiting for a child to return home (and, particularly, waiting for a son to return from war) has a powerful resonance in Polish history. The performance of ‘Tomorrow’ in Sopot in 1945 had a particular significance: it coincided with Poland’s regaining of access to the sea after the Polish–Soviet advance into Pomerania in March 1945 and the accompanying celebration of a number of ‘Weddings to the Sea’ along the Baltic coast from Dziwnow to Gdynia. The celebration of Conrad as a Polish writer of the sea served to affirm the Polish link with the sea, which was lost with the 1795 Partition of Poland. It is no coincidence that so many of the Polish film adaptations relate to Conrad’s sea narratives and that the only statue of Conrad in Poland is the Joseph Conrad Monument erected in the major seaport of Gdynia in 1976.4 Conrad’s life and work have also had an impact on Polish writers. Leszek Prorok’s 1982 novel Smuga blasku (The Radiant Line) deals with Conrad’s time in Mauritius;  Wacław Biliński’s 1983 novel Sprawa w Marylii (The Marseilles Affair) focuses on Conrad’s residence in Marseilles; Andrzej Braun’s 2003 short story ‘Morze Północne’ (The North Sea) revolves around Conrad’s wartime experiences on a Q-boat; Eustachy Rylski’s 2005 novel  Warunek (Condition)  was inspired by ‘The Duel’; and Jakub Małecki’s 2018 novel  Dżozef  (Joseph) was inspired by Heart of Darkness.5 As this suggests, Conrad’s life has been as important as his writing in his Polish reception. It is also noticeable that these works date from the early Solidarność period of the 1980s and the period after Poland joined the European Union in 2004. Conradology, a celebration of the work of Joseph Conrad published as part of the Polish government’s ‘Year of Joseph Conrad’ in 2017, invited responses to Conrad’s work from a range of Polish authors (Harrison and Raczyńska 2017). It included ‘Conrad Street’, a futuristic story by the science-fiction novelist Wojciech Orlinski, which revisited Heart of Darkness; Jan Krasnowolski’s reminiscences about his grandfather, ‘Guided by Conrad’; and Jacek Dukaj’s substantial essay ‘Live Me’. ‘Guided by Conrad’ begins with thoughts about Krasnowolski’s

3

I am indebted to the filmography included in Moore (1997) for this list. See also the essay in that volume on Andrzej Wajda’s Smuga cienia (1976) (Micka 1997). There have been so many Polish, French, Italian, German, Swedish and Spanish film adaptations that they would require a separate study. 4 I am grateful to Ewa Kujawska-Lis for information in this paragraph. 5 I am indebted to Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech for this information.

3

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

grandfather during the war and proceeds to Conrad’s influence on ‘a whole generation of Polish writers’, the ‘Generation of Columbuses’ that included Roman Bratny, Zbigniew Herbert, Stanisław Lem and many who died during the Second World War, for whom Conrad (and Lord Jim, in particular) provided ‘a moral compass’ (153). To conclude the volume, Dukaj meditates on Heart of Darkness and Conrad’s Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ to produce a theory of fiction as ‘experiential transference’ (170). In his chapter in the present volume, Daniel Schümann reads Dukaj’s 2007 novel Lód (Ice) through its intertextual dialogue with Heart of Darkness. This counterfactual science-fiction novel, which begins in a Warsaw under Russian imperial occupation and involves a journey to the ‘heart of darkness’ in an alternative counterfactual Siberia, makes artistic play with cultural hegemonies through its use of an untranslatable interlanguage drawing on Polish, Russian, German and other languages. From a very early age, French language, literature and culture played an important part in Conrad’s life. Like other members of his class, Conrad had French as his second language. He began learning French at the age of six and, as we have seen, moved to Marseilles at the age of sixteen, where he began his career as a sailor in the French merchant navy. When he was trying to find a publisher for his first novel, he had suggested to his cousin’s widow, Marguerite Poradowska, who was well established in France as a fiction writer, that she might translate Almayer’s Folly into French for publication in the Revue des Deux Mondes and that it might appear ‘not as a translation but as a collaboration’ (CL 1, 165). Although this did not happen, the first French translation of Conrad’s work to be published was Poradowska’s translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’, which appeared in the Parisian journal Les Nouvelles Illustrées in January 1903. Subsequently, various reviews and translations of his work cemented Conrad’s relations with French literary circles during his lifetime. This began with Henry-Durand Davray’s review of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ in the Mercure de France in July 1899 and the publication of his translation of ‘Karain’ in the Mercure de France in 1906. Mercure de France editions subsequently published Robert d’Humières’s translation of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1910); ‘Typhoon’, translated by Joseph de Smet appeared in Le Progrès in 1911; and Davray’s translation of The Secret Agent came out with the new Paris publishing house Gaston Gallimard in 1912. Davray was not only the translator of ‘Karain’ and The Secret Agent; he also worked to encourage Franco-British literary relations and was important as an early promoter of Conrad’s work in France. In 1914, Valery Larbaud’s review of Chance was published in La Nouvelle Revue Française, and Conrad was then taken up by the group around that paper, with André Gide initiating and initially overseeing the project to translate Conrad’s works into French in what was intended to be an Oeuvres complètes. Between 1919 and 1938, starting with La folieAlmayer (1919), translated by G. G. Seligmann-Lui, and concluding with Le nègre du ‘Narcissus’, translated by Robert d’Humières, Gallimard published ten volumes by Conrad. This translation project had a significance beyond France. As Mario Curreli has pointed out, these French translations were ‘instrumental in establishing Conrad’s fame in non-English-speaking countries’, as French translations crossed the borders into Italy and Spain, for example; accordingly, it is probably fair to say that, in the widest sense, ‘Conrad’s international reputation began in France rather than Poland’ (Curreli 2009a, 100). Within France, despite these links with Symbolist and modernist magazines, Conrad was initially promoted as a writer of adventure novels. In his chapter in the present volume, Mark Fitzpatrick discusses Conrad’s early critical reception in France and the early French translations. He shows how the early reception of Conrad’s fiction in France was conditioned 4

Introduction

by the crisis of the novel in France at the turn of the century. After the pseudo-scientific researches of the naturaliste novel and the roman psychologique, the French novel had reached an impasse. The adventure novel, reappropriated by intellectuals, was regarded as the way forward, and Conrad’s fiction could be seen to fit this programme. Conrad’s combination of exotic settings, narrative drive and moral and psychological complexity (together with his concern for the art of the novel) made him attractive to French critics. As Fitzpatrick shows, where Ford Madox Ford could present Conrad (along with Henry James and Stephen Crane) as bringing ‘some conception that novel writing was an art’ into English fiction from French literature, Davray and André Gide linked Conrad with Kipling and Wells as providing something missing from the French novel – namely, adventure (Ford 1983, 135). In her chapter, Véronique Pauly traces Conrad’s reception in France from the 1930s to the present day. She situates Davray’s promotion of Conrad as ‘one of us’ within the continuing contemporary debate between nationalists and cosmopolitans in which translators were inescapably implicated. Conrad’s work has also contributed to political debates about France’s colonial legacies. The translation of Heart of Darkness by André Ruyters, which was published in 1924, played a part by inspiring a number of works in the early 1930s including André Malraux’s La Voix Royale (The Royal Way), published in 1930, set in Indo-China, and LouisFerdinand Céline’s Voyage au bout de la Nuit (Journey to The End of the Night), published in 1932, with its picture of the corruption of colonial life in Africa. In addition, following the example of Gide’s travelogues, Conrad’s novella provided a reference point for other travel writers, including Michel Leiris’s L’Afrique fantôme (Phantom Africa) in 1934. French academic interest in Conrad began in 1959 with the publication of Raymond Las Vergnas’s Joseph Conrad, romancier de l’exil (Joseph Conrad, novelist of exile) and, by 1982, had led to the founding of the Société Conradienne Française with its journal, L’Époque Conradienne. Josianne Paccaud-Huguet’s Conrad in France tracks this critical history by offering a representative sample of ‘Conrad’s reception among several generations of readers and critics’ (Paccaud-Huguet 2005, 1). While L’Époque Conradienne has participated fully in the international critical debate about Conrad’s works, publishing French critics alongside work by the major international Conrad scholars, since the 1980s Claude Maisonnat and Paccaud-Huguet have also created a very distinctive French school of Lacanian Conrad criticism. The publication of the first volume of the Pléiade edition of the complete works of Conrad in 1982 established Conrad as a canonical author in world literature for French critics and academics, while later translations and paperback editions made his work accessible to a wider readership. As in Poland, Conrad’s work has been adapted, in recent years, for the stage and in the form of graphic novels – in both cases with a focus on Africa. It has also been adapted in two remarkable films: the claustrophobic domestic drama of ‘The Return’ was transported to turn-of-the-century Paris for Patrice Chéreau’s Gabrielle (2005), while Chantel Akerman created her own free adaptation of Almayer’s Folly (2012). During Conrad’s lifetime, translations of his work had appeared in Poland and France, but also in Sweden, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Russia and Yugoslavia. In 1903, Tales of Unrest was translated into Swedish, the first language in which a book translation appeared. This followed the first essay on Conrad in Swedish, which had been published the previous year.6 Over the next few years, there were Swedish translations of

6

For a representative selection of Scandinavian criticism of Conrad, see Lothe (1995).

5

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Almayer’s Folly (1908), An Outcast of the Islands (1909), The Secret Agent (1910), ’Twixt Land and Sea (1914), Victory (1916), Typhoon (1918), Chance and The Arrow of Gold (both 1919). This is an impressive number of translations – with the translations of Victory and The Arrow of Gold appearing shortly after publication in England. Denmark was also quick off the mark with translations of Tales of Unrest (1904), Almayer’s Folly (1916), Lord Jim (1916), The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1917), The Secret Agent (1917), Typhoon (1918), Under Western Eyes (1918), ’Twixt Land and Sea (1919), An Outcast of the Islands (1919), Victory (1920), ‘Youth’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’ (1921), The Rescue (1921), The Shadow-Line (1922) and The Rover (1924). In the decade after his death, interest in Conrad slumped in Britain but began to emerge elsewhere. In Germany, the first complete edition of Conrad’s works in translation began publication in 1926 and was completed in 1939. Five more translated volumes appeared in Denmark between 1925 and 1931, bringing the total to nineteen volumes in all. In the former Yugoslavia, there were translations into Serbo-Croat of The Rover (1924), Almayer’s Folly (1925) and two volumes of short stories (‘Typhoon’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Karain’, ‘Il Conde’, ‘Youth’, ‘Because of the Dollars’ and ‘The Lagoon’, 1929), and translations into Slovenian of ‘The Lagoon’ (1927), The Shadow-Line (1931), Typhoon (1931), ‘Youth’ and ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ (both 1935). In Poland, Aniela Zagórska, the wife of Conrad’s second cousin and a close friend of Conrad’s, translated a number of his works during this period, including Victory (1927), The Rescue (1929), Youth (1930) and Lord Jim (1933). In Germany, Italy and Spain, the reception of Conrad’s work is complicated by the rise of fascism. In Germany, critical interest in Conrad began during his lifetime, as Anthony Fothergill has shown (Fothergill 2006). Before the First World War, a few of Conrad’s short stories appeared in translation in periodicals (the first, ‘Karain’, in 1900), and the volume Im Taifun (In the typhoon), published by Engelhorn Verlag in 1908, brought together ‘Typhoon’ and ‘Amy Foster’. The Munich firm of Albert Langen showed a serious commitment to Conrad’s work with the publication of Das Beest. Novellen (‘The Brute’ and other stories) and Der Nigger vom ‘Narzissus’, both in 1912; Mit den Augen des Westens (Under Western Eyes) in 1913; and Das Duell (‘The Duel’, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ and ‘Il Conde’) in 1913. However, as Fothergill suggests, any plans for further Conrad publications were disrupted by the First World War (Fothergill 2006, 19). From the late 1920s, with the translations published by Fischer Verlag, a Conrad cult developed within German liberal culture. Conrad’s novels were widely read in Weimar Germany, and, although they were ‘virtually banned under the Nazis’, they ‘continued to be read, reviewed and disseminated’ (Fothergill 2006, 13). However, as Fothergill shows in his chapter in the current volume, by the time the complete edition was published in 1939, Fischer Verlag had partially moved from Berlin into exile to escape Nazi persecution. First going to Austria, then to Holland, Fischer Verlag finally moved to Sweden, to return to Germany only in 1947. Since 1933, the firm had had to operate within the context of Nazi book-banning, bookburning and the ‘Aryanization’ of Jewish-owned firms. As Fothergill demonstrates, Conrad’s works not only evaded Nazi control but also provided ‘a kind of clandestine camouflaged resistance to the authoritarian fascist mentality’. Thomas Mann’s promotion of Conrad, in particular, played an important part in this process, making Conrad an influential figure through the war years and into postwar Germany. In these ‘black years’, Conrad’s life, his work and his multilingualism represented an affirmative internationalism and a cosmopolitan challenge to narrow nationalisms. From Fothergill’s account, Conrad emerges as a non-aligned figure, who provided an example of border-crossing and ‘camouflaged resistance’. 6

Introduction

In the 1950s, Conrad’s influence in Germany continued through a newly-translated, complete edition of his works (started in the 1950s and published through to the 1980s). However, a new factor emerges in the German reception of Conrad after the Second World War. In June 1945, Germany had been divided into four occupied zones under American, British, French and Russian control. In 1949, the three western zones became the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Russian zone became the German Democratic Republic. In his chapter for this volume, Frank Förster tracks the reception of Conrad in the GDR through three phases between 1945 and the unification of Germany in 1990: the period up to the early 1960s, which was marked by a total rejection of Conrad’s work because of its alleged anarchistic contents; the period up to the mid-1970s, when Conrad was rediscovered as a result of academic research in the Soviet Union and through Arnold Kettle’s Marxist approach; and a final phase, from the 1970s onwards, which saw the development of an independent branch of research in the GDR with a literary, political, philosophical and ideological approach based on MarxistLeninist philosophy. As a footnote to this chapters, Förster also provides a brief account of the more limited history of German-language translations of Conrad in Austria and Switzerland. In Italy, as Mario Curelli’s essay shows, Conrad’s work was not widely known during his lifetime and was, initially, largely confined to a small Anglo-Florentine circle. The first published translation, Lorenzo Gigli’s La casa sul fiume grande (The house on the big river), was serialized in a Turin weekly paper, L’Illustrazione del Popolo, from 6 July to 21 December 1924. This serialized translation of Almayer’s Folly was followed by other publications in magazines and papers: ‘Youth’ (‘Gioventù’) in August 1924; an abridged version of Suspense (Attesa) in 1925–6; ‘The End of the Tether’ (‘Fino all’estremo’) in 1928; and ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ (‘La locanda delle streghe’, The inn of the witches) in 1930. The first translation to appear in book form was Cuore di tenebra (Heart of Darkness) in December 1924.7 Over the next two decades over fifty different translations of Conrad’s works were published in Italy. The publisher Sonzogno, for example, brought out eight volumes in their popular Romantica Mondiale series. Most intriguingly, a new publishing house, Edizioni Alpes, set up in the late 1920s by Mussolini’s younger brother, Arnaldo, planned to publish Conrad’s selected works in translation. Before Arnaldo’s early death brought the project to a close, eight titles were published: Nostromo, ‘Domani’ (Tomorrow), ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Falk’, Romanzo (Romance) and L’agente segreto (The Secret Agent) in 1928; ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ in 1929; and ‘La Fine’ (‘The End of the Tether’), Vittoria (Victory) and Racconti inquieti (Tales of Unrest) in 1930. Where the serialized texts presented Conrad as a writer of ‘exotic adventures’, publicity for this collected edition presented Conrad in terms of his ‘cult of duty’. As Curreli observes, many of the Sonzogno editions were poor translations by badly-paid translators and were often based on the French translations rather than the original English texts. In addition, whole pages were omitted, additions were made to the texts, and chapters were rearranged (Curreli 2015, 15). The Marxist photographer who appears at the end of Nostromo was censored, and the word comrade (compagno) was either avoided or translated with the fascist term camerata (Curreli 2015, 15). These translations were marketed to present Conrad as an adventure-story writer or a writer of boy’s books and, as a result, while they kept Conrad’s works in print, there was little critical interest in Conrad between the world wars.

7

This was published by Bottega di Poesia in Milan. I am indebted to Curelli 2015 for this detail and other information in this paragraph.

7

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Conrad’s reception in Italy changed after 1945. This was marked by the first complete Italian edition, twenty-four volumes published between 1949 and 1966 by Valentino Bompiani under the general editorship of Piero Bigongiari. More important still, however, was the Mursia collected edition, published between 1967 and 1982. Where Bigongiari reused old pre-war translations or poorly-chosen new translators, Mursia used a carefully-supervised group of professional translators, and the prefaces were written by leading critics such as Franco Marenco and Giuseppe Sertoli. In their different ways, these editions shaped the two phases of Conrad’s Italian reception and led to the more recent promotion of a modern European Conrad. Richard Ambrosini’s account of the battle for Conrad, inside and outside the academy, tracks Conrad’s critical reception through dictatorship, civil war and liberation. As Ambrosini notes, Italy is exceptional in having produced two complete collected editions of Conrad’s works, but, as he and Fausto Ciompi demonstrate, Italy also has an exceptionally rich tradition of Conrad criticism. Ambrosini addresses how Conrad’s reception in Italy was initially framed in terms of an intellectual elite (rather than a university readership). He usefully reminds us that if Conrad’s works largely avoided fascist censorship, it was because Italian culture at the start of the century had not shown much interest in English literature. It was only when Mussolini came to power in 1922 that more attention was paid to English, and the first beneficiary of this was a young scholar, Mario Praz, whose later appointment to a chair in English in 1934 marked the official birth of English studies in Italy. His attention was drawn to Conrad by a working-class autodidact, Emilio Cecchi, a journalist who was to become one of the foremost Italian men of letters. Cecchi’s 1924 essay on Conrad’s work was not only the beginning of Conrad’s critical reception in Italy – it was also extremely influential, being regularly reprinted. It placed Conrad as an artist at the heart of a European culture that transcended national boundaries. As was the case elsewhere in the story of Conrad’s reception, the promotion of English and American literature by Praz and Cecchi during the 1920s and 1930s as autonomous and transcending national boundaries came up against a regime determined to impose a nationalistically defined culture. In the postwar period a younger generation of left-wing Italian intellectuals also attached importance to Conrad and his works. Ambrosini notes how, after the liberation of Turin, two young communists, associated with the left-wing publisher Giulio Einaudi, began the ‘battle’ for Conrad: the novelist Cesare Pavese and the journalist Italo Calvino, who had completed a thesis on Conrad’s works. Bompiani’s new collected edition laid the ground for this battle: to present a Conrad who would interest the readers of l’Unità by finding an active ethics in Conrad’s artistic practices. For these readers, Conrad’s novels were presented as a form of action informed by a moral vision useful for those who wished to change the world. Where Ambrosini focuses on three figures – Cecchi, Praz and Calvino – Ciompi’s chapter presents an exhaustive overview of the critical reception of Conrad’s works up to the present day. He begins with Cecchi’s influential 1924 article and its division of Conrad’s career into three periods – a first phase, culminating in Lord Jim, which combines exotic scenery with moral investigation; a second phase, culminating in Under Western Eyes, which undertakes psychological exploration in contemporary urban settings; and a final historical phase. He then outlines the different phases of Conrad’s twentieth-century critical reception: the framing of Conrad’s works in terms of existentialism or an idealistic humanism in the 1940s and 1950s with Lord Jim and Victory as the dominant texts, followed by the explosion, in the 1960s and 8

Introduction

1970s, of a range of new textual approaches, including Marxist historicism, psychoanalysis, feminist criticism, Bakhtinian dialogism and post-colonialism. Since then, Conrad the humanist, Conrad the political analyst, Conrad the apocalyptic nihilist have become Conrad the postmodernist, Conrad the transnational writer, Conrad the metafictional destroyer of fictional conventions and Conrad the revaluer of all values. As this suggests, and as Ciompi states at the outset, the vibrant field of Italian Conrad criticism has maintained a productive dialogue with international (or Anglo-American) developments in Conrad criticism. Since the 1980s, this critical field has widened even further to include the neglected parts of Conrad’s literary output and engagement with adaptations of his work in other media. In addition, while Victory has always been regarded as Conrad’s masterpiece, since the 1970s ‘Heart of Darkness’ has become the focus of much Italian criticism, and Ciompi outlines the four major approaches Italian criticism has taken to this text. Ciompi divides the postwar critical reception of Conrad into two periods which, following Curreli, he aligns with the years during which the Bompiani edition was appearing (ending in 1966) and the new era marked by the launch of the Mursia edition in 1967. As his chapter shows, the Italian reception of Conrad since 1945 has been marked by the critical interventions of a number of distinguished novelists (Tomasi di Lampedusa, Cesare Pavese, Italo Calvino, Alberto Moravia), but also by numerous first-rate critics. One of the most important figures, in Ciompi’s account, is Mario Curreli – not only for his work with the Mursia edition, but also as a critic and editor. For example, in a series of articles published between 1978 and 1980, Curreli reoriented the approach to Nostromo; in 1985 he stimulated interest in ‘Falk’; in 1995 he edited an important special Conrad issue of the magazine Merope; and in 2015 he edited Conrad in Italy, which offered a guide to Conrad’s reception in Italy and provided translations of influential Italian articles (made available for the first time in English). He has also produced the authoritative study of translations of Conrad’s works into Italian (Curreli 2009b). In Spain, Conrad’s reception begins with translations into Spanish of certain works published by the Catalonian house Montaner y Simón between 1925 and 1935 as part of a projected Collected Works. This began with Almayer’s Folly in 1925, included Nostromo in 1926 and Lord Jim in 1927, and ended with The Secret Agent in 1935. Although the project was not completed, these translations were the basis of Conrad’s popularity in Spain over the next decades – and are still being reissued today. As Daniel Zurbano García observes in his chapter, the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936 and the establishment of Franco’s regime ‘changed the cultural landscape completely’. There was a hiatus in the promotion of Conrad’s work through translation until the 1970s, when new translations began to appear again. Since then, ‘Heart of Darkness’, Lord Jim and The Secret Agent, in particular, have been repeatedly translated and have gone through numerous editions. As Zurbano García shows, Conrad’s popularity in Spain was also evidenced by the many positive reviews his work received in the 1920s. However, here too there was a hiatus, and reviews of his work began to appear again only in the 1980s. In the 1960s, coinciding with the cultural opening in the later phase of Franco’s regime, the first academic work on Conrad appears, but it is only in the 1980s that the serious academic study of Conrad’s work really begins. In 1931, the Second Spanish Republic created ‘autonomous regions’ as administrative divisions. As a result, Catalonia successfully restored its ancient institutions of government; the Basque Country and Galicia sought autonomy in 1936, but the process was disrupted by the outbreak of the Civil War. The Constitution of 1978, in response to demands from Catalonia, 9

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

the Basque Country and Galicia, recognized the ‘nationalities and regions of Spain’. In her chapter, Jacqueline Hurtley addresses the history of Conrad’s receptions in one of these ‘nationalities’, Catalonia. She notes how Conrad’s ‘debut in Barcelona in Spanish’ was enabled ‘thanks to a publishing venture founded and developed by Catalans’, and that Conrad’s fiction was first published in Catalan the previous year: in 1924, following Conrad’s death, a translation of ‘The Lagoon’ in Catalan was published along with a note on the author. Conrad was further promoted during 1925 by a prominent lecture and three articles; his first novel, Almayer’s Folly was published in Catalan in 1929. As Hurtley shows, the Catalan readership for Conrad had been given a taste for the exotic through other work in the journal in which ‘The Lagoon’ was published, and the early critical writing had set Conrad up in terms of adventure, action and exploration. In addition, as she demonstrates, the translator of ‘The Lagoon’ adjusted the translation to make the work fit better with conventional Catholic morality and to present a more positive picture of ‘the white man’. Although the translation of Almayer’s Folly was followed by ‘Typhoon’ in 1930, and Conrad was further promoted by Ramon Esquerra i Clivillés, in a couple of essays in 1932 and through a translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (1936), Conrad did not become a popular writer. The Civil War brought an end to this first phase of translations of Conrad’s works into Catalan, since General Franco’s regime imposed Castilian Spanish as the official language. Translations of Conrad into Catalan would reappear once again only after the death of the dictator in 1975. The establishment of the Spanish Constitution of 1978, and the process of bringing back the Catalan language, was followed by a resurgence in Catalan translations of Conrad’s writings, with new translations of Lord Jim, ‘Heart of Darkness’, Nostromo and other works. In her chapter, Marta Puxan-Oliva revisions the Spanish and Catalan reception of Conrad through three vignettes corresponding to three historical moments and involving three different, culturally significant figures: Conrad’s early editor, Joan Estelrich; a Catalan writer and critic from the 1940s, Josep Pla; and a Spanish writer who flourished in the 1970s and 1980s, Juan Benet. In the first phase, the project to publish a complete works of Conrad in Spanish translation coincided with a period in which Spain sought to renew itself through engagement with a wider European modernity and created its own indigenous avant-garde. In the second phase, Puxan-Oliva focuses on the publication in 1943 of a Spanish translation of The Rover and Pla’s critical engagement with Conrad as a writer of the sea. In the third phase, after the end of the dictatorship, the number of translations of Conrad’s works increased substantially, coinciding with a publishing boom and with cultural regeneration. Here PuxanOliva explores Benet’s focus on the enigmatic and mysterious in relation to the sea. In each phase, Puxan-Oliva explores the attraction of Conrad’s work for individual Catalan and Spanish intellectuals, the dialogue this prompted, and their role as cultural mediators. She also shows how, in each phase, Conrad’s works provided a way of reflecting on a changing Europe. As both Hurtley and Puxan-Oliva observe, the contract that was drawn up between Conrad’s executors and representatives of Montaner y Simón secured the rights to publish Conrad’s complete works in Spanish translation for both Spain and Latin America. In addition, as Puxan-Oliva notes, one of Conrad’s Catalan publishers, Antoni López-Llausàs, was later exiled to Argentina, where he founded the prestigious publishing house Sudamericana. The cultural links between Spain and Hispanophone South America provided a conduit for Conrad’s impact on South American literature and culture. As Evelyn Fishburn shows, incontrovertible evidence of this impact is provided by two works by the Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges: 10

Introduction

the 1943 poem ‘Manuscript Found in a Book of Joseph Conrad’ and the 1970 short story ‘Guayaquil’. The latter begins with an allusion to the geography of Costaguana, the fictional country of Nostromo (‘Now I shall never see the peaks of Higuerota mirrored in the waters of the Golfo Placido’) and a direct reference to what the narrator calls that country’s ‘most famous historiographer, Capt. Jozef Korzeniowski’ (Borges 1999, 390). Daphna Erdinast-Vulcan has similarly traced the metafictional mixture of history and fiction in Borges’s story and in the more recent explicit South American response to Conrad, The Secret History of Costaguana, by the Colombian novelist Juan Gabriel Vásquez (Erdinast Vulcan 2019). In her chapter in the present volume, María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia mentions the rewritings of Conrad’s work by Borges; the publication of translations of most of Conrad’s works in Buenos Aires by the publisher Emecé from 1946 under guidance from Borges; and Borges’s role as a key figure in the reception of Conrad in South America. As she observes, the texts published by Emecé for the Latin American market were the Spanish translations originally made for Montaner i Simón. Lorenzo-Modia’s essay serves as the introduction to the interview with Mario Vargas Llosa which follows. Accordingly, her interest in the transnational flow of books and ideas focuses on Vargas Llosa’s reading of Conrad and responses to him. Vargas Llosa himself, who was born in Peru, but has lived mainly in Madrid since the 1990s, exemplifies this transnational cultural exchange. In the interview, he discusses his debts to Conrad, Conrad’s response to the inhuman exploitation of the people of the Congo and his depiction of the historical violence of Latin America in Nostromo. In Bulgaria, much work has been done on the reception of Conrad by Professors Asparuh Asparuhov, Margreta Grigorova and Petya Tsoneva Ivanova. As Asparuhov and Grigorova remind us, Bulgaria came into Conrad’s consciousness at the time of the First Balkan War, when Conrad feared that the Bulgarian army might take the Ottoman capital and wrote an open letter to the editor of The Times (‘The Future of Constantinople’), published on 7 November 1912, proposing that Constantinople be granted the status of an independent citystate (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 47). In May 1878, about two months after the signing of the Treaty of San Stefano, which set up an autonomous Bulgarian principality, Conrad had been obliged to stop off in Constantinople because of his status as a Russian subject, while the Mavis continued on into the Sea of Azov. When the Mavis returned, he rejoined the ship and made his first voyage to England. In their pioneering essay on Conrad’s Bulgarian reception (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013), Asparuhov and Grigorova traced the Bulgarian reception of Conrad from the four brief articles on his work that appeared in the Bulgarian press between 1926 and 1930 (including the newspaper notice of his death published in 1927) up to the present day. They noted the period of growing interest in Conrad’s work in the 1920s and 1930s; a period of neglect during the 1940s and 1950s due to Conrad’s anti-Russian attitudes; and a resurgence of interest during the 1960s and 1970s, which resulted in a five-volume edition of his works (1985–6). They detail the first published translation – Rusi Rusev’s translation of ‘Typhoon’ in 1928 – and the publication of The Arrow of Gold later that same year; the serialization of ‘Youth’ and ‘The Sinking of the Tremolino’ in the magazine Morski Sgovor (Marine Conversation) in 1929 and 1933; ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ in 1937; ‘Karain’ in 1938; and The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and ‘The Return’ in 1939. As the titles suggest, the focus (as often elsewhere) was on Conrad as a writer of the sea, and, as Grigorova and Tsoneva Ivanova observe in their chapter in the present volume, Conrad’s reception was ‘intricately linked with the development of 11

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Bulgarian maritime literature, which is itself conditioned by the shifting political and economic role of the sea’. Subsequently, when Bulgaria came into the Soviet sphere of influence after the Second World War, Conrad was regarded as ‘a spokesman for the individualist modernist intelligentsia’ (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 51). As a result, apart from a notice of the twentieth anniversary of his death in 1944 and a translation of ‘Youth’ in 1948, there was silence for the next twenty years. Renewed interest in Conrad began in the 1960s, following the ‘thaw’ initiated by Khrushchev in the Soviet Union, with translations of ‘Typhoon’, ‘The Secret Sharer’ and ‘Falk’ (1966); Lord Jim (1968); Nostromo, ‘Youth’, The Shadow-Line and ‘Heart of Darkness’ (1971); and another translation of The Shadow Line, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ and four short stories in 1981. The five-volume edition of Conrad’s works, published in 1985–6, included a number of these old translations as well as new translations (Almayer’s Folly, An Outpost of Progress, ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘The End of the Tether’, as well as an excerpt from The Mirror of the Sea). However, as Asparuhov and Grigorova note, this still left a number of significant works – including Chance, The Secret Agent, Under Western Eyes and Victory – without Bulgarian translations to the present day (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 53). Asparuhov and Grigorova also trace the critical reception of Conrad from the pioneering articles of Petar Dinekov in 1934 and 1939 up to the present. Dinekov had been a student in Warsaw (1934–5) and Cracow (1935), and he brought back with him to Bulgaria the renewed interest in Conrad in Poland. His first article was a translation of Tadeusz Boy-Zelinski’s article, ‘Conrad’s Soul’ (‘Dusza Conrada’), while in his second article, a review of Rusey’s translation of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, he drew on the work of his Warsaw teacher, Józef Ujejski (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 54, 56). While discussing Conrad as a writer of the sea, Dinekov also addressed the recurrent question ‘To whose literature does Conrad belong?’, which was hotly discussed in Poland at the time (and later). In their contribution to the present volume, Grigorova and Tsoneva Ivanova focus on Valeriya Valcheva’s theatrical adaptation of ‘Heart of Darkness’ as part of the 2017 ‘Year of Joseph Conrad’ promoted worldwide by Poland to celebrate the 160th anniversary of Conrad’s birth. The chapter again shows Conrad’s part in a transnational cultural dialogue, while, at the same time, displaying ‘Conrad’s recurrent relocation in modern and contemporary Bulgarian art’. As they show, this recent ‘return’ of ‘Heart of Darkness’ is also ‘further situated within the context of the critical research into Conrad’s Bulgarian reception’, with which their research group has been involved. This research project has itself been developed in transnational dialogue and collaboration with Polish researchers. The reception of Conrad in Czechoslovakia began during his lifetime with the publication of two volumes of three short stories derived from Tales of Unrest: the first, in 1912, consisted of ‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ and ‘The Idiots’; the second, in 1917, by a different translator, substituted ‘Karain’ for ‘The Idiots’. This was followed by Almayer’s Folly (1919), Under Western Eyes (1919), ‘The End of the Tether’ (1920) and stories from ’Twixt Land and Sea (1921) and from A Set of Six (1921). As Zdeněk Beran observes in his chapter in this volume, the history of Conrad’s reception in Czechoslovakia is one of repeated recontextualizations. Thus, Conrad’s first appearance was from a publisher who published authors approved by the critics of the magazine Moderní revue, writers who were in some way or other connected with Romanticism, aestheticism and decadence, while his second collection of short stories was explicitly linked to Kipling and Jack London and the world of adventure. (This presumably 12

Introduction

explains the replacement of ‘The Idiots’ by ‘Karain’ in the second selection.) This raised the question whether Conrad was to be regarded as an artist or a storyteller, and, as Beran shows, the early translations inclined to the latter view. The turning point in Conrad’s Czech reception began with the publication of a translation of Victory in 1929. Most of his work was translated during the 1930s, and a Collected Edition was started – to be halted by the Nazi occupation of the Czech Lands in 1939. By 1934, Conrad had been accepted as a classic writer on a par with Thomas Mann, Dostoevsky and Maxim Gorky. Melantrich, who published many of these translations and started the Collected Edition, also produced a magazine, Listy pro umění a kritiku, which published the first critical essay on Conrad (on Lord Jim and The Rescue) in 1936. However, as in Bulgaria, there was then a twenty-year gap before Conrad’s work was taken up again – the period covered by the Nazi occupation, the Communist coup in 1948, through to the year of the 20th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party in 1956. Subsequently, between 1957 and 1984, no fewer than fifteen titles were published and, during these years, the academic reception of Conrad began to emerge. As Beran points out, Conrad’s apparent acceptance as one of the greatest modern writers in this period was accompanied by two publishing trends that worked to reduce his stature – ‘first to an author of juvenile fiction and second to a writer of exotic stories’. In addition, during the Communist period, as Beran shows, Conrad was a difficult author for critics to deal with. In the decade after the formation of the Czech Republic in 1993, Conrad fell into decline again with almost no new translations, and it is only since 2009 that there has been a recovery with the publication of new translations of his ‘anarchist’ novels, The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes, and some of his non-fiction. This has been accompanied by a renewed critical engagement on the part of academics, producing various contextualizations for Conrad’s works in relation to anthropology, Czech poetry, American literature and Polish literature. As with the contemporary Bulgarian academic reception of Conrad, there are strong Czech links to the burgeoning field of Polish academic criticism. Ebbe Klitgård begins his chapter on the Danish reception of Conrad by noting how Conrad’s reception in Denmark was connected with his reception in the two other Scandinavian countries, Norway and Sweden. In the case of Norway, almost all the early translations were published for both the Danish and the Norwegian market. In Sweden’s case, the Danish translations of two critical works – Olof Lagercrantz’s Färd med Mörkrets hjärta (Voyage with Heart of Darkness) from 1987, and Sven Lindqvist’s Utrota varenda jävel (Exterminate all the brutes) from 1992 – have been very influential on later Danish criticism. Conrad’s works appeared in Denmark as early as 1897 in the form of an abridged version of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ for an elite audience. A full translation of Tales of Unrest appeared twice in Conrad’s lifetime (in 1904 and 1920), and Almayer’s Folly and Lord Jim appeared in 1916. These were followed by translations of eighteen more Conrad texts before 1931, designed officially for both the Danish and Norwegian market. The critical reception of Conrad in Denmark began with the 1924 obituary and an article of the following year, which both focused on ‘Typhoon’ and Lord Jim. This article, as was often the case elsewhere, compared Conrad to Kipling and Stevenson. However, there were no more new translations until the 1950s, and nothing substantial was written on Conrad either. The context for this lack of translations was the adoption of English as a second language and the increasing tendency to read English literature in the original language. There were some translations of Conrad’s sea-narratives in anthologies during the 1950s, and also two new translations of ‘Heart of Darkness’. In the 1960s there was 13

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

the first translation of Nostromo and new translations of Lord Jim and ‘Typhoon’, although the latter was aimed at a younger audience. In the 1960s, Conrad also began to feature in university curricula and became the subject of increasing numbers of masters’ theses. With three more translations of ‘Heart of Darkness’ (1986, 1995, 1997) and the popularity of Apocalpyse Now, that novella became the most widely read and discussed of Conrad’s works. However, there have been no new Conrad translations since then – probably because Conrad is increasingly read and studied in English – but there have been two major studies (2006, 2010), written in Danish, which sought to provide an historical context for ‘Heart of Darkness’, and Conrad remains a familiar point of cultural reference. In Greece, by contrast. as Nic Panagopoulos shows, Conrad is a fairly recent arrival and relatively unknown. The first translations (’Typhoon’ and ‘Falk’) appeared as late as 1951. However, since 1978, new translations of Conrad’s works have appeared at the rate of one per year. Panagopoulos’s chapter focuses particularly on the Greek sensitivity to Conrad’s anticolonial message and the recent interest in Conrad’s work in performance. As in other countries, Apocalypse Now gave a fillip to interest in Conrad – with ‘Heart of Darkness’ as the main beneficiary. There have been some striking and imaginative stage adaptations, as in Bulgaria and Poland, and Panagopoulos also draws attention to other forms of reception through transmediation via illustrations and graphic novels, as well as through electronic media and blogs. He addresses the accompanying issues around translation and misrepresentation, and he also observes how Conrad has been appropriated for the Greek struggle for independence and resistance to oppression. While he is not widely read in Greece, Conrad has gained increasing prestige as a transnational writer, whose work has relevance to recent and contemporary Greek history. In Hungary, too, Conrad’s work is not widely known. Balàzs Csizmadia outlines the history of Conrad’s reception from the first translations in 1925 (Almayer’s Folly and The Arrow of Gold). These were the start of a projected complete edition, but only one more volume appeared. Other translations followed from other publishers, but after this burst of posthumous interest, there were no more translations between 1929 and 1945. As in other countries, reviewers tended to relate Conrad to Kipling and Jack London, and, as Csizmadia suggests, Conrad struggled to escape from being seen as a writer of adventure stories. Three critics, writing towards the end of this period, saw Conrad as a great stylist and as one of the truly great modern writers, comparable with Dostoevsky. However, during the postwar Communist regime, in Hungary as elsewhere in Eastern Europe, Conrad’s work was largely forgotten, presumably because of his anti-Russian outlook, the presence of ‘anarchist’ characters in The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes, and his failure to represent the revolutionary role of the working class. As Csizmadia shows, an increased openness to Western culture in Hungary during the early 1960s led to the translation of a number of key canonical Conradian texts, the publication of a number of critical articles on Conrad’s works, and some engagement with Anglo-American scholarship and criticism. In the 1970s, along with more translations, there was also an increase in scholarly attention to Conrad’s works and the publication of the only book-length study of Conrad in Hungarian. The 1990s saw the beginning of another period of enhanced critical attention to Conrad (with particular interest in Conradian narrative). However, as Csizmadia insists, Hungarian interest in Conrad remains slight – perhaps because of poor-quality translations, perhaps because he has still not escaped from the category of juvenile literature. 14

Introduction

The Irish Free State was created in 1922. As Richard Niland reminds us in his chapter in this volume, the political background of Irish nationalist activities in late nineteenth-century Britain were part of the background for The Secret Agent, and the London-based Irish critic Robert Lynd played an important part in Conrad’s British reception and had an impact on Conrad’s writing. However, the focus of Niland’s chapter is the neglected topic of the Irish reception of Conrad’s work both during his lifetime and after his death. He notes how, in the post-independence period, the novelists Liam O’Flaherty and Seán O’Faoláin anticipated Achebe in their initial attraction by and then resistance to Conrad’s writing, and how Flann O’Brien’s comic reshaping of Conrad is also part of independent Ireland’s finding its identity. As part of the same process, translations of Conrad were used during the 1930s to promote the spread of the Irish language. As the accounts of Conrad’s reception in Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia and Hungary might suggest, Conrad has had a difficult time in Russia. Surprisingly, he is mentioned in the Russian press as early as 1896, and several translations of his works were published in Czarist Russia between 1898 and 1914. After the Revolution, Maxim Gorky was promoting Conrad and managed to publish Almayer’s Folly in 1923. As Ludmilla Voitkovska notes, Conrad’s work was held in high regard by Russian writers, but his official recognition and his acceptance by the Russian reading public has always been more precarious. Conrad’s known attitude towards Russia, Russia’s attitude towards Poland, and Conrad’s unsettling situation as a Pole living in England all played their part in this reception history. In addition, as in a number of other countries, he was seen as a writer of sea stories and exotic tales; he was accordingly presented as a children’s writer only for children to find the work less interesting and adventurous than Stevenson’s. As Voitkovska observes, the history of canon formation in Soviet Russia (as in East Germany) was a history of state censorship. She accordingly divides her account of Conrad’s reception into five periods: the New Economic Policy (1921–8), the Stalin years (1928–53), the Khrushchev period (‘the thaw’), perestroika and the twenty-first century. During the Stalinist period, for example, when censorship became stricter, Conrad was presented as a decadent writer devoid of redeeming social value. However, although his political novels were banned, his sea stories continued to be published. During ‘the thaw’, numerous works by Conrad were published. Nevertheless, despite a highly literate public with an appetite for foreign books in translation, Conrad’s works did not find a readership (unlike Joyce and Lawrence); he did not find his way onto university curricula; and there is, to this day, minimal critical literature on him. Slovenia became an independent state in 1991. Majda Šavle’s chapter on Conrad in Slovenia begins with his early reception in Slovenian: a review of Youth in 1902, a translation of ‘The Lagoon’ and a short article on Conrad in 1927, a translation of an extract from A Personal Record in 1928 and ‘The Shadow-Line’ in 1928. As Šavle notes, the reception of Conrad in Slovenia was shaped by Slovenian attitudes towards translation, which shifted from an isolationist rejection of translation at the start of the twentieth century to the growing prestige of works in translation. In the period between the world wars, publishers made available a small number of Conrad’s short stories and novellas; after the Second World War, most of Conrad’s canonical texts were published in Slovenian. Šavle contextualizes this account of Conrad’s Slovenian reception by addressing his reception in the former Yugoslavia with its three official languages: beginning with an extract from Nostromo in Serbian in 1923 and a translation of The Rover into Croatian (1924–5), she traces this reception through to the 15

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

numerous translations and reprints from the 1960s to the 1980s. Before the Second World War, Conrad was not well known in Yugoslavia, and Šavle rightly credits the distinguished Croatian literary critic Ivo Vidan (1927–2003) with bringing Conrad to a wider audience in the postwar period. After each of the constituent states gained independence, there have been numerous translations of Conrad’s works in Slovenian, Croatian, Serbian and Macedonian, but attention has come to focus largely on Heart of Darkness. In Sweden, as in Germany and the former Yugoslavia, the story of Conrad’s reception involves shifting European borders and the shifting relations between linguistic communities and national identities. As Claes Lindskog notes, the Finnish ruling class was largely Swedish-speaking at the turn of the century, and the 1898 Swedish translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ was also published in Helsinki. Conrad was then taken up in Helsinki by a group of young intellectuals, many of whom were connected with the university. Since the academic engagement with Conrad in Sweden is largely part of the international discussion of his work, Lindskog focuses on Conrad’s position in Swedish public consciousness as revealed in newspapers and essays for the general public. He shows how the early reviews used Conrad (who was assumed to be English and a disciple of Kipling) to legitimize colonialism; then, in the 1920s, his reputation suffered a decline, and he was viewed as a writer in the adventure tradition; after the Second World War there was renewed interest in Conrad. During the period of decolonization, this interest focused, in particular, on ‘Heart of Darkness’: Conrad was now seen as a critic of colonialism, and he became the catalyst for the introduction of post-colonial theory into Swedish universities. In a footnote to Lindskog’s chapter, Johan Warodell looks at five academic papers written in Swedish, showing how they draw on international Anglophone Conrad criticism while remaining on the margins of that discourse. Instead, they engage each other as part of an independent discussion of Conrad’s works or draw on comparisons between Conrad and Swedish novelists in what might be seen as a provincialism, but might also open new fields for research. It is appropriate that this Introduction should end, as it began, with Ukraine. As Ludmilla Voitkovska states at the start of her chapter, for Ukrainian readers Conrad has always been a compatriot, and the cultural and linguistic closeness of Poles and Ukrainians has always been a significant factor in his Ukrainian reception. The other factor is Ukrainian history: like other countries already mentioned, Ukraine gained its independence in 1991; before that, Conrad’s reception was shaped by Soviet policies. As Dmytro Kozak argues in his chapter, there are two important moments in Conrad’s Ukrainian reception: the first in the 1920s, the second after 1991. Between 1923 and 1932, the Soviet policy of Ukrainization encouraged the publication of Ukrainian translations. After the obituaries for Conrad in 1924, a collection of his short stories (‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ and ‘Tomorrow’) was brought out in 1926. The accompanying foreword provided the thematic frame for subsequent critical responses and the translations that appeared over the next few years: Conrad was seen as an anti-colonial fiction writer and a writer of the sea. During the Stalinist period, Conrad’s fiction was mainly available in Russian translations as part of the Soviet Russification policy. A few new translations in Ukrainian appeared after the ‘thaw’ initiated by Nikita Khrushchev in the mid-1950s, beginning with a Selected Works in 1959. However, before Ukrainian independence, very little in the way of critical work on Conrad was published. In his chapter for the present volume, Kozak outlines the successive stages of that early critical reception of Conrad’s works. In 1987, just prior to independence, permission was granted by the Soviet authorities for the establishment of a Conrad Museum in Terekhove (near the birthplace). After 1991 there was 16

Introduction

an expansion in Conrad studies, Conrad translations and Conrad’s public recognition in Ukraine. As Voitkovska notes, 2007 was marked by celebrations of the 150th anniversary of Conrad’s birth and the establishment of an annual Joseph Conrad-Korzeniowski Literary Prize; in 2008, a second Conrad museum, the International Museum of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski, was opened in Berdichiv; and, in 2018, in response to the ‘Year of Joseph Conrad’, Tempora brought out a four-volume collected edition under the general editorship of Dmytro Kozak, that was intended to provide an authoritative basis for the future study of Conrad in Ukraine. As Voitkovska observes, this increased attention to Conrad is not just a matter of widening readers’ horizons; his work is also recruited to help Ukrainians embrace the multiculturalism of their new republic and to promote the development of a mature civic society. Since the first translations and reviews of his work in mainland Europe, Conrad has been interpreted in numerous ways: as a romantic writer of exotic tales and adventure novels in the Robert Louis Stevenson mould; as a colonialist disciple of Kipling and as an exemplary anticolonialist; as a writer of the sea and as a subtle psychologist; as a writer for boys and as a great literary artist, a modernist master, a figure in world literature of the stature of Dostoevsky or Thomas Mann. His reception has fluctuated in response to changing political circumstances, but he has regularly been seen, in the course of the twentieth century, as a bearer of cultural values in different circumstances of oppression.

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PART 1 THE RECEPTION OF CONRAD IN POLAND (1896–2021)

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CHAPTER 1 THE RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD IN POLAND 18962021 Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech

Without doubt, Joseph Conrad’s writings have influenced and modified Polish culture. However, the reception of Conrad’s works (and his life) has itself been influenced by cultural conditions in Poland – both historical and political. Hence several phases of his reception can be identified which differ as far as the approach to and interpretation of Conrad’s oeuvre and biography are concerned. These phases correspond to the periods 1896–1921, 1918–39, 1939–45, 1945–56, 1956 to the 1970s, and the 1980s to 2021. The story of Conrad’s presence in Polish culture is of a writer little known at the very beginning, but then widely read and deeply influential (not only on literature but on the nation’s morale) during the Second World War. He then becomes a writer enmeshed in ideological wars in post-Yaltan Poland, and, finally, he has been accepted as a master, but is now more revered than read. To discuss the introduction, translations and interpretations of Conrad’s works in relation to Polish culture, I will employ the methodology of descriptive translation studies as developed by André Lefevere (1945–96). Lefevere argues that anthologization, editing and translation are all forms of rewriting literature and that rewriters (critics, editors, translators) manipulate the originals to make them fit in with the dominant ideological and/or poetological currents of their time (Lefevere 1992, 8). He persuasively shows that the acceptance or rejection, canonization or non-canonization of a given (translated) literary work depends on such factors as power, ideology, institution and manipulation (2).1 These factors, as we shall see in the next sections, played a crucial role in shaping Conrad’s reception in Poland.

The introduction of Conrad onto the Polish literary scene (1896–1918) The first known reference to Conrad in Poland2 can be found surprisingly early on – at the end of 1896 when several critics mentioned a Pole writing in English.3 One of them related some 1

For an in-depth discussion of this methodology and its application to the translations of Conrad, see AdamowiczPośpiech 2018a. 2 These early reports warrant a few introductory comments. Poland ceased to exist on the European geo-political map because of the partitions (in 1772, 1793 and 1795) by Russia, Prussia and Austria; hence, de facto, Conrad’s work was introduced first to the Russian and then, later, to the Austrian parts of Poland. At the time of Conrad’s first translation, because Poland as an independent country did not exist, Polish literature had become a means of upholding the national spirit. Generally, at that time, there were two tendencies in Polish literature: either it referred to and drew on romantic patterns established by the great Polish Romantic poets, Adam Mickiewicz (1798–1855) and Juliusz Słowacki (1809–49), or it attempted to correspond to the latest movements in European literature and culture. Conrad’s work situated itself perfectly in relation to both tendencies: with Lord Jim he could be counted among the vanguard of the modernist movement, while with Prince Roman and A Personal Record he inscribed himself into the Polish romantic patterns (see Zabierowski 1971). 3 ‘Z daleka i z bliska’ (Polak autorem angielskim)’ (From Far and Near (A Pole as an English Author)), Kraj (Homeland) (St Peterburg) 41 (1896) and Przegląd Literacki (Cracow) 11 (1896).

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

spurious information about Conrad’s biography: ‘he contracted fever during one of his voyages [. . .]. Then to regain his health he abandoned the merchant marine. During the riots in Transvaal he lost his capital invested there [. . .]. Now he lives near St. Malo’ and has written two books.4 Obviously almost all these ‘facts’ were incorrect – although Conrad was seriously ill after his time in the Congo, and he did lose his inheritance through an investment in a South African mining company, and he had published two books. In January 1897 the very first translation of Conrad’s work was published, when his second novel, An Outcast of the Islands, was serialized in Warsaw’s Tygodnik Romansów i Powieści (Weekly of Romances and Novels).5 This first Conrad translation – by Maria Gąsiorowska (c.1850–1929) – was produced so quickly (only ten months after the novel’s publication in England) that scholars hypothesized that Conrad might have sent the manuscript himself to his Polish friends to be translated (Dürr 1932, 237). The translation appeared in ten consecutive issues of Tygodnik and was heavily abridged (Piechota 2005, 91). The translation lacked some elements of ‘local colour’ and was supplemented with ‘explanatory insertions’; it avoided nautical expressions as well as ‘phrases possibly offensive to women’; and it also contained a number of misprints (Piechota 2005, 93–5). Generally, it was an inaccurate translation but, on the other hand, bearing in mind the time and the cultural context in which it was produced, it was a pioneering attempt ‘to translate Conrad’s exotic world into Polish in a manner that not only introduced the writer to a Polish readership but also paved the way for further and better translations’ (Piechota 2005, 95). Yet it was not through this first translation that Conrad made a name for himself in Poland but rather by a notorious public debate (during 1899) in which he served as an exemplum. A Polish philosopher and an international authority on Plato, Wincenty Lutosławski (1863– 1954), who visited Conrad in the summer of 1897, wrote an article entitled ‘Emigracja zdolności’ (The Emigration of Talent) in which he advocated the emigration of gifted young people to develop their ‘outstanding abilities’ abroad. He argued that they ‘should follow Konrad Korzeniowski’s example and master the English language [. . .] and write for their living in English instead of Polish’ (Lutosławski in Najder 1983, 179).6 Lutosławski claimed that such emigration would prove beneficial to Poland, but his argument was misunderstood and instigated a storm of protests in the Polish press. The article was printed along with a vehement retort by one of the best journalists of the day, Tadeusz Żuk Skarszewski (1858–1933), who argued that he ‘preferred a public-school teacher in a provincial Polish township to a great man living abroad’ (Gillon 1966, 34). But the worst had yet to come. The most severe counter-attack was launched by a prominent novelist and Polish patriot, Eliza Orzeszkowa (1841–1910), who criticized Lutosławski and indignantly burst out against Conrad: Speaking of books, I must say that this gentleman, who writes popular and very lucrative novels in English, has almost caused me a nervous breakdown. My gorge rises when I

4

‘Z daleka i z bliska’, 41 (1896). My translation. The Polish reception of Conrad’s works and his biography was expertly analyzed by Stefan Zabierowski (Zabierowski 1971, 1974, 1979, 1988, 1992, 2014). While I am drawing substantially on these publications in this chapter, I have analyzed the primary sources independently and provided later and additional material. 6 The article contained grossly misleading information about Conrad’s literary career in Britain. (On Lutosławski’s four different accounts of this visit, see Illg 1982.) 5

22

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

read about him. [. . .] Creative talent forms the very crown of the tree, the pinnacle of the tower, the life-blood of the nation. And to take away that flower, to remove that pinnacle, to drain away that life-blood from the nation in order to pass it on to the Anglo-Saxons (who anyway lie on a bed of roses) just because they pay better . . . It is even hard to think about it without shame. Orzeszkowa in Najder 1983, 188 Orzeszkowa, who had sacrificed her life and considerable literary talents to the service of independent Poland, was particularly sensitive to literature’s status as the voice of a nation which was deprived of its geo-political existence, a voice which functioned ‘as a substitute for and the embodiment of the most precious Polish values’ (Illg 1982, 5). It is certain that she would not have denounced Conrad for abandoning his country, had she known the facts as they were.7 This controversial debate had a double-edged effect: on the one hand, it was harmful to Conrad’s good name; on the other, it attracted the attention of potential Polish readers to an author who wrote in English. From a longer perspective, it was the first instance of Conrad being enmeshed in a Polish ideological debate. It is also worth observing that what was discussed in the press was Conrad’s life not his works. He served as an exemplum in a long-standing debate about whether talented people (artists, writers, scientists) should stay in the partitioned country and risk wasting their talent or should emigrate and make the most of it abroad. According to Lefevere, this type of reception (ideological debate) can be viewed as a case of repression: ‘[Critics, reviewers] will occasionally repress certain works of literature that are all too blatantly opposed to the dominant concept of what literature should be – its poetics – and of what society should be – ideology’ (Lefevere 1992, 14). In the case of Conrad, it was unacceptable for noted Polish writers and journalists at that time to emigrate and write in a foreign language; hence, for extraneous ideological reasons, Conrad’s choice of life was condemned. The next translations carried out in Poland were those of Lord Jim (1904) by Emilia Węsławska (1863–1921), The Secret Agent (1908) by Maria Gąsiorowska and Under Western Eyes (1917) by Halina Pajzderska (1862–1927). Of these three, by far the best reviews were received by the translation of Lord Jim. Maria Komornicka (1874–1949), a literary critic and poet, enthusiastically reviewed the novel, calling it ‘a delight’, ‘a book of unusual content and artistry’ (Komornicka in Najder 1983, 192). She praised the narrative method and, recognizing its modernist features, called Conrad: a strategist of impressions, a conscious manipulator of words, a Machiavelli constantly considerate of [the readers’] point of view [. . .]; he is the artful and refined Amphitron of an intellectual feast who enjoys an apparent, but scrupulously composed, disorder, a

7

First and foremost, Conrad’s initial decision to write in English was not motivated by financial considerations; secondly, at the time of this debate, he was struggling against poverty. Conrad must have read these articles (Najder 1983, xix) or heard about the debate since, in 1914 during his visit to Poland, when his cousin Aniela Zagórska recommended that he should read some novels by Orzeszkowa, he retorted, ‘Don’t you dare! [. . .] I don’t want anything of hers [. . .], you don’t know what a letter she once wrote to me’ (Zagórska in Najder 1983, 214).

23

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

magician able to dazzle the spectator by speedy revolutions of one and the same constantly changing mass of phenomena, a master of the pointed phrase’. Komornicka in Najder 1983: 193 At this stage of his reception, Conrad was first and foremost perceived as a distinguished master of the art of words, a writer who could portray the infinite element of the sea, ‘who knew how to create atmosphere superbly, and who made use of symbols in an extremely subtle manner’ (Zabierowski 1974, 198). The second area of interest was his biography. This interest was strengthened and pushed to the fore in the next phase of reception (1918–39) after his interview by Marian Dąbrowski. As a result of this wider knowledge of his life, critics started to interpret his works through his personal experience. The first to do this was Wiktor Gomulicki (1851–1919) in his review of Lord Jim, who suggested that Conrad’s own drama of abandoning his mother country and entering the service of foreign literature could be detected in this novel: I was on the point of closing Conrad’s book, saying to myself quite dispiritedly: ‘No, this writer did not break away from Poland – he was never part of her.’ But suddenly some voice inside me seemed to call out: “And perhaps all this is just symbolic?” That ship doomed to sink . . . and particularly that basically noble-minded young man . . . that szlachcic who had found prosperity, love and trust in a foreign land and yet looked for ultimate relief in voluntary death. Is it possible that the hidden meaning of it all is only such as it appears to English readers?’ Gomulicki in Najder 1983, 196 Conrad visited Poland towards the end of this first phase of his reception. He arrived in Cracow on 28 July 1914, the day the First World War broke out (Zabierowski 1984, 2012; AdamowiczPośpiech 2015). He spent several nights at the Grand Hotel in Sławkowska Street; he visited (with his son) the Wawel Royal Castle, Rakowice Cemetery (where his father is buried) and the Jagiellonian Library (Najder 2007, 461; Krajka and Sokołowska 1993). After general mobilization was officially declared, he moved with his family to Zakopane where he stayed in Aniela Zagórska’s small private hotel,‘Konstantynówka’. Here he met various Polish writers, intellectuals and artists. He left Poland, with considerable difficulty, in October (Najder 2007, 467). During this visit to Poland, Conrad gave an interview to a Polish journalist Marian Dąbrowski (1882–1925) (‘Rozmowa z J. Conradem’, An Interview with J. Conrad, 1917). In this interview, Conrad emphasized the Polishness of his writings and revealed his emotional attachment to the great works of the Polish Romantic poets (Dąbrowski in Najder 1983, 197). This confession affected his reception and interpretation in Poland for the next two decades. In Polish Romanticism the personal life of the artist was viewed as an integral part of the critical evaluation of his output. Because Conrad was initially considered a Polish novelist with a Polish Romantic provenance, his biography and works were discussed jointly by such luminaries of Polish literary criticism as Józef Ujejski (1883–1937), Wacław Borowy (1890– 1950), Julian Krzyżanowski (1892–1972) and Juliusz Kleiner (1886–1957). In addition, some of the leading Polish novelists – Stefan Żeromski (1864–1925), Maria Dąbrowska (1889–1965) and Jan Parandowski (1895–1978) – discussed Conrad’s work in relation to his life (Gillon 24

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

1976, 207). They concentrated on certain turning points in Conrad’s biography: his decision to leave Poland, his decision to write in a foreign language and his attempts to return to Poland.

Conrad in the interwar period (1918–1939) A new chapter in Conrad’s reception opened when Poland regained independence in 1918 after 123 years of partition. The interest in Conrad, at this point, was twofold: firstly, there were critics who wanted to shed light on those established turning-points in Conrad’s biography (his decision to leave Poland, his writing in a foreign language and his attempts to return to Poland); secondly, there were some Polish critics who wanted to trace Conrad’s affinities with Polish literature (Gillon 1974; Gillon 1976, 207). The first group pondered over Conrad’s biography and adopted two divergent approaches. One faction defended Conrad and enumerated the reasons why he was motivated to leave his home country. For example, Karol W. Zawodziński (1880–1949) claimed that Conrad’s departure from Poland was proof of his ‘excessive’ patriotism (Zawodziński 1927). Rafał Marceli Blüth (1891–1939) took a different line: that Conrad’s emigration was an act of psychic ‘self-defence’ (Blüth 1936), ‘a conscious break with the whole gnawing heritage of his father, with the world of national struggles and tragedies’ (Gillon 1974, 10), but, strangely enough, it was Polish society itself which bore the responsibility for his abandoning of Cracow (Blüth 1928, 1936).8 The other faction denounced him for being ‘a traitor and charged him with desertion’.9 Gillon argues that Conrad ‘knew the stigma with which he had been branded by his contemporaries for having expatriated himself ’ (Gillon 1966, 37). Zawodziński was the first to introduce the argument that the cause of Conrad’s leaving Poland was his love for his homeland. According to this argument, Poland’s bondage was too great an offence for Conrad to bear. A great number of other critics concerned themselves with the questions of why Conrad had left his country and why he did not return to it (Miller 1924; Witr 1924; Kołaczkowski 1927). Zabierowski suggests that such charges of desertion were understandable in a country which had just regained independence after so many years of bondage (Zabierowski 1974, 200). However, there was yet another group of critics and writers who undertook, albeit timidly, another interpretative route that focused on Conrad’s links with Polish literature. Some of these sought to place him in relation to contemporary Polish literature. An important figure here was Stefan Żeromski. Żeromski was a leading promoter of Conrad’s works and he shaped the interpretative paths for the interwar period: his emphases were biographical and maritime. When Poland gained access to the sea in 1918, Żeromski determined that sea literature was badly needed: he thought that Poland should have its own sea literature and that Polish writers could follow in Conrad’s footsteps since his works were the paragon of that type of fiction (Żeromski 1923; Zabierowski 1974, 209). Żeromski declared, ‘The naval academy in Tczew has been opened and the Polish navy is slowly developing. [. . .] Polish trainee mariners, naval officers

8 The atmosphere in Cracow at that time was marked by the ideological conflict between the followers of the rebel tradition embraced by Conrad’s family and the historical propaganda of the Stańczyk school which heavily criticized the 1863 January Uprising. For an in-depth contextual and historical discussion of this conflict see Bross 1996. See also Krajka 2004. 9 Allegedly, Stefan Żeromski called Conrad ‘that traitor’ in a private conversation with the eminent Polish poet Jan Lechoń (1899–1956) (qtd in A. Gillon 1966, 37).

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

on ships and all the youth need sea literature. Which is the best? There it is: the writings of Joseph Conrad’ (Żeromski 1923, xxii). Żeromski’s emphasis on the maritime features of Conrad’s writings meant that the initial popular impact of Conrad’s work was as a Polish Jack London. To use Lefevere’s term,10 Stefan Żeromski was an effective patron of Conrad’s writings in the interwar period. He supervised the translations of Conrad’s works (selecting the works to be translated and the translators); he wrote the forewords to these editions; and he propounded the ‘right’ interpretations of Conrad’s fiction in articles and essays in literary journals. His role in popularizing Conrad cannot be overestimated since he enjoyed an elevated status in Polish society at that time and his opinions were highly regarded by his countrymen. Another faction of this second group of critics attended to different aspects of Conrad’s fiction, and they gained prominence with time. These placed him within the context of Polish Romantic literature and the wider context of world literature. As noted above, Maria Dąbrowska was among the first to signal Conrad’s links with Polish Romantic literature: ‘[his] works show a kinship with Polish literature which derives from the fact of his belonging to the same nation and from a hereditary absorption of its attributes. This spiritual kinship exists particularly in relation to the literature of the great Polish Romantics’ (Dąbrowska 1925 in Zabierowski 1974, 202). She was followed by such critics as Konrad Górski (1895–1990), Witold Chwalewik (1900–85), Stefan Kołaczkowski (1887–1940) and Józef Ujejski, who devoted ever more space in their articles and scholarly monographs to the ‘exploration of links and parallels between Conrad’s writings and the work of the great Romantics’ (Zabierowski 1974, 202). Another interpretative route explored also by Dąbrowska and further developed by Stefan Kołaczkowski, Stefan Napierski (1899–1940) and Rafał M. Blüth was attentive to the moral and philosophical content of Conrad’s works. It was only with the work of this group that Conrad ‘gained recognition as a moralist of uncommon calibre’ in the eyes of Polish critics (Zabierowski 1974, 203). They traced in his works ideas parallel to those which permeated the writings of Henri Bergson (1859–1941), Edward Abramowski (1868–1918) and Stanisław Brzozowski (1878– 1911) (Chwalewik 1927 qtd in Zabierowski 1974, 203). They appreciated in Conrad’s fiction ‘heroism (especially the heroism of work), voluntarism, irrationalism, intuitionism, and a sense of the mystery of human existence’ (Zabierowski 1974, 203). This interwar period is also marked by serious and coordinated translation projects including two editions of selected/collected works supervised by Żeromski. In 1922, the renowned publishing house Ignis started publishing an edition of Conrad’s Selected Works (Pisma wybrane). The volumes were translated by a group of eminent Polish writers and poets (mainly representatives of the Young Poland movement)11 such as Jan Lemański (1866–1933), Wilam Horzyca (1889–1959) and Leon Piwiński (1889–1942). The number of copies issued was large for the time, reaching as many as 5,000 to 7,000 copies. The more interesting volumes were frequently reprinted (Zabierowski 1974, 201). The first volume, Almayer’s Folly (Fantazja Almayera – literally, Almayer’s Phantasy) was skilfully translated by Conrad’s cousin Aniela

10

Patronage means ‘something like the powers (persons, institutions) that can further or hinder the reading, writing, and rewriting of literature’ (Lefevere 1992, 15). 11 Young Poland – a modernist movement in Polish visual arts, literature and music. It flourished during the years 1890–1918. Generally, it was a rejection of the positivism which had dominated since the suppression of the 1863 Uprising. Young Poland advocated European trends of decadence, neo-romanticism, symbolism, impressionism and art nouveau.

26

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

Zagórska (1881–1943). It had an enthusiastic preface by Stefan Żeromski which ardently advocated the need to translate Conrad into Polish and ‘bring his spirit’ into Polish literature at this time of ‘the regaining of the independence of our country’ (Żeromski 1923, xxxiii). However, this edition was never completed. Only four of the projected eighteen volumes appeared. Subsequently, Żeromski arranged for a complete edition of Conrad’s writings – Pisma zbiorowe (Collected Works) – to be published by the distinguished publishing house Dom Książki Polskiej (Polish Book House). This edition was initiated in 1928 and completed in 1939. Once again a group of well-known writers and translators (Stanisław Wyrzykowski, 1869–1949; Jerzy Bohdan Rychliński, 1892–1974; and Jadwiga Sienkiewiczówna, 1883–1943) were engaged in the translations, but precedence must be given to Aniela Zagórska, who translated more than eight volumes in the planned twenty-four-volume edition of Conrad’s works.12 All of the translators adopted the style of Young Poland: a high literary style with neologisms and abstract nouns (Najder 1975; Kujawska-Lis 2011; Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2013a). After 1932 there was a change in Conrad’s overall reception – in the 1930s, he was regarded as rather anachronistic: ‘He was charged with decadence, with smacking too much of the Young Poland style, with being a mere “visionary” ’ (Gillon 1974, 18). To give one example, Ludwik Fryde wrote, ‘Let’s take a close look at Conrad’s vision of the world. First of all we are struck by illogicality, senselessness [. . .] Conrad’s visions are usually fleeting moments, snapshots’ (Fryde qtd in Gillon 1974, 18; emphasis in the original). In the same period Conrad was also once again attacked in the Polish press on ideological grounds. This time, some Polish periodicals reprinted Upton Sinclair’s derogatory interpretation of Conrad as a writer who had sold out to capitalist interests, notably to shipping companies. Both the leftist journals (e.g., Sygnały (Signals), 1936) and the extreme rightist ones (e.g., Merkuriusz Polski Ordynaryjny (Polish Common Messenger), 1933) translated the chapter ‘Stealthy Nemesis’ from Sinclair’s Mammonart that denounced Conrad and used it to discredit Conrad’s writings in Poland. An anonymous journalist, responding to Sinclair’s attack, concluded, ‘Analyzing his short stories and novels in the light of economics, we find the stealthy Nemesis revealed as organized greed exploiting unorganized ignorance’ (qtd in Zabierowski 1974, 206). One of Conrad’s major antagonists in this period was the notable Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz (1904–69), who rightly sensed the decline of interest in Conrad’s fiction in the 1930s. He argued that Conrad ‘is not much liked in Poland’, which he explained with the observation that ‘our English compatriot is one of the most alien authors translated into our language’ (Gombrowicz 1935 in Najder 1983, 274). Gombrowicz perceived Conrad as a conceited man unable to express his thoughts in a simple, unstilted manner. Commenting on The Mirror of the Sea, Gombrowicz wrote: Conrad transmutes everything into greatness, grandiloquence, cosmos. [. . .] Is there anything more personal, human and petty than reminiscence? [. . .] In the Mirror of the Sea we expect to hear a more homely and warmer tune but no. The statue of a man upon the statue of the world speaks about himself in the same language he uses when speaking about his heroes [. . .]. Gombrowicz 1935 in Najder 1983, 275

12

This edition, also unfinished, included all the novels except Chance, The Arrow of Gold, Suspense and The Sisters.

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Gombrowicz continues that ‘Conrad does not speak about himself not because he does not want to, but because he cannot’. The memoir, according to Gombrowicz, ‘radiates not freedom but [. . .] a tragically enslaved spirit unable to shake off the fetters of its own style [. . .] a style which allows only a fraction of truth. [. . .] These gorgeously rich pages breathe poverty’ (Gombrowicz in Najder 1983, 276). Conrad’s writings no longer fitted in with Polish literature in the 1930s: at the one extreme, this moved towards reportage and a ‘literature of fact’ and, at the other, it promoted the fusion of realistic and fantastic elements (Zabierowski 1974, 205).13 Gombrowicz pointedly gave voice to this incompatibility. Towards the end of the 1930s an important study was published by Józef Ujejski – O Konradzie Korzeniowskim (On Konrad Korzeniowski) (1936) – which proved extremely influential over the next decade. In this monumentalizing book, Ujejski discussed Conrad’s biography and works within broad cultural and historical perspectives – for example, ‘Conrad and Poland’, ‘Conrad and the world’, ‘Conrad and art’. Ujejski presented him as no less than another Romantic poetprophet (wieszcz). However, there was also a group of critics who opposed the attempt to knit Conrad into this Romantic and symbolic Polish cultural texture. Konstanty Troczyński (1906– 42), Ludwik Fryde (1912–42) and Bolesław Miciński (1911–43) emphasized, instead, the ethical aspect of his works. Troczyński claimed that,‘It is almost obvious that the deciding factor shaping the structure of the plot in Conrad’s novels is the sphere of ethics. In Conrad the stress falls on the issue of retaining the possibility of the ethics of honour in the face of reality and fate, which gives birth to pathos and heroic patriotism’ (Troczyński 1933). Still one more turn in Conrad’s reception can be observed towards the end of the 1930s when the spectre of fascism started to haunt Europe. Conrad was now rediscovered not just as an ethical writer but as a moral guide proclaiming an heroic ethic and emphasizing the dignity of the individual. Supporters of various outlooks feared the menace of Nazi imperialism with its ubiquitous contempt for human life. They joined together to defend humanism and culture, and ‘in Conrad’s works they found a motivation for their resistance to both moral and cultural Fascist nihilism’ (Zabierowski 1974, 206). This approach to Conrad flourished during the years of the German occupation of Poland (1939–45).

1939–1945: Conrad – a moral compass A novel phase of Conrad’s reception began after the outbreak of the Second World War, when he became one of the most popular authors of the day. During Hitler’s occupation of Poland, Conrad’s works were widely read, although they were banned by the Nazis. They appealed to Poles because their daily existence was often as dramatic and fraught with moral choices as that of Conrad’s heroes. In Gillon’s view, ‘men and women had to make their either-or kind of decision, and even when decisions were made in terms of a profound moral conviction, they caused the conditions of isolation and the feelings of guilt’ (Gillon 1976, 214). The morality that Conrad was perceived to promote (of self-reliance, dignity and integrity under pressure) was very attractive to the educated young generation born after 1918 (the so-called

13

The Polish term for this movement was ‘Kreacionizm’. The leading Polish exponent was Bruno Schultz; in world literature, the term would include the work of Franz Kafka.

28

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

‘Class of 1920’). His fiction appeared to them as more than literature: it was read with the special kind of reverence, reserved for books ‘revealing the true nature of surrounding reality’ (Gillon 1976, 214). In those war-torn years the interpretative emphasis fell on the concept of honour, fidelity to a lost cause, righteousness, loyalty and perseverance. It should come as no surprise, then, that Conrad became the ethical mentor of the Home Army soldiers. ‘For us,’ wrote Jan Józef Szczepański (1919–2003), ‘Conrad was more topical than ever before. His books became a collection of practical recipes for men fighting lonely battles in the dark’ (Szczepański in Najder 1983, 279). Another member of the Home Army, Maria Młynarska (Tarnawska), confessed that at the moment of doubt and fear when she wanted to leave her post during a battle, she recalled Jim: ‘When it seemed that I can’t any longer fight my own fear, Jim suddenly, stood at my side and simply asked if I’d be able to endure what would inevitably be my fate after my escape. And he reminded me of his own predicament and the price he had to pay for a momentary lapse’ (Młynarska 1957, 263). Czesław Miłosz, summarizing the reception of Conrad in Poland, concluded that ‘[n]ever, though, did his popularity reach such a peak as during the Second World War’ (Miłosz 1960 in Carabine 1992, 101). Indeed, several decades later, the lost generation of Polish youth who sacrificed their lives in the tragic Warsaw Uprising (1944) was referred to as ‘Conrad’s children’ (Davies 2003, 525). A distinctive aspect of the Polish reception which should be highlighted here is that not all Conrad’s works were equally important for Poles; on the contrary, only Lord Jim became a key text for Polish culture, history and readers. Lefevere has pointed to ‘a selection process’ which operates within the oeuvre of a particular author (Lefevere 1992, 20). Because of the specific historical context (German occupation and Nazi terror), Polish intellectuals found moral guidance and solace in this novel. One of the participants of the Warsaw Uprising, the writer Leszek Prorok (1919–84), pondered on the courage of the young people and their willingness to sacrifice their lives at that time: ‘One can put forward a hypothesis – and find considerable evidence to prove it – that [. . .] the majority of Polish resistance generation was shaped by Conrad with his ideal of fidelity to one’s word, even in a no-win situation, with his ideal of honour, his sense of duty and of the absolute power of moral constraints imposed by man on himself ” (Prorok 1987, 8).

1945–55: The lean years of Conrad’s readership in Poland It was the very nature of Conrad’s perceived ethical views that triggered yet another ideological attack on him in the period after the war had ended. Once again it was not a literary controversy but first and foremost a socio-political debate. Since Conrad was an unquestionable moral authority for the underground resistance during the war, it was no accident that the postwar Communist regime viciously attacked him (and through him the legacy of a generation which had praised his ideals). The mouthpiece of the communists was Jan Kott (1914–2001),14 a

14

It should be noted that Jan Kott was a representative of ‘degenerated Marxism, deeply rooted in the Stalinist ideology and totalitarian government. As one of the founders and collaborators of Kuźnica, he rendered a meritorious service to the system imposed on Poland by the Soviet Union after WWII’ (Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 127).

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Marxist critic who made a personal attack on Conrad. In his essay ‘O laickim tragizmie. Conrad and Malraux’ (Secular despondency: Conrad and Malraux), Kott labelled Conrad ‘the last moralist of the middle class’ (Kott 1946 in Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 122). In Kott’s view, Conrad’s conception of human solidarity and the individual’s fight for dignity against the spiritual condition of the epoch counted against him at the very outset (Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 109). The gravest charge he brought against Conrad was his interpretation of Conrad’s notion of fidelity: ‘Conradian fidelity to oneself in a concrete social reality means [. . .] obedience to the laws one outwardly despises; it is abandoning the right to rebel. Conradian fidelity to oneself is the fidelity of a slave’ (Kott 1946, 156 in Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 112). He concluded that Conrad’s concept of fidelity is nothing more than the delusion of a ship’s captain, which cannot be a code of conduct for a free man: ‘It is blind obedience to the great shipowners of this world that is even more dangerous to society than the self-importance and affection for solitude of Conrad’s protagonists’ (Kott 1946, 156 in Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 112). Kott’s essay generated a great deal of spirited and unfavourable responses both in Poland and abroad (M. Dąbrowska 1946; A. Gołubiew 1945; H. Malewska 1945; G. Herling-Grudziński 1947).15 Those who replied to Kott’s essay were well aware that, by attacking Conrad, the Marxist critic indirectly attacked the soldiers of the Home Army who rejected the new Communist government. Thus, Kott’s adversaries had to reckon with the consequence of an open defence of Conrad (which meant the defence of the Home Army or even the resistance as a whole). That is why their responses were euphemistic and allegorical (Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 114). The major defence was written by an ideological inheritor of Conrad, the wellknown writer Maria Dąbrowska (1889–1965), whose status in Polish culture and society enabled her to expose Kott’s communistic propaganda. Szczerbakiewicz argues that Dąbrowska’s statement was perceived as ‘a manifestation of the views held by that part of Polish society that had not given up the claim to independence’ (114). In her response, ‘Conradowskie pojęcie wierności’ (Conrad’s notion of fidelity), Dąbrowska begins with an explicit acknowledgement of the implications of the argument: As Kott takes to task Conrad’s ‘fidelity’ and in doing so takes to task the heroic ‘fidelity’ of the Polish Resistance, which fought the Germans for five and a half years, I shall take the liberty of giving a few words of explanation in its defence. The soldiers of the Home Army and all those Poles who, with unparalleled courage, risked their lives and were killed, [. . .] were not fools who showed blind obedience to orders of one sort or another. Those many thousands of soldiers and civilians fought for a Poland that would be really free and really democratic. Dąbrowska 1946 in Szczebakiewicz 2004, 116 Dąbrowska rejected the idea that Conrad’s heroes were self-obsessed or the servants of foreigners, averring instead that they were inspired by universal values. Dąbrowska maintained that ‘fidelity to oneself ’ is a ‘morality with no sanction or obligation’, the natural, centuries-old instinct of every decent man (Dąbrowska 1946 in Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 115). In opposition to Kott’s views, she argued that Conrad’s protagonists are people who think independently, and if,

15

On the debate, see Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2007b.

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

in critical moments, they remain faithful to their work or the ship, it is not for the shipowners but out of a sense of solidarity with the crew and the passengers (Szczerbakiewicz 2004, 115). In conclusion, Dąbrowska made it clear that her comments had a direct relevance for contemporary times: Today’s world has seen all the bounds of human decency breached and the authority of all beliefs, doctrines and dogmas broken. It stands, in fact, before the test of the Conradian ethos. We are not in a position yet to say whether it will pass the test. But we can say with absolute certainty that things will be better if the world does not dismiss Conrad’s approach completely. Dąbrowska 1946 in Davies 2003, 526 Unsurprisingly, then, during the hardening of state-communist policies in the years 1950–5, Conrad’s works were ‘almost completely forced out of Polish publishing houses’ (Chomiuk 2004, 135). The planned edition of Conrad’s collected works by a private publishing house, Poziom, ended in 1948 with the publication of Aniela Zagórska’s wartime translation of The Arrow of Gold.16 After that, not much of his writings was published or reprinted, except for a collection of short stories including ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Heart of Darkness’ and ‘The Partner’, a selection apparently chosen to show Conrad as an enemy of colonialism, capitalism and Western imperialism (Krajka 1993, 46; Skolik 2012, 64).

1955–1970s: The return of Conrad The slow rehabilitation of Conrad’s writings came with the so-called ‘Polish October’ (the political ‘thaw’) in 1956 when his books were no longer suppressed (Najder 1957, 261) and some of his works were republished: Almayer’s Folly, An Outcast of the Islands and Lord Jim (1956). Jerzy Andrzejewski, the renowned Polish novelist, wrote an afterword to Lord Jim in which he pointed to the relevance of the book to the Polish socio-political context when man’s conscience was put to the test (Najder 1957, 261). Hence, this novel, once again, became a key text for Polish intellectuals (Zabierowski 1998). Conrad was ‘defrosted’ noted Miłosz, and ‘Polish publishers began preparing new editions of his works’ (Miłosz 1960 in Carabine 1992, 101). For instance, the state-run Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy (National Publishing Institute) started to publish a series of Conrad’s selected works in 1956. The celebration of the centenary of Conrad’s birth in Warsaw, as well as the fiftieth anniversary of his death, triggered a great deal of critical writing about Conrad. These anniversaries also prompted international commemorative conferences organized by the Polish Academy of Sciences in Warsaw in 1957 and again in 1972. The renaissance of Conrad studies in Poland caused a huge increase in the number of publications: new source materials were provided by Zdzisław Najder (1956), Róża Jabłkowska (1961) and Barbara Kocówna

16

Cf. J. Conrad, Złota strzała (The Arrow of Gold), trans. A. Zagórska and J. Korniłowiczowa, Cracow: Instytut Wydawniczy ‘Poziom’, 1948. Reprints of Lord Jim and The Mirror of the Sea came out in 1949, and that marked the end of this edition.

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

(1967), and new voices came to the fore. Captain Józef Miłobędzki (1968, 1969) analyzed Conrad’s maritime career and his use of nautical language from a professional point of view; Andrzej Braun investigated Conrad’s Malayan background in a richly illustrated fictional travelogue (Braun 1970, 1972); Stefan Zabierowski analyzed the Polish reception of Conrad’s works (1971); and Michał Komar provided competing interpretations of several of Conrad’s works (1978). A twenty-seven-volume edition of Conrad’s collected works (then the most extensive one in the world) came out in the period 1972–4 edited by Zdzisław Najder, with formerly censored passages published in a separate volume in 1975 in London (Skolik 2012, 65). In that same year, 1975, a Polish Conrad Club was established in the National Maritime Museum in Gdansk, which issued several numbers of Informacje Polskiego Klubu Conradowskiego (Information of the Polish Conradian Club).

1980s–2021: The presence of Conrad’s works in elitist circles The Stalinist ban of the 1950s was echoed in the early 1980s, after the declaration of martial law in Poland in 1981 (Krajka 1993, 46). Once again Conrad’s works were rarely reprinted, but they continued to be read in elitist circles. The activity of Polish Conrad scholars and translators was boosted by the end of Communist rule in 1989. A new generation of young scholars began to study Conrad in a new spirit: the writer’s attitude to Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy and Turgenev was discussed by Majewska (2010, 2013, 2018), Sokołowska (2011) and Pudełko (2004, 2010, 2012); and new interpretations of his works were proposed by Modrzewski (1994), Branny (1997), Skwara (1999), Pacukiewicz (2009), Skolik (2009) Samsel (2015) and Adamowicz-Pośpiech (2007a, 2016). The new scholars brought a number of different methodological approaches to Conrad research. These included approaches based on biography, the history of ideas, comparative literature, cultural science, the theory of literary genres, the theory of translation, the theory of literary reception, intertextual relations and post-colonial theory. A landmark was the publication of several documentary handbooks, including Polska bibliografia Conradowska (Polish Conradian bibliography) by Wanda Perczak in 1993 and a collection of Polish letters, documents and reminiscences entitled Polskie zaplecze Conrada (Conrad’s Polish Background: Family documents, letters, memories) edited by Zdzisław Najder and Joanna Skolik in 2006. In addition to these new scholars, several well-known Conradians continued their research (Krajka 1995; Najder 2007; Zabierowski 2008; Dudek 2014). Yet another significant aspect of Conrad’s reception in this period was a boom in new translations after 1989. Some of his works were retranslated two or three times in a very short span of time (e.g., Lord Jim, Tajfun, Smuga cienia). The absolute record breaker is Heart of Darkness, which was translated seven times (Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2018a). As a result of this rapid growth in retranslations, scholars began the comparative study of Conrad translations as an important aspect of Conrad scholarship (Kujawska-Lis 2011, 2013; Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2012, 2013a, 2013b, 2013c, 2015, 2018a, 2018b). After gaining freedom from the Communist regime in 1989, Polish Conradology opened up to the West, and regular international conferences were organized in which academics from all over the world could participate. The longest-running series of conferences (‘In Conrad’s Polish Footprints’) has been organized by Wiesław Krajka at M. Curie-Skłodowska University in Lublin. These conferences began in 1991 (with a peripatetic conference that took place in 32

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021)

Baranów-Sandomierski, Zakopane and Lublin). They have been held every five years since then, and more than 300 academics have attended. Twice (in 1991 and 2016) these conferences were followed by study tours to Ukraine (taking in Lviv/Lvov, Berdychiv/Berdychev, Zhytomyr and Terechova) so that foreign scholars could literally follow in Conrad’s footsteps. Other conferences were hosted by the Polish Joseph Conrad Society – whose president until recently was Zdzisław Najder. To date this organization has organized five international conferences. Another aspect of the writer’s presence in contemporary Poland are Conrad Study Centres. The first was established in Gdansk in 1975 as the Polish Conrad Club (Polski Klub Conradowski). Its active members included Andrzej Braun, Andrzej Zgorzelski, Stefan Zabierowski and Stanisław Modrzewski.17 The second was established in Lublin in 1995. Its director, Wiesław Krajka, and his associates (Katarzyna Sokołowska, Monika Majewska and Wojciech Kozak) conduct research on various aspects of Joseph Conrad’s life and works and related themes, including Conrad’s Polish and East-Central European contexts. Their major achievement is the publication of twenty-nine volumes of the series Conrad: Eastern and Western Perspectives, distributed internationally by Columbia University Press, New York. The third centre was created in Opole by Zdzisław Najder in 2001 and run by its chief custodian, Marek Piechota. The Joseph Conrad Study Centre in Opole (as a part of the English Philology Department, Opole University) dealt with Joseph Conrad’s life and works. It focused on historical research into Conrad’s family, into the role and tradition of the Bobrowski and Korzeniowski families and into Conrad’s family relations with the Ukraine18 as well as Conrad’s reception in Poland and Ukraine. It was closed in 2004 and reopened in Cracow in 2006 as the Joseph Conrad Research Centre. Under the supervision of the President of the Polish Joseph Conrad Society, Jolanta Dudek, and its director, Andrzej Juszczyk, the Centre gathers books, microfilms and photographs.19 Its major accomplishment is the publication of the Yearbook of Conrad Studies, which was first issued in 2005 (there are thirteen volumes to date). One can observe a curious paradox in present-day Poland. All of Conrad’s works – including his political writings – are now easily accessible. Many scholarly articles and books – often of a high standard – are being written about his life and work. And yet among common readers at large, interest in him is relatively low. It is now predominantly professionals who are interested in Conrad. How are we to explain this phenomenon? There are several reasons for this lack of interest in Conrad among ordinary readers. Zdzisław Najder suggests that Conrad’s lack of popularity in Poland (as compared with the situation in France or Japan) is to be explained by the continued existence of a particular stereotype in his Polish reception.20 In Poland, Conrad has been and still is perceived as a great moralist. The major interpretative approach to Conrad is through ideas of honour, loyalty and fidelity to a lost cause, and his writings have been read through the prism of public service. The long-standing crisis in the ethos of public service militates against Conrad’s popular reception. Another reason is that Conrad’s works are difficult, as are his ideals of honour, service and duty.

17 This organization brought together two generations of scholars. The older generation included Braun (a member of PEN), A. Zgorzelski and S. Zabierowski, and had Braun as President; the second generation included Modrzewski. The Club was renamed the Polish Joseph Conrad Society in 1995 and had Z. Najder as President. 18 http://conrad-centre.w.interiowo.pl/pages/home_en.html. 19 http://www.conradianum.polonistyka.uj.edu.pl/. 20 https://culture.pl/pl/artykul/zdzislaw-najder-przeslanie-josepha-conrada.

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Yet another intriguing aspect of Conrad’s contemporary cultural reception is the tendency which I have dubbed ‘Conrad as a brand’ (Adamowicz-Pośpiech and Sańpruch 2018b). By this I mean the usage of Conrad’s surname for events that have nothing in common with his writings, do not analyze them or even refer to them. The Joseph Conrad Festival in Cracow, for example, which is a festival of contemporary literature, uses Conrad’s name and its cultural capital to make itself known and recognizable abroad. The organizers openly admit that today ‘Conrad is a universal symbol of international literary communication’.21 They recognized the potential of Conrad’s name – as an internationally recognizable sign – and decided to use it as a catchy label. This is exactly the process that operates in creating a brand. Another example is the usage of Conrad’s name in newspaper headlines to describe people and events not connected with Conrad. Thus, an article on the career of the Polish actress Helena Modrzejewska was entitled ‘As Famous as Conrad’ (Sławna jak Conrad). The last facet of Conrad’s contemporary reception that has to be noted is Conrad’s influence on Polish contemporary literature. Conrad’s works are revisited in many different ways in contemporary Polish literature. For instance, the 2005 novel by Eustachy Rylski, Warunek (The Condition), reworks the short story ‘The Duel’; Jakub Małecki’s 2011 science-fiction novel Dżosef (a phonetic spelling of Joseph) uses fragments of Heart of Darkness; while Jacek Dukaj rewrote Heart of Darkness twice – first as if it happened after a Second World War that was won by the Germans (Serce mroku 1998), and secondly as if Marlow were telling the story in the twenty-first century (Serce ciemności 2017) (Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2021). In 2017 Conrad was once again in the limelight in Poland when that year was declared the ‘Year of Joseph Conrad’ by the Polish parliament to commemorate the 160th anniversary of the birth of the writer. The Ministry of Culture and National Heritage together with the Book Institute offered a number of grants for various institutions ‘to promote Conrad’s work’, but also, significantly, ‘a no less important element will be to provide information on his ties to Poland, which are not widely known’.22 A great number of exhibitions, plays, festivals, films, conferences and seminars were financed by the ministry. Those events drew the common readers’ attention to the old master. Hopefully, they will remain interested in his writings in the years to come.

21

http://en.conradfestival.pl/p/9,idea. http://www.bookinstitute.pl/wydarzenia,aktualnosci,35863,2017-%E2%80%93-the-return-of-conrad.html.

22

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CHAPTER 2 THE POLISH TRANSLATION AND RECEPTION OF LORD JIM Ewa Kujawska-Lis

Lord Jim, ever since its first publication, has remained an important text in Polish culture. Termed ‘a milestone of Polish consciousness’ (Zabierowski 1998, 20), this novel has influenced Poles and their conduct. Singularly, out of all of Conrad’s works, it is Lord Jim that provokes the most heated discussions on issues that are most important to Polish culture. Initially, in the Polish modernist period (Young Poland, 1890–1918), the novel provided a pretext for discussing a writer’s freedom and obligations with regards to the nation. Then, in the interwar period, Lord Jim initiated debates on both psychological and ethical motivations behind human behaviour. As Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech has noted in the previous chapter, during the Second World War the novel achieved a cult status. It was a source of moral inspiration for members of the underground resistance movement against Nazi and Soviet totalitarian rule. These young people often identified themselves with Conradian characters, Lord Jim in particular, especially during the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, and this novel provided a sought-after code of conduct for the Polish Home Army. It was also an important text for Polish exiles who perceived Jim as an archetypal figure representing their own fate. During the Stalinist period, Lord Jim inspired criticism directed at intellectuals who supported totalitarian rule. It generated analyses of fundamental ethical issues and the problems of human existence; hence it was appreciated as a classic literary masterpiece and selected as a compulsory text to be read at schools (cf. Zabierowski 2000, 212). The twentieth-century history of Poland, with its various upheavals, provided a rich context to read and reread Lord Jim. The popularity of this particular novel, evident in more than thirty editions now available, stems partly from traces of the Polish Romantic era and the symbolic tradition familiar to Polish readers, especially with respect to the construction of Jim whose resemblance to Polish romantic heroes has been noted (Zabierowski 2008, 133). As regards the ethical dimension of Lord Jim, the notions of faithfulness and betrayal have long been present in Polish literature, being particularly topical during various periods of Polish history. The idea and national significance of honour is another virtue deeply rooted in Polish history and consciousness. Yet Lord Jim inspires Polish readers not only because of these Polish traces, but also because Conrad was seen to have elevated national elements to a universal level and demonstrated their significance in a completely different reality and cultural background (Zabierowski 2008, 134). Contrary to what might be expected given its significance in Poland and the status of Joseph Conrad as an acknowledged Polish-born author, Lord Jim has not produced an extensive translation series: there are only four target texts and one corrected version of an already existing translation. Obviously, the idea of an extensive series is relative. Yet, because most of Conrad’s works were translated only twice into Polish, the number of versions of Lord Jim is sufficient to demonstrate the development of the series. Their distribution illustrates both the diachronic aspects and the different strategies adopted by translators who published their 35

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

works within a relatively short period of time. The first translation, by Emilia Węsławska, appeared in 1904, the second one, by Aniela Zagórska, in 1933 (subsequently corrected by Zdzisław Najder in 1972); then in 2001 Michał Kłobukowski presented his version, to be followed by one created by Michał Filipczuk in 2003. The first translator of Lord Jim, Emilia Węsławska née Saryusz-Bielska (1863–1921), was a social activist, but she also wrote stories for children and theatrical reviews. She earned some fame as a translator of English and French literature. In 1904, she published her version of Anatole France’s Histoire Comique (1903). Before Lord Jim, she also translated popular but now less known American and English writers, for example, Hall Caine, whom Conrad and Ford satirized in The Inheritors. Her versions appeared almost immediately after the publication of the originals, so she must have had easy access to them and worked rather rapidly. It is difficult to determine what attracted her to Conrad and specifically to Lord Jim. Perhaps she was inspired by the article ‘A Polish Writer in English Literature’ written by Kazimierz Waliszewski and published in Life and Art, the literary supplement to the St. Petersburg-based journal Kraj, in 1904. Printed in four instalments (16, 23 and 30 January and 13 February), the essay contained an account of Conrad’s life and analyses of nine books (Almayer’s Folly, An Outcast of the Islands, Tales of Unrest, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, Youth and Other Stories, Lord Jim, Typhoon and Other Stories, The Inheritors and Romance). Waliszewski, a Polish historian living in Paris, intended to introduce Conrad to Polish readers, and he had asked the writer for biographical data and copies of his books in 1903. In response, Conrad had agreed to overcome his ‘slight repugnance where publicity is involved’ (CL3, 69–70). He arranged for his publishers to supply copies of his books, and he provided brief accounts of the genesis of Almayer’s Folly (CL3, 82) and the background to Romance (CL3, 75–6), and then a detailed account of his life and publications (CL3, 88–90) as well as copies of reviews and a photograph. Following two months of correspondence, Waliszewski produced the first major commentary on Conrad’s oeuvre. The weekly Kraj where it appeared was an influential periodical (with a circulation of 6,500) for Poles living under Russian rule in partitioned Poland. With its conservative social and political profile, it shaped the policy of ‘conciliation’ with the Tsarist occupiers, but it also paid special attention to cultural matters. Many prominent writers from all three partitions cooperated with it. Apart from promoting Polish writers, Kraj also presented foreign literature (both Western and Slavic), offered literary analyses and published texts devoted to the theory and history of literature as well as translations. This weekly addressed an audience interested in current affairs and cultural trends. Thus, Waliszewski’s essay promoted Conrad’s work among lovers of literature and the literati. Węsławska must have read it because in her Preface to Lord Jim she basically rewrote Waliszewski’s interpretations and assessments. Perhaps her decision to translate Lord Jim was governed by the conviction that the hero significantly reflected typically Polish features. In this she again followed Waliszewski, who asserted that Conrad’s works revealed a Polish rather than an English mode of thinking (Waliszewski 1904, 7: 5). In her Preface, Węsławska posed the question, ‘Would a native Englishman have created a type like Jim, suffused with romanticism and sentimentalism?’, which she then answered: ‘One needs to have the Slavic blood of a dreamer to do that’ (Węsławska 1904, 6).1 However, since

1

All translation from Polish sources are mine, unless stated otherwise.

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The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

there are no biographical sources for Węsławska that would confirm these suppositions, one can only hypothesize about the translator’s motivations. Węsławska’s 1904 Lord Jim was for some time believed to have been the first translation of Conrad’s works into his mother tongue. The 1897 version of An Outcast of the Islands (Wygnaniec) by Maria Gąsiorowska was overlooked by critics. Wiadomości Literackie, a Warsaw-based weekly that played a leading role in promoting Conrad in Poland, and which released a commemorative issue just three weeks after his death, did not review Gąsiorowska’s translation. In 1927, Piotr Grzegorczyk claimed that Polish readers became more widely familiar with Conrad as late as 1904 thanks to Waliszewski’s article (Grzegorczyk 1927, 138), as if no earlier translation had existed. Indeed, no significant review of Wygnaniec appeared until 1932, when Jan Dürr discussed it in the literary monthly Ruch Literacki in an issue devoted to Conrad. Though normally the journal published only rather short bibliographic and informative texts concerning literature, literary studies and criticism, it also occasionally produced issues entirely dedicated to particular writers, for example, Jan Kochanowski, Stanisław Wyspiański and Johann Wolfgang Goethe. One of these special editions discussed Conrad, in particular his relationship to his homeland and the Polish traces in his fiction. It contained a detailed bibliography of publications on Conrad and Polish translations, and contributions from significant literary critics. Witold Chwalewik presented Conrad’s friendship with the Kliszczewski family and recalled the writer’s statement that he would have lost his public had he written in Polish, but stressed that he never renounced his Polish roots (Chwalewik 1932, 225–9). Rafał Blüth discussed the evolution of Byronic heroism in Conrad’s works from heroism through demonism to titanism, illustrating his thesis with Almayer’s tragic dream of return, the impossibility of Jim’s returning and his demonic death, Heyst’s defiant loneliness, Lingard’s involvement in alien affairs, and Peyrol’s return home and death as a form of atonement, all these linked with Polish Romanticism (Blüth 1932, 236). Julian Krzyżanowski focused on Conrad’s political essays ‘Autocracy and War’, ‘The Crime of Partition’ and ‘A Note on the Polish Problem’ as Conrad’s response to the Polish cause. Jan Dürr tackled Conrad’s wish to be recognized in his homeland. In this context, he recalled the existence of the first Polish translation, attempted to discover whose decision it was to translate An Outcast and argued for Conrad’s conscious decision to have Lord Jim translated as his second work that would appear in Poland, rather than his first novel, Almayer’s Folly. He claimed that both An Outcast of the Islands and Lord Jim were partly autobiographical, Jim being a psychologically developed version of Willems, and that both novels served the writer as vehicles to overcome a psychological trauma related to the accusations of betrayal (Dürr 1932, 241). These arguments are problematic because these accusations appeared two years after the publication of the Polish version of An Outcast, and it is still unclear whether Conrad asked anyone to have Lord Jim translated. It is difficult to state convincingly why this first Polish translation remained unnoticed. Perhaps one of the reasons was its serial publication in the Warsaw-based weekly Tygodnik Romansów i Powieści. Since Poland was still partitioned, its circulation was limited. Nevertheless, the journal played an important role in the cultural life of the time, featuring cultural and literary-related information, critical analyses, biographies, domestic and international news as well as original works by Polish literati (e.g. Eliza Orzeszkowa, Józef Ignacy Kraszewski, Adolf Dygasiński and Henryk Sienkiewicz) and translations of foreign writers (e.g. Ivan Turgenev, Charles Dickens, Ouida, William Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, Guy de 37

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Maupassant, Rudyard Kipling, H. G. Wells, Oscar Wilde and Mark Twain, as well as works by many French authors). Thus, the publication of Conrad’s work in this particular weekly should be viewed as a sign of perceived literary distinction. Nevertheless, no advertising accompanied it, no information was provided about the author and, as a result, this 1897 translation had minimal impact on the shaping of the image of Conrad’s fiction for Polish readers. Although the first two articles on Conrad in the Polish press appeared in 1896, his name became recognizable only in 1899 when Wincenty Lutosławski published his article ‘Emigracja zdolności’ (The Emigration of Talent) in the already noted St Petersburg-based Kraj. Lutosławski employed Conrad as the sole example to support his claim that those who emigrated from partitioned Poland to earn their living or to take opportunities unavailable to them in their homeland had every right to do so. He argued that the accusations of national disloyalty or desertion levelled at outstandingly gifted people were ungrounded and unfair. He made his point by referring to Conrad’s émigré background and the publication of his work in Britain: ‘Recently a position of distinction in English literature was gained by a compatriot of ours, Mr. Konrad Korzeniowski, known under the pen-name of Joseph Conrad.’ From this he argued that ‘those who remain at home out of duty and have to write for their living must lower the level of their work and instead of cultivating their talents allow them to wither away’; these authors ‘should follow Konrad Korzeniowski’s example and master the English language, which is universally understood, and write for their living in English instead of Polish’ (Lutosławski 1899, 3; translation after Najder 2007, 293). This article, distorting Conrad’s biographical details and his reasons for leaving Poland, initiated a discussion primarily concerning emigration but also attacking Conrad for betraying his homeland, with Eliza Orzeszkowa being the most radical in her assessment. As a moral authority in her time, firmly believing in patriotic obligations, she stressed that participation in the life of one’s homeland is one’s absolute duty, irrespective of the circumstances. Referring to Conrad, she wrote: Speaking of books I must say that this gentleman who writes popular and very lucrative novels in English has almost caused me a nervous breakdown. My gorge rises when I read about him. Why? . . . creative talent forms the very head of the tree, the pinnacle of the tower, the life-blood of the nation. And to take away that flower, to remove that pinnacle, to drain away that life-blood from the nation in order to pass it on the AngloSaxons who anyway lie on a bed of roses just because they pay better! It is even hard to think about it without shame! Orzeszkowa 1899, 9; translation after Najder 2007, 294 Despite various misunderstandings and falsehoods relating to Conrad in both articles, from this time onwards his name was on the lips of Polish intellectuals. However, Conrad’s works also generated the interest of the intellectual elite involved in the Young Poland cultural movement for other reasons. His writings could be related to two cultural movements that coexisted at that time. One involved the subordination of art to the ideological tasks associated with the life of a nation that had been deprived of its independence (neoromanticism); the other, rather than focusing on ideological content, looked to European culture for the inspiration to introduce new trends (cf. Zabierowski 2015, 172). As regards the first, Conrad’s political essays were seen as useful vehicles for infusing his works with political issues. The second approach was associated with seeing Conrad as a reformer of the novel, with 38

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

Lord Jim being an example of innovative writing, though his writing technique was initially grossly misunderstood. This misconception may have originated in Waliszewski’s assessment of ‘Typhoon’, but it was generalized to refer to other works as well. Apart from remarking on the lack of chronology, he criticized the changeable pace of narration: ‘Conrad almost never directly pursues his aim [. . .]. A fear of tiring or confusing the reader is completely alien to him. [. . .] despite the fast pace which sometimes characterizes his writing, the writer stops in one place and considers one thought or situation from various angles to let us know various points of view from which it may be presented’ (Waliszewski 1904, 7: 5). The same argument was put forward by Węsławska in her Preface to Lord Jim – as we have seen, the first translation that garnered critical attention. Its best-known early review was written by Maria Komornicka (Włast), a poet, writer, translator and critic. In her insightful scrutiny, published in the elite Chimera magazine, Komornicka marvelled at Conrad’s artistry, emphasizing that he was ‘a conscious manipulator of words’,‘a strategist of impressions’. It is difficult to conclude whether she refers to the linguistic stratum when she states that he ‘pursues truth in the refractions of light and shade’ (Włast 1905, 333; translation after Carroll-Najder 1983, 192) or whether her remarks are of a more general nature. The translatorial provenance of the reviewed novel is not marked and the translator’s name is not mentioned, while the evaluative statements efface the fact that the reader is dealing with a version of the novel filtered intellectually (via an interpretation) and linguistically through the translator. Komornicka, however, understood Conrad’s writing technique much better than Waliszewski and Węsławska. Instead of criticizing Lord Jim for its lack of chronology, she stressed that Conrad’s fiction is highly intellectual, that its apparent disorder is scrupulously composed and requires from the reader constant involvement and that the writer is ‘a Machiavelli constantly considerate of our point of view, our degree of concentration’ (Włast 1904, 333–4; translation after Carroll-Najder 1983, 193), thus pointing to the active role of the reader in decoding the meaning of the novel and implying a distinct modernistic turn. Another significant review of the novel appeared in 1905. Wiktor Gomulicki, a writer and poet, proposed a symbolic reading of Lord Jim. In his article, aptly entitled ‘A Pole or an Englishman’, Gomulicki hinted only vaguely at the links between Lord Jim, partitioned Poland and Conrad’s situation. He did not decode specific symbolic meanings, leaving the issue open, but suggesting certain interpretative possibilities: I had just closed Conrad’s book with a feeling of total despondency and was saying to myself: ‘No! This writer did not break away from Poland – he never belonged to it in the first place . . .’, when suddenly something inside me shouted: ‘Perhaps it’s all just a symbol?’ That doomed ship . . . those passengers who succumb to sleep after the nervous exhaustion of religious ecstasy . . . those selfish people whose craving for life tells them to flee the ship whose care they have been entrusted with . . . and above all that basically noble young man who is thrown together with despicable characters and who for the rest of his life has his heart eaten out by the Promethean vulture of his pangs of conscience . . . that ‘nobleman’ who finds prosperity, love and trust in a foreign land, but who seeks ultimate relief in voluntary death – at bottom, is all this merely what the English reader thinks it is? Gomulicki 1905, 1; translation after Zabierowski 2015, 174 This symbolic reading of Lord Jim as an authorial confession of guilt in relation to his homeland would later be developed and combined with other interpretations by such critics as Wilem 39

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Horzyca, Stefan Żeromski, Maria Dąbrowska, Rafał Blüth and Józef Ujejski, who suggested that this particular novel was partly the writer’s reaction to the voiced accusations of his national desertion (cf. Najder 2007, 295). A more straightforwardly ethical reading was put forward by the philosopher Stanisław Brzozowski, who deliberated on the meaning of Lord Jim in his Memoirs, published in 1912: ‘What kills him is his loss of self-respect – his loss of personal dignity. From that moment onwards, the immense material world which surrounds him and in which he plays his part is as good as gone’ (cf. Zabierowski 2015, 173). Despite these innovative critical analyses, it was only much later that the quality of this translation was objectively assessed. In 1955 Jan Parandowski, an influential writer, essayist and translator, stated dramatically, ‘This masterpiece of subtle and deep psychological analysis, woven into the background of nature coexisting most tenderly with man, was denuded of all its charms and mangled with barbaric freedom’ (Parandowski 1955, 18). By ‘mangled’ he refers specifically to excessive omissions in this text. Indeed, chapter 27 disappeared, chapters 29 and 30 were shortened and combined, and chapters 37–45 abridged to form one chapter. In addition, many paragraphs, sentences and words were omitted. In Węsławska’s time, the attitude to the art of translation was relatively lax, thus deletions did not necessarily indicate incompetence on the part of the translator. Until the translations produced by Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński in the 1920s, who established the practice of producing a complete transcript of the original content (cf. Hertz 1955, 219), it was common practice to abridge the original. In the case of Lord Jim the loss was considerable. The abridgments to the final sections simplify Jim’s psychological make-up, the justification for his ultimate decision, and his relationship with Jewel, thus depriving those early readers of the most subtle aspects of the novel. It is difficult to see any pattern to (or rationale for) these omissions. The book was not published serially, which often forced translators to shorten the text to fit the instalment format, as was the case with the translation of An Outcast of the Islands. Fairly easy sentences were deleted; hence the abridgements were not caused by an inability to comprehend the text. Since most of the omissions appear in the final sections, perhaps Węsławska did not understand their significance for the interpretation of Jim and believed they were too tedious. Maybe she was guided by Waliszewski’s opinion (which she repeated in her Preface) that ‘In some works the author overestimated the interest that the exotic life, with adventures, intrigues and quarrels of Malay and Arab characters may arouse in readers’ (Węsławska 1904, 5) and decided to relieve Polish readers of that aspect of Lord Jim. Her treatment of the original, however, completely contradicts her claim that she ‘tried to create the closest translation, retaining all features of the style, so as to introduce Conrad to Polish readers as he is, because although he writes in a foreign language, he reveals too many twitches of the soul familiar to us to treat him as a foreigner’ (Węsławska 1904, 6). The second translation was accomplished by Conrad’s cousin, Aniela Zagórska (1881–1943), who is considered the outstanding Polish translator of his works. Not only did she translate more Conradian works than anyone else, but for years her versions were the point of reference for other translators, critics and researchers.2 Unlike other translators of Lord Jim, Zagórska

2

Aniela Zagórska translated the following works: Almayer’s Folly (1923), ‘Freya of the Seven Islands’ (1924), Victory (1927), The Rescue (1928), ‘Amy Foster’ (1929), ‘Youth’ (1930), ‘Heart of Darkness’ (1930), ‘Falk’ (1932), ‘To-morrow’ (1932), Lord Jim (1933), A Personal Record: Some Reminiscences (1934), The Mirror of the Sea (1934), An Outcast of the Islands (1936), Tales of Unrest: ‘Karain: A Memory’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’ (1939), ‘The End of Tether’ (1939), The Secret Agent (1939), and The Arrow of Gold, with Jadwiga Korniłowiczowa (1948).

40

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

never translated any other writer. She was intimately familiar with Conrad’s oeuvre, but her versions are relatively uniform linguistically, as if his language did not develop throughout his career. Her translations observed the standard established by Boy-Żeleński and, additionally, she set her own – she attempted to recreate the original poetics, though not always successfully. If previous translations created mostly by Polish literati had been excessively poetic, bordering on romanticizing the language, and followed the literary conventions of the Young Poland movement, her versions portrayed Conrad at times as an almost austere writer. She was recognized as the most accomplished female translator of her time, and was presented, in 1929, with the first ever award for translations of foreign literature by the Polish PEN Club. As Adamowicz-Pośpiech suggests, Zagórska’s Lord Jim appeared in an utterly different cultural and political context to that in which Węsławska’s was published. Poland had already regained independence, and the postwar years were a ripe period for the development of Polish culture and literature. In 1920 the Polish Writer’s Union was established and in 1924 the Polish section of the PEN Club which represented Polish literature worldwide, but also promoted translations of foreign literature into Polish. Conrad became an important link between Polish and European literature, and his fiction was popularized through translations that were published serially in magazines. In 1922 the Ignis publishing house began to issue his Selected Works. Ignis printed mainly historical books, fiction (mostly for children and adolescents) and poetry, especially by a group of experimental poets called Skamander. In 1924 it targeted mass audiences by providing popular literary works at very low prices. Conrad, however, was not part of this project of inexpensive books for a wide readership. The Selected Works were provided with a foreword by Stefan Żeromski, a most eminent prose writer and an advocate of Conrad’s fiction. Interestingly, this edition did not include Lord Jim, perhaps due to the poor quality of the existing translation. In 1924, Żeromski, who would later appeal for more translations and editions of Conrad’s works, wrote that Lord Jim was ‘the most beautiful and the most peculiar . . . an immense work!’ (Żeromski 1924, 33: 1). Thus, it is very unlikely that he would not have wanted to include it in this edition. Interest in Conrad heightened after his death in 1924 when commemorative articles written by the representatives of various political and aesthetic factions appeared in a special issue of the weekly Wiadomości Literackie. The 1930s witnessed a fundamental change in the reception of Conrad, with a new generation brought up on his writing emerging on the literary scene. The older writers who had read Conrad and greatly appreciated his fiction, though they did not necessarily follow it in their own creative endeavours, included Maria Dąbrowska, Maria Kuncewiczowa, Stefan Żeromski and Teodor Parnicki. In the 1920s his works were popularized as texts read in school, and the younger generation that became familiar with Conrad in their youth was represented by Jerzy Andrzejewski, Leszek Prorok, Andrzej Braun and Jan Józef Szczepański, all of them being greatly moved by what they saw as the universal ethical issues in his fiction (cf. Zabierowski 1986, 42–6). Conrad was a guide in this difficult transitional period marked by a turmoil of pessimism and fatalism. At the time of this crisis of civilization, he was not only perceived as a great artist but also as a moral anchor and beacon – the architect of a moral ethos. In 1928 the Dom Książki Polskiej publishing house commenced an edition of Conrad’s Collected Works, and Zagórska’s translation of Lord Jim was part of that project. However, the books were relatively expensive and this constituted an economic barrier to their availability during the interwar crisis. This situation did not improve, even though the prices of particular books were lowered (cf. Zabierowski 1979, 14). 41

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Before her translation of Lord Jim, Zagórska had produced nine other translations and was highly esteemed as a sympathetic translator of her cousin’s works. The reception of her version of Lord Jim followed in that line of praise. The difference between her translation and the one produced by Węsławska may be summarized by Antoni Gołubiew’s recollection: ‘I remember how, a long time ago, when reading Lord Jim for the first time I could not get through this masterpiece: and then a sudden revelation, when I received its new edition translated by Aniela Zagórska’ (Gołubiew 1971, 50). When her version appeared, reviewers rarely focused on the quality of translation, once more blurring the genetic difference between the original and its new linguistic version. Even if the name of the translator was mentioned, little space was devoted to the target text, and the language of translation was treated as that of Conrad. This is seen in the first review of Zagórska’s Lord Jim: ‘rendered by a great translator Aniela Zagórska thanks to whom Polish readers get complete insight both into the world of thought and the writing skill of an eminent artist of the word – Conrad Korzeniowski’ (anon. 1933, 8). The role of the critic of translations then was significantly different from the modern understanding. Frequently translations were not compared with the originals and judgements were based on entirely subjective impressions. Translators were often given the benefit of a trust bestowed only because of their position in the literary world, while it was tacitly assumed that the role of a good translation was to be transparent. In other words, the translator was supposed to follow the idiomatic, syntactic and grammatical conventions of the target language, and the target text was to be read fluently as if it was not really a translation. Most of the reviews of Zagórska’s translations were written along such lines: she was praised for creating the impression that Polish readers communed with the original author. Very infrequently were problems mentioned (such as the lack of colloquial expressions, artificial dialogue, unprofessional nautical vocabulary), but in such cases the translator was immediately justified and excused. One of the most thorough reviews of Zagórska’s Lord Jim, reflecting a more critical attitude, was written by Witold Chwalewik. He compared her version to the previous one and stressed that Polish readers effectively received a completely new work, though bearing the same title. He also juxtaposed the two translations with the English original and enumerated various ways in which Zagórska remained closer to the original than Węsławska, especially in the combination of suggestiveness and abstraction typical of Conrad (Chwalewik 1934, 139). He also analyzed Zagórska’s mistakes stemming from misunderstandings of the original and pointed to some stylistic problems. For instance, ‘a course of light holiday literature’ does not refer to ‘the end of a holiday’ as Zagórska would have it, while ‘Przesmyk Onedegree’ (One degree Isthmus) is not an isthmus, since the Patna does not go through any, but ‘the way through the first degree (of geographical latitude)’ (Chwalewik 1934, 140–1). But he immediately added that ‘we would give the reader an utterly false image of Ms Zagórska’s translation if we overstressed the significance of these imperfections. Her translation is a result of rarely seen diligence and competence’ (Chwalewik 1934, 141). The reviews of Zagórska’s work (not only of Lord Jim, but of all her translations) created and cultivated an image of the sympathetic translator, whose achievements could not be surpassed. This had the effect of preventing the appearance of new versions for years to come. Zagórska’s 1933 version of Lord Jim was thus the one that served Polish critics as the basis of their interpretations of this novel for a long time. In the 1930s they focused on the universal ethical issues wrestled with in the novel and on values such as honour, loyalty, faithfulness, a sense of duty, guilt and atonement. Considering the question of how to preserve values in the

42

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

contemporary turmoil created by determinism and ethical relativism, Ludwik Fryde claimed that the answer was provided by Conrad. In Lord Jim, he argued, the author takes issue with both psychological relativism and determinism: ‘Overcoming psychological causality for the sake of ethical expediency has for us, for our transitional epoch, an educational meaning, a liberating meaning’ (Fryde 1935, 587). The interpretation of Lord Jim in ethical terms was embraced and developed by critics in the interwar period (Manfred Kridl, Konrad Górski and Maria Dąbrowska) and also by a host of those active later (Zdzisław Najder, Barbara Kocówna and Przemysław Mroczkowski). During the Second World War, Zagórska’s translation accompanied young people active in the resistance movement, with Jim influencing their behaviour. Jan Józef Szczepański observed: I knew a young lad whose death was the direct result of his having read Lord Jim (or rather the first volume of Lord Jim). The motif of that bulkhead which was about to give way [. . .] became a veritable obsession with him. [. . .] He would repeat Jim’s famous sentence – ‘It is all in being ready.’ – as if it were a magic spell or a lesson that had to be learnt by heart. And it was that very fear of his own moment of weakness that led this acquaintance of mine to commit an act of totally needless daring which cost him his life. Szczepański 1957, 49; translation after Zabierowski 2015, 179 This act of courage and the awareness of the consequence of cowardice were not the only evidence of Conrad’s influence. A similar episode was recalled by Maria Młynarska, a participant in the Warsaw Uprising, who, during an air raid, was about to escape from a hospital in which she worked: [. . .] just at that moment Jim came. When it seemed I just wasn’t capable of coming to grips with my own fear any more, Jim suddenly stood at my side and simply asked if I’d be able to endure what would inevitably be my fate after running away. He reminded me of his own misery and the price he paid for a momentary lapse. Młynarska 1957, 263; translation after Zabierowski 2015, 179 In dramatic and critical situations Conrad’s novel provided models to follow since it depicted with psychological precision the tragedy of indecision (and cowardice). After the war, in the new political context that followed, Conrad was attacked by the intellectuals associated with the new regime as a moralist of the anti-communist opposition and the middle class. The chief representative of this group was Jan Kott, who in his 1945 essay ‘On the Lay Tragedy’ undermined Conrad’s ethos, though without negating his artistic achievements. Kott criticized the accepted reading of Conrad’s philosophy as based on being faithful to oneself: [It] is in reality, the concrete social reality, obedience to the laws of a world which one inwardly despises; it is a rejection of one’s right to rebel. Conradian fidelity to oneself is the fidelity of the slaves, for a slave is he who obeys the lord whom he despises, and cares only about his inner rectitude. Kott 1945, 2; translation after Gillon 1976, 214–15

43

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Conrad was defended by Polish writers, in particular by Maria Dąbrowska, who attempted to maintain the pre-war ethical interpretation of his works. Nevertheless, the new authorities decided to ban him and in the period 1949–54 his works were, for the most part, not published (Zabierowski 2008, 128). There was no question of commissioning new translations. Before that happened, however, Zagórska’s pre-war translation of Lord Jim was reprinted in 1949 by Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, a publishing house established in 1946, one of two major institutions at that time specializing in literature. Although the presence of Conrad in Poland was diminished, his works, Lord Jim in particular, continued to be analyzed by Polish émigré writers, such as Maria Kuncewiczowa and Stanisław Vincenz, who focused on its universal ethical dimension. Lord Jim reappeared in 1956, in another reprint of Zagórska’s translation, with a Foreword written by Jerzy Andrzejewski. Comparing the ethical dilemmas of Polish intellectuals after the war to those of Hamlet and Jim, the writer took issue with the attitudes and conduct of the elite during the Stalinist period. Hamlet’s tragedy was the tragedy of the bankruptcy of a worldview, he wrote, whereas Jim’s tragedy was the tragedy of subjective guilt with respect to a worldview. In this argument, it appeared that, after the political thaw in October 1956, many Polish intellectuals who had supported the oppressive system now experienced a breakdown comparable to that of Hamlet rather than Jim (Zabierowski 2008, 130). The centennial of Conrad’s birth in 1957 also provided an opportunity to make Conrad part of the Polish literary heritage again, but in that decade a more critical attitude to the Polish translations emerged as well. Although regularly reprinted, Zagórska’s translations were not faultless. This was brought to light by Wacław Borowy in the 1950s. Though he was greatly impressed by her work, specifically in certain psychological and atmospheric excerpts, he indicated some problematical aspects of her versions: mistakes stemming from her imperfect knowledge of English; unnatural inversions; artificial dialogue and the excessively literary language of Marlow’s narratives (Borowy 1952, 20, 29). As a result, in 1972, Zdzisław Najder included a corrected version of Lord Jim in the new edition of Conrad’s Collected Works that he edited. He eliminated mistakes and the effacement of the cultural background. For instance, when Marlow speaks to the French lieutenant, the latter says,‘Brave! This is always to be seen’ which in Zagórska’s translation becomes ‘Odwaga! O to nietrudno’ (Bravery! This is not difficult), thus changing the original sense (Najder 1975, 205). Exclamations uttered by Marlow and Jim such as ‘By Jove!’, characteristic of an English gentleman, were rendered by her in a variety of culture-free ways: ‘Mój Boże’ (My God!), ‘Słowo daję’ (Upon my word), ‘zaiste’ (indeed). In all these cases Najder introduced a literal, foreign-sounding phrase ‘Na Jowisza!’ (cf. Kujawska-Lis 2011, 168–70). He emended stylistic problems, particularly concerning missing idiolectal differentiation. He reintroduced ungrammaticality into the speech of the Patna’s captain, German syntax in Stein’s speech, and French syntax in the French lieutenant’s utterances, all normalized by Zagórska. He also eliminated her tendency to use various equivalents, depending on the context, for repetitive key expressions, such as ‘under a cloud’ referring to Jim. In the Preface, this phrase is rendered as ‘tajemniczy’ (mysterious) (Zagórska ix). In chapter 36 the phrase appears twice and then is changed into ‘widzieć jak przez mgłę’ (see as if through fog) (Zagórska 2, 118) and ‘za mgłą’ (behind fog) (Zagórska 2, 122). In the last chapter, the key phrase: ‘Jim remains under a cloud’ is modified as ‘Jim pozostał mętną zagadką’ (Jim remained an obscure riddle) (Zagórska 2, 204) and ‘He passes away under a cloud’ as ‘otoczony mętną tajemnicą’ (surrounded by an obscure mystery) (Zagórska 2, 206). In the corrected version, produced by Najder, except for in 44

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

the Preface, the phrase is consistently rendered utilizing the notion of fog. Additionally, Najder replaced words considered to be characteristic of literary style with their less formal synonyms. According to him, Conrad’s style is far less literary and abstract than in Zagórska’s translation and she elevated his language to a high spiritual level, especially in dialogues (Najder 1975, 206). Hence, many of his changes involved providing more colloquial versions, domesticating the text linguistically. Najder was convinced that translations should read fluently and naturally, and that in Conrad’s case this meant a return to the country and culture from which the writer had emerged (Najder 1975, 197). In his view, English for Conrad remained a foreign language that required much effort and his writing was occasionally marked with traces of Polish. Additionally, his works are suffused with Polish cultural and literary notions. Thus Polish translations function like a reintroduction of Conrad to his native cultural and linguistic background (Najder 1975, 197). With respect to this linguistic layering, translation entails the loss of a certain ‘strangeness’ in Conrad’s language, a specific exoticism resulting from interferences in his English from both French and Polish. Although Conrad was a great stylist, English readers can perceive a tinge of strangeness in his writing, for instance in the placement of adverbs and adjectives. Critics, depending on their nationality, tend to attribute Conrad’s syntax (with a rather free sentence structure and the accumulation of adjectives in postposition) to either Polish or French influences. Najder argues that the rhythm of Conrad’s prose is reminiscent of Polish Romantic literature (Najder 1972, 15). Some American critics, like Albert Guerard, ascribe it to French: ‘The Gallic locutions, the Flaubertian turns of phrase, possibly the French post-positioning of adjectives, are matters of acquired style’ (in Lucas 2000, 11). Similarly, Yves Hervouet comments on the position of adjectives, attributing them to the French influence – for instance, in Lord Jim, in the phrases ‘in a voice harsh and dead’ and ‘in a voice harsh and lugubrious’ (Hervouet 1990, 71). In both these cases, however, the post-position of adjectives is perfectly correct syntactically and stylistically in Polish, where the adjective can be placed either before or after the noun to which it refers. Thus, when translating Conrad’s writing into his mother tongue, the sense of ‘oddity’ disappears since what was unusual or innovative (certain syntactic forms, for instance, or Polish proverbs and sayings translated into English by the writer) is correct and familiar for Polish readers. In addition, however, regardless of the quality of the original version by Zagórska (and the assistance of Najder’s corrections), after so many years this translation simply grew old, as the language became obsolete, and Lord Jim required a new translation. The twenty-first-century translations appeared in a new socio-cultural and economic context. For a start, the new millennium welcomed the revival of literary masterpieces. To some extent, the translation series developed for purely economic reasons, as two publishing houses, Znak and Zielona Sowa, commissioned new versions of Lord Jim for their collections of world literature masterpieces. The former released Michał Kłobukowski’s version in 2001. This had an obvious polemical relation to Zagórska’s, which, by now, had been in circulation for decades. He specifically disliked her elimination of dialectal differentiation and aimed at reconstructing the original linguistic polyphony, while modernizing the language for contemporary readers. Kłobukowski (born 1951) represents the new wave of modern translators, conscious of what they do and why they do it. An extremely prolific translator, he has translated more than sixty books for adults, children and adolescents. He was praised for his inventiveness and creativity, especially in recreating the stylistically complex works of 45

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Vladimir Nabokov and J. M. Coetzee. He was frequently awarded prizes – for example, in 1991, by the Association of Polish Translators and Interpreters for his version of Roald Dahl’s The BFG and Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove. His Lord Jim was awarded a prize by the prestigious monthly Literatura na Świecie in 2002, and, in 2013, Kłobukowski received the Medal for Merit to Culture – Gloria Artis. His version of Lord Jim was considered ‘a brave attempt to acquaint contemporary Polish readers with this famous novel’ (Zabierowski 2000, 212), leading to a reevaluation of Zagórska’s achievements. Kłobukowski’s Lord Jim was favourably received by critics, who compared it with earlier translations. This version was created at a time when Poland had regained its sovereignty after years of being dependent on the former USSR, and at a time when Poland had undergone economic transformation. While Lord Jim had now become compulsory reading in secondary schools, the new translation had to refresh the language in order to make Conrad, his ideals and ethics understandable and appealing to a new generation of readers. One of the ideals that finds a response in this new generation of readers is the notion of honour, stemming from the Polish szlachta ethos. The revival of chivalric traditions and patriotic attitudes evident in Poland recently, focused on the preservation of the national identity within the globalized world (with the motto ‘God, Honour and Fatherland’ traceable to the nineteenth-century revolutionists, ever present nowadays, and unfortunately tending towards extreme nationalism), provided fertile ground for a renewed interest in Lord Jim, but also, potentially, for misinterpretations. In a world governed by utilitarianism and pragmatism, in which people seek values that provide a deeper meaning for human life, dignity in work (and its significance), human solidarity and honour attract readers who either affirm such values or search for them (Zabierowski 2008, 136–7). Enlivening the language was one of the major achievements noticed by critics, who stressed that Kłobukowski’s version, written in modern Polish, contains ideas present in the consciousness of Polish contemporary readers. One of the changes introduced was the conversion of the English measurement system (with feet and miles) into the metric system (metres, kilometres), more easily comprehensible to Polish readers. Another was the rejection of the very old-fashioned exclamation ‘By Jove’, alien to Poles when translated literally. Kłobukowski decided to introduce various contextual equivalents when it is uttered by Marlow, and consistently used ‘O rany’ (Oh my) in the case of Jim. This not only removed the awkward phrase, but also stressed Jim’s youth as compared to Marlow. Nevertheless, these two solutions may be assessed both negatively and positively, as is the case with several other innovations in this translation. On the one hand, they make the text more comprehensible and closer to the reality and language of contemporary Polish readers; on the other, they efface the Englishness of the original and the affinity between Marlow and Jim in the case of the exclamation which is employed only by these two characters. In addition, Zabierowski has argued that Kłobukowski’s selection of contemporary words, synonyms of those used by Zagórska, reflects Conrad’s thought better in modern Polish (Zabierowski 2000, 213). Kłobukowski’s language is generally simpler and more concise. Consequently, this new translation was praised for being less poetical than Zagórska’s text, while not eliminating the poetic quality when necessary. It was criticized for the omission of the Preface (Zabierowski 2000, 212–14; Masłoń 2001, A10), while the decision to change Jewel (translated literally by Zagórska and regarded as pretentious by some critics) into Gamma was assessed both negatively (Zabierowski 2000, 214) and positively (Masłoń 2001, A10). More thorough reviews were written by Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech, who emphasized both the benefits and the 46

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

shortcomings of this version. The former include a style that is close to the original one with word order reflecting spoken rather than written language, the elimination of archaic words and grammatical forms, the introduction of colloquial expressions and contemporary idioms, idiolectal stylization and the correction of nautical vocabulary and other mistakes found in Zagórska’s version. The less successful aspects encompass an inconsistent use of units of measurement, too extreme linguistic modernization at times, the unnecessary clarifications of geographical names and a lack of footnotes explaining German, French and Latin words (Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2001, 14; 2002, 60–6). Some strong arguments against this translation were raised by Anna Tatarkiewicz, who criticized a linguistic modernization that bordered on slang-like expressions and the loss of the subtle irony typical of Conrad (Tatarkiewicz 2001, 18). Notwithstanding some critical voices, Kłobukowski’s translation was well received primarily because of the way it endowed the novel with the character of a yarn. The translator reproduces the rhythms of spoken language, and the individual character of each person is evident in his speech. This recreation of the orality of the yarn through a variety of solutions, but primarily due to the naturalness of selected collocations and the introduction of colloquial expressions, was particularly emphasized in the reviews written by Adamowicz-Pośpiech (Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2001, 21; 2002, 62). Despite the acclaim with which this modern version of Lord Jim was received, it was immediately followed by another version produced by Michał Filipczuk (born in 1975). In comparison to Kłobukowski, Filipczuk is a much less accomplished translator. He has, in the past, mostly dealt with popular and scientific works. He has retranslated Conrad’s Typhoon, but the quality of his work there leaves much to be desired in terms of the interpretation of the original. He does not differentiate between various terms referring to wind used in the original (wind, storm, hurricane and the eponymous typhoon) and overuses the Polish equivalent of typhoon, whereas in the original Conrad uses it frugally to generate suspense when the ship finally finds itself fighting with it (Adamowicz-Pośpiech 2009, 129). He also ignores stylistic elements typical of Conrad. For example, he does not notice irony in the manner in which the repeated phrase ‘bad weather’ is used, and he provides a variety of synonyms for it, thus not only losing its intratextual quality but also its ironic tinge, especially when he translates it as ‘calamity’ or ‘storm’. Filipczuk overlooks the intertextual reference to the Book of Job when the ship is getting ready for the typhoon (‘as of girding the loins’) and translates it by a common expression ‘szykując się do boju’ (getting ready for the fight), thus making it impossible for Polish readers to notice the biblical reference and its semantic significance (AdamowiczPośpiech 2009, 139). The foreshadowing of the Nan-Shan being finally spared (as was the case with Job) is thus irretrievably lost. Filipczuk also eradicates the idiolectal difference between substandard sailors’ jargon and Standard English, creating a linguistically uniform target text. These examples indicate that Filipczuk frequently focuses on the naturalness of the target language, consequently missing the very carefully constructed network of signification of the original. His retranslation of Lord Jim seems to have been primarily dictated by market demand, rather than a desire to uncover some new aspects of the novel, ignored or misrepresented previously. It follows Zagórska’s version as corrected by Najder rather closely, polishing it slightly, but not changing it radically. He does not introduce such novel solutions as those created by Kłobukowski: modern colloquial language, the changing of proper names and the conversion of English measuring units. There were not many reviews of this translation. It seems to have been overlooked by critics, though Polish Conradians did notice it. This version 47

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

was praised by Najder, who claimed that Filipczuk ‘uncovered the entire philosophical wealth of the novel’ (Marzec 2009). However, it is difficult to assess what Najder meant by this, as no further explication is provided. In relation to passages that discuss philosophical issues such as Stein’s monologues, this translation does not differ radically from Zagórska’s corrected version. It does, however, introduce some changes. When Stein paraphrases Hamlet, with his exclamation ‘How to be! Ach! How to be’ (LJ, 213), and then repeats the verb in his next sentence, ‘We want in so many different ways to be’, Filipczuk changes the latter into ‘We want to live in these different ways’ (Filipczuk 150). This obviously makes it easier to comprehend Stein’s philosophy, but compromises on the purposeful repetition. Generally, in Stein’s utterances, Filipczuk retreats from the original metaphoricity which linked specific notions (like ‘remedy’ and ‘cure’ in ‘There is only one remedy! One thing alone can us from being ourselves cure!’), thus creating a version which is easier to follow. But it is debatable whether this is an asset, because it seems that Filipczuk sometimes distorts the meaning rather than uncovering its intricacies: the back translation of Stein’s sentence as interpreted by Filipczuk would read: ‘There is only one way! Only one thing can us, us ourselves, cure.’ The notion of ‘curing us from being ourselves’ is lost. Najder’s positive opinion may have been influenced by the relative similarity of Filipczuk’s version to the one that he himself had worked on, with some passages further corrected and changed.

Comparison of translations Created in different times, targeted at different readerships, with different aims in mind and encompassing a varying knowledge of the author and his literary techniques, the translations of Lord Jim differ considerably in many aspects: in their treatment of culture-related items, stylistic elements, dialectal variation, the modernization of the language and the visibility of the translator, to suggest only the most evident ones.3 The opening of the novel, ‘He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet’ (LJ, 3), sheds some light on the translators’ approaches to addressing a few of these issues. An English culture-related element (a unit of measurement) is introduced symbolically, becoming a powerful hint for the interpretation of the novel; the sentence has a specific (almost iambic) rhythm and a fair level of ambiguity, representing one of Conrad’s narrative strategies. The novel opens with a visual impression. Literally, the sentence refers to an unspecified male’s height; the metaphorical level is more significant. Once the reader decodes that he refers to Jim, the symbolic level emerges: Jim is always lacking something (time, courage), not much, just that little bit represented by an inch. Węsławska paraphrases and generalizes the opening: ‘Potężnie zbudowany, bardzo wysoki’ (Powerfully built, very tall) (Węsławska, 7), thus eliminating unfamiliar culture-bound items and the symbolic dimension. This implies that she was largely ignorant of the specificity of Conrad’s style and its nuances. Zagórska’s version is the most literal and analogous with the original: ‘Brakował mu cal – może dwa – do sześciu stóp wzrostu’ ((He) lacked an inch – perhaps two – to six feet in height) (Zagórska, 1). It reconstructs the original rhythm, symbolism, expressiveness and culture, though the lack of declination of 3 The entire translation series of Lord Jim has provoked in-depth scholarly analyses, including the scrutiny of all the translations of the Marlovian narratives. These provide the basis for the further comments here (cf. Kujawska-Lis 2011).

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The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

the noun translating ‘inch’ makes it ungrammatical. Kłobukowski, by domesticating the text culturally, deprives it of important senses: ‘Niewiele niższy niż metr osiemdziesiąt’ ((He) was a little shorter than one metre eighty) (Kłobukowski, 7). The translation loses the hesitation of the original (through the omission of perhaps), which implies from the start that nothing in the story is certain, while providing an indication of how little (represented by inch) Jim always lacked. In this case, catering for modern readers by producing a version that is immediately understandable (culturally and linguistically) affects the original poetics, reducing the opening to its literal dimension. Filipczuk follows Zagórska’s version, yet by introducing the grammatically correct declination of the equivalent of inch, he compromises on the rhythm: ‘Brakowało mu cala, może dwóch, do sześciu stóp wzrostu’ (Filipczuk, 7). He also provides an explanatory footnote concerning English units of measurement, which not only reduces the powerfulness of the first impression through forcing the reader to refer to the metatext, but also reveals his own presence rather than that of an implied narrator. These are general strategies adopted by the translators of Lord Jim, except for Kłobukowski who later on is more conscious of (and more careful in recreating) Conrad’s poetics.

Foreign culture The first translation of Lord Jim almost completely erases the local colour created by vernacular expressions. Readers know that the action is set in the Far East since the location is introduced by toponyms and the Malay word Tuan. Yet, the exoticism of the setting is not emphasized otherwise. Węsławska either omits local words or substitutes for them culturally neutral ones, affecting the readers’ perceptions of the Far East. The fully-fledged cultural atmosphere of the original is built up in the second translation. Zagórska consistently creates a fictional reality where the vocabulary complements the cultural background. Although she does not manage to reproduce every foreign element (prau is normalized, along with tiffin), her translation is permeated with culture-specific words. In the version edited by Najder, almost all such words are reproduced either by borrowings (punkah, prao) or adapted borrowings (radża for rajah). The cultural distance between the fictional reality and the extratextual reality of the target readers is given priority here. Polish readers are confronted with the Other (other culture, other customs, other set of beliefs) in the same way that the main character is. The contrast between European culture and the culture of the Far East is maintained in as many ways as possible (toponyms, anthroponyms, vernacular expressions, forms of address). One might expect that in the modern versions the recreation of the foreign would continue, given a stronger tendency towards foreignization in translation at the present time. Yet, that is not the case. In Kłobukowski’s translation, exoticism is initially attenuated as he avoids vernacular expressions, choosing culturally neutral equivalents instead. Alien elements appear towards the end of the novel; they are either exotic but well known (radża) or genuinely foreign (pangeran) but understandable in context. This demonstrates the translator’s attempt to create a fluent text – one that does not disturb readers. He selects the most versatile solutions to deal with culture: neutralizations (paraphrase or conversion) and direct borrowing when the context is sufficient to understand the designate. However, the more Kłobukowski avoids unknown vocabulary, the more he effaces the cultural significance of the setting. Conrad, in a masterly fashion, from the opening pages makes his readers sense the foreign aspects of his 49

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

narrative through the sound and look of unknown words. In Kłobukowski’s version, Marlow only gradually employs local words, most of which appear when he reports Stein’s life in the Malay Archipelago, and then Jim’s life in Patusan. In this translation, beginning with chapter 20 (the first meeting with Stein), Marlow consciously creates geographical and historical spaces by imitating the extratextual one through exotic words. This, however, significantly changes the manner in which the cultural background is created in the original, where the exotic atmosphere can be perceived from the beginning of the novel. The most recent translation apparently reintroduces exoticism, but all foreign words are glossed in the footnotes. This does not allow readers to genuinely sense the Other. Metatextual explanations rationalize the experience of the foreign. The combination of the borrowing and the overt gloss mediates the semantic load of foreign expressions (readers understand their meanings by referring to the gloss) and transfers the image of the word. In this translation, almost every potentially difficult element (including nautical terms, German and French expressions, biblical allusions, intertextual references, geographic locations) is explained, including those that are self-explanatory. But there are also elements that are replaced or remain unexplained. So the general strategy of glossing is employed inconsistently. Furthermore, many explications are unnecessary and contradict Conrad’s idea of making the story enigmatic and universal (cf. Kujawska-Lis 2011; 2015).

Stylistic elements Translations carried out at the beginning of the twentieth century have by now become linguistically outdated. The two new translations aim to modernize the language, but the solutions are dissimilar. Filipczuk emphasizes the diachronic distance and occasionally inserts obsolete words into modern Polish to create the impression that the fictional reality is not contemporary. In particular, he selects old-fashioned verbs to differentiate registers: elevated and literary in narrative parts and more colloquial in dialogue. This strategy often misses the point because the poetic quality of Conrad’s language is not based on such a simplistic differentiation. The diachronic distance is also preserved by a variety of old-fashioned grammatical forms no longer used in everyday Polish, but evocative of nineteenth-century literature. Kłobukowski’s approach is more radical as he avoids explicit archaization. He modifies the grammatical and lexical levels of the text. In particular, the Polish pluperfect forms are eliminated and contemporary words appear. Kłobukowski’s modern language verges sometimes on being slangish, not fitting the original ambience. Also, his modernization is not homogenous: contemporary colloquial words intermingle occasionally with obsolete and literary ones, leading to a sense of linguistic incongruity. Although this translation reads the most fluently of all four, those intermittent outdated forms spoil the global effect. The yellow dog episode can be analyzed to exemplify how the translators have dealt with a typically Conradian narrative technique. In this example, Conrad clearly exploits the possibilities offered by English to create equivocal scenes open to many interpretations. Symbolic scenes, especially those based on double meanings of key words, obviously pose a great challenge for translators due to different linguistic practices. Because its delayed and symbolic decoding rests on two meanings of the noun ‘cur’ in the statement ‘Look at that wretched cur’ (LJ, 70), it is difficult to recreate this effect in a language in which such polysemy 50

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

does not exist. Węsławska simplifies the meaning so that it immediately refers to Jim: ‘Spojrzyj pan na tego nieszczęśnika, łajdaka! tchórza!’ (Look at this miserable man, scoundrel! coward!) (Węsławska, 70). This solution ruins the subtle game with the reader (and between Marlow and Jim), since this sentence cannot refer to the dog. The value of the episode, which lies in the gradual decoding of meanings and the mutual interests of the protagonists, is diminished in this version. Zagórska selects the word ‘dog’: ‘Niech pan spojrzy na tego nędznego psa’ (Look at that wretched dog) (Zagórska, 77), which can be used colloquially as an insult, but this solution seems over-literal and lacks the overtone of cowardice. Najder (when correcting her version) and both the modern translators prefer the dictionary equivalent kundel (Najder, 79; Kłobukowski, 61; Filipczuk, 52), which can also be seen as an insult. Although this solution is closer to the original, it still does not solve the problem of a partial loss of meaning. When Jim asks Marlow, ‘Do you know what you would have done? Do you? And you don’t think yourself [. . .] you don’t think yourself a – a cur?’ (LJ, 81), he refers to cowardice rather than villainy. In Polish, the impression is that of (self-)contempt. In this and similar cases, the loss of meaning and the compromise of narrative techniques result from systemic differences between languages, rather than any lack of translatorial skills (with the possible exception of Węsławska’s version, as she seems not to have understood Conrad’s writing). The translation series demonstrates certain tendencies in the treatment of Conrad’s linguistic and narrative solutions. The first translator did not understand the innovatory nature of Conrad’s techniques. Węsławska had no access to critical analyses that would allow her to investigate comprehensively the linguistic and narrative aspects of Lord Jim. Hence her solutions often normalize and trivialize the original. She eliminates many elements signifying the orality of Lord Jim, for instance phatic expressions, such as ‘you know’, repetitions and onomatopoeic words. Single omissions do not significantly mask these yarn features, but, as they accumulate, they minimize the text’s status as an oral tale. When eliminating repetitions, Węsławska also omits those indicating Jim’s stammering and indecision. Her text exhibits the largest degree of stylistic disjunction with the original and significantly changes the image of the protagonist. Occasionally, she translates literally original idioms, such as ‘as old as the hills’, which is counterproductive. Conrad often defamiliarizes specific words that are related semantically with particular episodes or characters (by activating their different meanings and forcing readers to search for various interpretations), thus superimposing additional meanings on them or creating intratextual relations. However, Węsławska’s literal translations of fixed phrases defamiliarize expressions that are meant to sound natural. Zagórska, too, could not take advantage of critical work on Conrad, yet she seems to have recognized the innovatory nature of Conrad’s fictions, though (as demonstrated by Najder) she sometimes misunderstood the purposefulness of repeated key expressions. Although she did have direct contact with the writer (both personally and through correspondence), she rarely discussed practical translatorial solutions with him. Her first translation appeared in 1923, a year before the writer’s death, so the bulk of her work was done without his support or the possibility of clarifying authorial intentions. As for specific hints, he told her how the title of ‘Heart of Darkness’ should be rendered (Zagórska 1928/1996, 315), a suggestion she followed. In their correspondence Conrad sporadically suggested other possibilities, like the title Almayer’s Daughter most likely for Almayer’s Folly (letter of 21 August 1921, CL7, 331), which she ignored. No proof is presently available for Conrad’s direct influence on Zagórska’s translations, apart from these infrequent hints in surviving letters. In fact, he praised her 51

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

versions before he saw them, trusting her linguistic sensitivity entirely, without checking the quality of her translations. In the context of her work on Almayer’s Folly, he only advised her in advance that his English was not literary and that he wrote idiomatically. He further added, ‘Je vous connais. J’ai foi en vous. Et vraiment Conrad vu à travers Angèle, ça ne sera pas déjà si mauvais. Inspirez-vous bien de cette idée qui pourra peut-être alléger un peu la tâche ingrate que vous pensez entreprendre’ (CL7, 75).4 Later, in 1921, he wrote to her: ‘I’m sure your translation is excellent. J’ai beaucoup de confiance dans votre tempérament et le tour particulier de votre esprit m’est infiniment sympathique’ (CL7, 393–4),5 and added that he had always felt that she understood him well. This manifests a profound bond between the writer and his cousin, but does not indicate specific cooperation in terms of the writer and translator. Hence, it may be assumed that many of the solutions adopted by Zagórska resulted from her intuitive reading of Conrad. Despite her predilection for literary language, she generally does not significantly change the imagery but rather reproduces it closely, if possible. Occasionally, she misses the original semantic interconnections and cannot deal with the naturalness of dialogue. Zagórska differentiates language analogically to the original: she introduces untypical linguistic forms when untypical phrases appear in the original, while she prefers paraphrases or functional equivalents for conventional original phrases. This often allows her to preserve the dialectic between the unfamiliar and naturalness of language at the stylistic level. Both modern translators had access to critical metatexts, stressing the orality of the yarn, and both reject the poetic quality of the text for the sake of colloquialism. However, when language is used creatively in the original (for sound impressions or the activation of both literal and metaphorical meanings), such an approach is misguided. This is most evident in Filipczuk’s version because he often ignores the original semantic organization of the text and conventionalizes the language with substitutions that are designed to create a fluent text. Kłobukowski, with some exceptions, is more aware of linguistic creativity in Lord Jim and offers his own innovative elements. His translation recreates the style of an orally presented tale that frequently characterizes Marlow’s narrative. His Marlow is most credible as a yarn teller. However, the original Marlow is a narrator who employs different registers and creatively transforms his linguistic resources. Excessive use of everyday or even slangish language vulgarizes both Marlow as a narrator and also other characters that he presents, and additionally diminishes the rich linguistic and semantic texture of the original. For instance, Jim speaks to Marlow freely, but keeps his distance because of their chance acquaintance, their age difference and their relative social positions. His language is informal, but not trivially colloquial. In Kłobukowski’s translation, Jim is most natural, but the image of him created through his language use is also most radically affected as his speech seems too colloquial. A certain disjunction appears as regards the social aspects of language, while the use of domestic idioms and expressions masks the cultural background of the characters.

4

‘I know you. I have confidence in you. And indeed Conrad seen through Aniela’s eyes will by no means be bad. Take heart from this idea that may perhaps lighten a bit the thankless task you are considering taking up.’ 5 ‘I have a good deal of confidence in your temperament and the individual cast of your mind is wholly sympathetic to me’ (CL7, 394).

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The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

Characters’ idiolect In Lord Jim, Conrad endows characters with their specific idiolects, creating the novel’s distinctive linguistic polyphony. This is particularly evident in the case of characters of foreign origin. The most interesting solutions concern the German characters, because they differ ethically and morally, and each of them speaks a different variety of English with German interferences. The solutions adopted by the translators can be exemplified by their handling of the Patna’s captain and Stein. The treatment of the first words spoken by the Captain – ‘Look at dese cattle’ (LJ, 15) – is symptomatic of the translators’ strategies. All the translations are equivalent semantically, but not expressively. Both Węsławska and Zagórska eliminate the skipper’s foreignness as they do not mark his phonological oddity. The former makes the skipper address Jim directly, thus imposing a professional hierarchy, with the skipper treating Jim with superiority. Zagórska selects the honorific form Mister, but eliminates the foreign accent. Najder in his correction marks the skipper’s words with an incorrect grammatical form. Filipczuk ignores the linguistic idiosyncrasy. The only translator who re-expresses the marked element with an analogous effect (phonological distortion) is Kłobukowski: ‘Pacz pan na to bidlo!’ (Kłobukowski, 17). His version is the most radical, as two words are stylized (written as if inappropriately pronounced). In longer chunks of the skipper’s speech it becomes evident that both female translators largely or completely ignore these markers of foreignness, whereas Najder and Kłobukowski consistently stylize the speech even when it is correct in the original, thus amplifying the effect. In such longer utterances, Węsławska introduces unnecessary inversions which make the skipper’s language bombastic rather than vulgar. Zagórska’s version is more naturally colloquial, yet without phonetic interference. Najder selects grammatical stylization (inappropriate declination and elliptical structures without the verb), but these elements are not systematic and do not appear in every utterance. Kłobukowski consistently introduces phonetic markers (inappropriate pronunciation signalled by what appear as transcribed words), attempting to achieve a homogenous effect. His skipper’s speech reflects the manner in which Germans would pronounce Polish words, making the character quite credible. Yet, he introduces more markers of foreignness than the original text, occasionally exaggerating the effect. In Filipczuk’s translation, no consistent technique can be noticed. Phonetically the utterances are correct and he mostly copies Najder’s solutions, but occasionally he corrects the deliberate errors. The Polish translations also offer different images of Stein. Węsławska eliminates markers of Stein’s linguistic and cultural background (German words and unusual syntax), thus erasing significant clues to features of his philosophy and ambivalence. In her version, Stein is illogical rather than ambiguous, as he mixes registers (colloquial with elevated formal language). Zagórska does not expose the changed word order in specific sentences; consequently they do not stand out from the co-text. She retains German intrusions, but these are but one element of Stein’s idiolect. It is primarily the inverted syntax that highlights the most important sentences in terms of their philosophical content, and this feature is lost. Najder’s corrections to Zagórska’s translation bring it closest to the original out of all the Polish versions of Lord Jim. The syntax is changed in exactly the same sentences as in the original, and all specific idiolectal elements are reflected. Even quite unnatural anaphors reproduce the somewhat artificial quality of Stein’s oratorical skills. Kłobukowski stylizes Stein’s utterances both grammatically and lexically (with incorrect forms of nouns and verbs), thus distorting the image of the philosophical 53

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

German. His solutions stress linguistic foreignness, but not specific sentences of philosophical meaning. As a result, Stein is endowed with more evident verbal humour, which is not Conrad’s aim per se. Filipczuk focuses on the metatext in which explanations are provided rather than on the quality of translation. In many of his earlier utterances, Stein’s syntax is correct; then surprisingly unnatural word order appears in the first sentence of a longer monologue, only to be quickly abandoned. Consequently, only one sentence becomes defamiliarized, and it is inconsistent with the language of this character globally. In the original, Stein’s language harmonizes with the cultural background, which is important for the interpretation of his words as expressing his philosophical convictions. An analogous effect is achieved only in Zagórska’s version as corrected by Najder. Other solutions are at the two extremes: utter erasure of his idiolect (Węsławska) and excessive stylization creating a more comical version (Kłobukowski). Despite the various techniques adopted, the Polish versions do not create the analogous effect of a moral and ethical hierarchy of German characters reflected through their language and the significance of highlighting only specific sentences through stylization.

Conclusion Polish readers have at their disposal five versions of Lord Jim, and in some respects the differences existing between them are quite extreme. Except for the first, the translations do not significantly distort the ideological and semantic levels of the original, but they treat the textual level dissimilarly. This greatly affects Marlow as a credible narrator. In Węsławska’s Lord Jim, Marlow is a bland narrator who neutralizes his story linguistically and culturally. When recounting information collected from others, he does not reflect the manner in which such stories were originally told. Thus, his tale is rendered monotonous to his intradiegetic addressees, hence losing some salient features of the yarn. By ignoring idiolects, Węsławska does not recreate their functions, thus losing their aesthetic and ideological values. By abridging the original, especially as regards the events described in Marlow’s letter, she prevents readers from comprehending Jim’s internal struggle prior to his ultimate decision, thus demolishing the psychological level of the text. Additionally, Marlow in her interpretation patronizes Jim, and his speech is excessively bookish. The first translation thus distorted the original and provided Polish readers with a very different text to that created by Conrad. New light was shed on Lord Jim by Zagórska. She largely reconstructs the English and Malay cultural background and the psychological justification for Jim’s decision, if only by providing a complete transcript of the original. Her Marlow is close to the original in terms of a conscious use of language (metaphors, onomatopoeia, phatic expressions), yet he drifts away from his original counterpart in occasionally employing unprofessional jargon (through her mistakes with sailing vocabulary), in using literary language instead of colloquial varieties and from the absence of linguistic polyphony in his storytelling. These problematic areas were amended by Najder, who allowed Polish readers access to a novel much closer to the original than they had had for three decades. A radically new version was presented by Kłobukowski. His Marlow combines colloquial language with consciously shaped literary effects. He effortlessly scatters metaphors, symbolic meanings and alliterations and is an experienced storyteller. However, sometimes symbolic 54

The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim

aspects of the original are lost in his narration, and the language is occasionally excessively colloquial. In this translation, characters are given their own voice through their idiolects, yet it is linguistic humour that is most evident in their stylizations, which does not always reflect the original functions of Conrad’s linguistic polyphony. In terms of culture, Marlow in this version stresses the cultural otherness of Patusan. Patusan appears to be completely cut off from other Malay locations in its culture, which does not really do justice to the original. In the latest available version by Filipczuk, Marlow is a narrator with unstable features. He exoticizes geographical space by vernacular words, but then finds it difficult to describe foreign locations. His language is exceptionally heterogeneous: he uses colloquial, bookish and archaic expressions, as if he desired to be a storyteller conscious of narrating a literary text written in the nineteenth century. Filipczuk provides a large number of footnotes, which does not affect Marlow’s narration as such, but impacts on the reader’s reception of the text because such explanations are often excessive and sometimes contradictory to the main text. Unfortunately, this last translation also contains many mistakes, which is surprising given the corrective function of a diachronic series. Thus, out of the five versions, only two – Zagórska’s corrected by Najder and Kłobukowski’s – can be considered as reproducing the original, each via different means. The former can be viewed as a rather close rendering, linguistically rooted in the early twentieth century, the latter as a radically changed modern version. As well as the different contexts of reception, what was received in the 1890s, in 1904, in the 1930s was very different from the texts currently being received.

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CHAPTER 3 POLONIZING SIBERIA’S HEART OF DARKNESS: CONRAD WRITTEN BACK IN JACEK DUKAJ’S ICE Daniel Schümann

Introduction In Polish, whoever wants to talk about the vast expanses of Russia east of the Urals has a choice between two names: Sybir and Syberia. The coexistence of two Polish synonyms for Siberia seems to be an interesting case of semantic disambiguation according to the emotional charge carried by a toponym (see Kijak 2010, 49; Żbikowski 1996, 13). Using the word Syberia in Polish, one can talk about the Russian East in a neutral way, emphasizing that it is a certain geographical space. In contrast, when one uses the word Sybir, which the Polish language directly borrowed from Russian, one is talking about Siberia as ‘the largest prison on earth’, a ‘prison without bars’ (to use a standard Polish stereotype).1 When using the word Sybir, one is alluding to what is called the ‘martyrology of Siberia’ in Polish culture – the numerous eyewitness accounts and fantastical tales, the historical narratives and the fictionalized travelogues that exist about real and imagined journeys to Siberia. For more than two centuries, Siberia has functioned as a prime memorial site, a locus memoriae, a focal point for Polish identity, especially at a time when there was no Polish state and when exile to Siberia was a common prospect in many Polish families. It was not until fairly recently that the Polish perspective was beginning to be augmented by also highlighting the more positive effects of Polish migration to Siberia: the emergence of a culturally active Polish diaspora there (see Kuczyński 2007, 8–11). Whoever wants to talk, in English, about the world’s fourth largest continent has a choice between one neutral geographical name, Africa, and an emotionally charged circumlocution, ‘The Dark Continent’, which is just as inappropriate for referring to the complexion of its inhabitants as it is semantically biased when used in present-day political discourse.2 What seems to be, at first glance, a similar case of using a name originating from the language of power to convey a subjective attitude towards a geographical space3 differs from the Polish usage of the Russianism Sybir when put under closer scrutiny: by saying ‘Sybir’ instead of ‘Siberia’, the voice of the oppressed is raised behind the facade of a mock mimicry of the language of power. In contrast, Joseph Conrad’s use of ‘Heart of Darkness’ for ‘Africa’ can be

1

The fall of communism in Eastern Europe paved the way for a new historiography of humiliation, as can be seen in a spate of publications on the history of Poles in Siberia, such as Kaczyńska 1991. 2 See, for instance, Mazower 1999. 3 According to Christopher L. Miller, Africa is, first and foremost, a projection of the European mind: ‘Europe conceives of Africa as the direct, immanent, unself-conscious annulment of its (Europe’s) own binary modes of thought’ (Miller 1985, 64). It may be added that even the official name of the continent, Africa, was originally coined by the conquering Romans (see Room 2008, 17).

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called an innovative figure of speech, in spite of the criticism the author incurred in subsequent decades. Combining the periphrastic darkness with another emotionally charged expression, heart, Conrad ran a high risk of being accused of stirring up ‘cheap’ emotions that were to be difficult to control, even if he carefully diluted narrative responsibility for coining the noun phrase chosen as the title of what is arguably his most famous piece of fiction. The innovative character of the phrase derives not from the exotic timbre of the words used, but from the ambiguity and, indeed, the multiple semantics that result from the combination of the two nouns. It is hoped that a comparative reading of Heart of Darkness and Ice will expose some of the semantic potential resulting from the combination of the two nouns in Conrad’s title. In his novel Ice, Jacek Dukaj, a contemporary Polish fiction writer born in 1974, is rewriting the Polish tradition of exiles’ diaries, giving it a more promising outcome, and he can also be seen as rewriting the mythopoetic assumptions about Russia that shaped Conrad’s rather negative image of the country he was born into.4 Dukaj presents the reader with an innovative, multifaceted, alternative image of Russia’s icy east, as opposed to the ‘martyrology’ of the Polish historiography of Siberia. As can be seen from the book’s cover, as well as from the rather peculiar mixture of maps, cave drawings and photographs on the novel’s endpaper, in Ice Dukaj blends recorded history and geography with a counterfactual storyline that is largely fictitious. In doing so, he draws upon a multitude of literary and cultural genres, most of all adventure fiction, Cold War spy fiction, science fiction, narratives about the American Wild West and cinematic epics such as Star Trek, Star Wars and other examples of outer space fiction.5 Leaving aside issues of genre definition and literary influences in the classical sense of this term, the exploratory mode of Dukaj’s text constitutes a clear link relating Ice to the fiction of Joseph Conrad’s Marlow trilogy (Simmons 2006, 77–114), especially to Heart of Darkness: in both instances, philosophically-minded protagonists unbound by marital constraints or long-term relationships embark upon narrative excursions into the Unknown, lured from home by the prospect of pecuniary and intellectual profit. Moreover, both Conrad’s Marlow and Dukaj’s Gierosławski are cultural outsiders in the imperialist enterprises described in the texts: Marlow, the British captain, accepts a command at the hands of murky colonial authorities endorsed by whoever rules the ‘sepulchral city’.6 In contrast, Gierosławski, the eternal Polish student, allows himself to be recruited by the Russian authorities to eliminate a problem that exists deep inside the merely half-Russianized expanses of the Tsarist Empire. Both of the protagonists encounter the moral corruption of the empires of which they are part. Conrad’s birthplace, Berdychiv (Бердичів), is a typical example of a topographical palimpsest at the intersection between various cultures. Called Berdichev (Бердичев) by the Russians, Bardichev (‫ )באַרדיטשעװ‬by some Jews and Berdyczów by the Poles, the town is now part of the Ukraine, but it belonged to the Russian Empire for much of Conrad’s lifetime. Monika Majewska has outlined Conrad’s complicated relationship with Russia (in Schenkel and Trepte 2010, 89–109). 5 It appears that the discussion of genre issues with respect to Dukaj’s Ice is still at an early stage. Critics typically assume that Dukaj is a science fiction writer, but are rather vague about other genres that might have been inscribed into his novel. Magdalena Mrowiec and Natalia Lemann linked the plot of Ice with Telemachus’s search for his father Odysseus in Homer’s Odyssey (see Mrowiec 2009, 126; Lemann 2012, 185). Without using the term, Magdalena Mrowiec also detects traces of the Bildungsroman genre in Ice, as she states that the novel’s central protagonist is finally able to discover himself: ‘cała syberyjska podróż staje się dla niego drogą indywiduacji, procesem uświadamiania sobie rozmaitych potężnych determinant, kierujących ludzkim losem’ (the whole Siberian journey becomes an avenue to individuation for him, a process of realizing the various powerful factors determining and governing human fate; Mrowiec 2009, 139). 6 All textual references to Heart of Darkness in this chapter are to the Cambridge edition (here Conrad 2010, 67). 4

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There are, however, some striking dissimilarities as well, the most obvious one being the more positive outlook that pervades the end of Dukaj’s novel thanks to the wholesale disintegration of the empire. Also, it should be noted that Dukaj is much less explicit in linking Ice with Heart of Darkness than he is in the case of another famous text in the Marlow cycle, Lord Jim.7 However, the common frame of reference between Conrad and Dukaj in terms of geography, culture and psyche is most visibly expressed in Heart of Darkness, so that a comparison between the two texts can yield some new insights into the character of both narratives.8 Consequently, the following remarks will be based on a parallel reading of Heart of Darkness and Ice. Rather than asking, ‘Whose idea was it to speak of a Heart of Darkness?’ the guiding questions for this chapter will be ‘How is this idea inscribed into the various layers of the two texts?’ and ‘How can each of the two texts be read as a commentary on the other?’ While Conrad’s most famous tale seems to have been translated into virtually all of the world’s major languages, Dukaj’s award-winning novel apparently has not been translated into English yet, at least not in its entirety. There are, however, both an English and a Belorussian translation of excerpts available at the Cracow-based publisher’s website,9 with the English translation by Stanley Bill totaling less than 5 per cent of the entire novel. It appears that the complete English translation intended by Wydawnictwo Literackie publishers has not yet come to fruition. The complete novel is available online in a Russian translation by V. B. Marchenko (see Dukaj 2011).

‘Africa’ as camouflage for colonialism In Heart of Darkness, Conrad never mentions the name Africa in his description of the destination of Marlow’s journey. Only when Marlow is telling his listeners about his youthful fascination with maps does the name of this continent come up. Why then, the reader might ask, is Conrad spending so much creative energy on obscuring the geographical location of the harrowing colonial experience Marlow wishes to narrate to his listeners? The obvious answer to this question is: in order to open up additional layers of symbolic and parabolic readings of the story.10 The colour symbolism emanating from the map at the Company’s headquarters can be seen as a good example of the narrative techniques employed by Conrad: at first sight an image of diversity, vitality, progress (‘some real work is done in there’, i.e., the British dominions)

7 See the direct reference to Lord Jim in Ice (166). The consonance with Heart of Darkness is decidedly less explicit: apart from the dichotomy of light and darkness at the forefront of the novel, expressions such as ‘serce Zimy’ (the heart of Winter, see 582, 602) suggest a rather opaque intertextual connection between Conrad and Dukaj. Also, one could argue a case for Dukaj’s indebtedness to Conrad’s excursions into spy fiction in The Secret Agent (1907) and Under Western Eyes (1911). 8 Without turning this into a point of principle, this chapter is aiming more at tracing what Dionýz Ďurišin has called ‘literary-typological relationships’ (see Ďurišin 1984, 203–7) rather than claiming that Heart of Darkness was the central point of reference for Dukaj when he was writing Ice. Because of constraints of space, all other intertextual affinities to Ice, such as Fyodor Dostoevsky Zapiski iz mertvogo doma (House of the Dead), Juliusz Słowacki’s Anhelli (see Mrowiec 2009) and Jules Verne’s Michel Strogoff, will be omitted here. 9 See http://dukaj.wydawnictwoliterackie.pl/. Roughly one-third of the first chapter of Ice is also available in pdf format in the online archives of the European Union Prize for Literature, which Dukaj won for his novel in 2009. See www. euprizeliterature.eu/author/2009/jacek-dukaj. 10 For another answer, see the chapter on ‘Trade Secrets’ in Hampson 2012, 52–72.

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(50), the rainbow of national colours representing the European ‘scramble for Africa’, instead of realizing the biblical promise of making a truce between Man and God, ultimately turns into an emblem of darkness. Conrad, the impressionist, might have been aware that all colours mixed together produce black. The same can be said about Kurtz. The Company’s most efficient agent, allegedly an ‘emissary of light’, is found out by Marlow to be the exact opposite: a sick ‘Prince of Darkness’, a hollow hybrid assisted by a harlequin – maybe because too many colours ‘contributed to the making of Kurtz’ (95). In the tale’s logic, dancing to every tune – that is, being endowed by too many gifts and genetic dispositions – inevitably leads to the dance of death.11 Marlow, the only one aboard the Nellie ‘who still “followed the sea” ’ (45), seems to be subconsciously aware of the fact that he, too, is running the risk of being contaminated by Kurtz’s ‘horror’, of all the colours of the world finally merging into lethal blackness. Hence the long spells of silence that puncture Marlow’s account. And perhaps also the controversial defence strategy that Conrad seems to adopt in Heart of Darkness by camouflaging his authorial position behind a double-framed narrative structure: an anonymous narrator picks up Marlow’s story from ‘shipboard talk’, presumably to preserve it later in script.12 There clearly is a huge distance between the centres of the European empires and their colonial peripheries, not just with respect to geography but also in terms of culture. This means that any news filtering through from the colonialists’ activities at the site of their self-proclaimed mission civilisatrice cannot but fall short of the true picture. As becomes apparent when Marlow lies to the ‘Intended’ about Kurtz’s last words (see 125), self-imposed censorship adds to the atmosphere of camouflage and concealment that pervades the text. Therefore, there seems to be some justification for reading Heart of Darkness, as Mark Wollaeger did, as testimonial ‘to Conrad’s ambivalent engagement with the eroding distinction between information and propaganda that characterizes the early twentieth century’ (in Kaplan et al. 2005, 76). Since all decisive positions are occupied by Europeans, the Europeans also control the flow of information from the colonies to the imperial capitals. There is an apparent technology gap between the locals and the colonials in favour of the latter, but at the same time the colonials’ dependence upon technology is portrayed as potentially destabilizing, as becomes clear in connection with Marlow’s detection of traces of sabotage at the Company’s stations (65).13 Even if the locals are portrayed as submissive rather than openly rebellious, it is obvious that in this remote country the effects of so-called

11

A reference to this leitmotif of medieval and early modern painting occurs long before Marlow arrives at Kurtz’s station in connection with the description of the French steamer’s journey along the continental coastline: ‘We called at some more places with farcical names where the merry dance of death and trade goes on in a still and earthly atmosphere as of overheated catacombs’ (55). 12 Chinua Achebe bases his criticism partly on the ambiguous narrative stance adopted in Heart of Darkness (see Achebe in Roberts 1998, 115–16). However, even Achebe notes that the intricate narrative framework does not allow the reader to put an equation mark between the positions of Marlow and Conrad. If anything, it is the anonymous narrator, not Marlow, who can be read as Conrad’s alter ego, contrary to what most critics have claimed (see, for instance, Jericho 1984, 28). Even then, however, there remains a tangible degree of narrative uncertainty, since, as GoGwilt has convincingly shown, Marlow undermines the frame narrator’s eulogy on the River Thames (see Peters 2010, 154). 13 Conrad’s text is not explicit about this, but the railway carriage found by Marlow at the downriver station with one wheel off (56), the burning shed of trading goods at the central station (65) and the deplorable state of the river steamboat to be commanded by Marlow (70–3) convey this impression.

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Polonizing Siberia’s Heart of Darkness

‘civilization’ are little more than a thin veneer that will soon give way to the overwhelming power of nature and local customs. Consequently, Marlow’s narrative claims that not only are the European masters constantly afraid of insurgency on the part of the locals, but they are also permanently at risk of reverting into tribalism themselves, epitomized by the fence poles topped by human skulls around Kurtz’s compound (see 98, 103).

‘Sybir’ as an alternative empire In the novel Ice, Russian history, and indeed world history in general, has taken an entirely different turn following the so-called Tunguska Event, a mysterious explosion above the Siberian Tundra near the Podkamennaya Tunguska River in 1908. While a host of other authors tried to solve the riddle of what may have caused this event in novels and screenplays, Dukaj focuses on its imaginary outcome. The most important result is that in 1924, when the action of the novel starts, the Russian Empire has not yet ceased to exist. Not only have there not been the two revolutions of 1917, but the First World War has not taken place either.14 The Tsar is still in power, the Bolsheviks have been limited to a marginal role in history and much of Siberia is covered by a thick layer of biologically active Ice. This apparently intelligent Ice originates from the site of the Tunguska Event and is steadily spreading westward in the form of Ice Angels (Lute), which Stanley Bill translated as frostens (see Dukaj, Ice: 9–15, passim). The climate change has given rise to a new economy, the production of frost-resistant metals. This technology has helped Russia win a second Russo-Japanese war and its production has turned the area north of Lake Baikal into a capitalist El Dorado where reckless entrepreneurs, Russian bureaucrats, international spies, dubious technocrats and Polish rebels compete for power. Corruption, foreign interventions, ideological and religious strife are mushrooming in and around the city of Irkutsk, also known as the ‘City of Ice’ (Miasto Lodu) (see Dukaj 2007, 417–27).15 The beginning of Ice, however, is set in Russian-occupied Warsaw. Its central protagonist is a young man named Benedykt Gierosławski, a student of mathematics at the Russian Imperial University of Warsaw and an inveterate gambler chronically short of cash. Orphaned by the death of his mother, he has also long lost contact with his father, who was exiled to Siberia years ago and who has since disappeared without trace in the Siberian Tundra. In an attempt to pay for his gambling debts, Benedykt accepts an assignment offered to him by the Tsarist authorities: he is to travel to icy Siberia, the empire’s ‘Heart of Darkness’ (Króleswo Ciemności; literally, Kingdom of Darkness) (see 734–61), to search for his unaccounted-for father, allegedly the only human being who is able to communicate with the Ice. This is supposed to stop its further westward expansion. So, with a ticket funded by the so-called Ministry of Winter, Benedykt boards a train on the Trans-Siberian Railway bound for Irkutsk in search of his father. In the luxurious carriages of the Trans-Siberian Railway, Benedykt meets a motley crowd of spies, agents, travellers, religious fanatics and profiteers trying to cut each other’s throats more

14 Some historians, notably Richard Ned Lebow, have discussed the idea that the First World War was by no means the necessary outcome of the European power struggles that were building up in the second decade of the twentieth century. See Lebow 2010, 69–102. 15 References to the Polish original of Dukaj’s Ice will henceforth be given in parentheses.

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than once. Among the travellers is the Serbian Croat, or Croatian Serb, Nikola Tesla, who is in the company of a young French-speaking lady.16 It turns out that Tesla has invented a technology that can help defrost the Ice, but a group of sectarian fanatics called the Brotherhood of Marcyn (marcynowcy), as well as an alliance of speculators and entrepreneurs, is trying to prevent this from happening at all costs. It also becomes clear that Tesla has become severely addicted to his own invention, which helps those who use it to think three-dimensionally when, under the conditions of permanent frost, human logic is frozen to a two-dimensional way of thinking.17 On the train, Benedykt also meets a young lady of Polish origin, Jelena Muklanowiczówna, who later becomes his fiancée. After a long string of adventures, Benedykt finally finds his father. Because of his long sojourn in the zone of permanent frost, though, his father has lost all communicative faculties, so Benedykt connects him to Tesla’s machine, allowing him to depart this life with dignity. Tesla’s technology gradually brings about the end of the Ice Age that had kept most of Russia in its grip for so long. The result is a civil war between the advocates of Ice and the adherents of Thaw (termed ledniaki and ottiepielniki in the Polonized Russian of the novel).18 The outcome of this armed conflict remains open at the end of the novel. However, the title of the last chapter, ‘O nas’ (About Us) (see 1036–45), contains a glimmer of hope: Benedykt Gierosławski and Jelena Muklanowiczówna might be about to join a campaign to reshape Siberia under Polish rule, but presumably history will have other options in store for them as well.19 The image of the Russian Empire conveyed in Ice differs from Conrad’s generalized, carefully camouflaged representation of European colonialism in Africa. Dukaj focuses on intercultural tensions between the Europeans, who come from various ethnic backgrounds, rather than on the locals, whose presence in Dukaj’s alternative Siberia never seems to pose a serious threat to the cultural identity of the Europeans migrating eastward. In Africa, the demographic battle behind the scenes between the prodigiously fertile local populations and the shrinking communities of the European colonizers never seems to be far off. Conrad’s exceedingly noisy

16

As in the case of other historical personae, Dukaj seems to support his general pattern of counterfactualism by creating a triangular love story around the friendship between the real Nikola Tesla and the New York writer Robert Underwood Johnson (1853–1937) and his wife Katherine, with whom a correspondence of some 3,000 letters has survived. See Krause 2010, 176–80. 17 This idea was inspired by a scholarly dispute waged within the Lwów–Warsaw school of philosophy in the early 1910s. In Ice, priority is given to the views of Tadeusz Kotarbiński (1886–1981), one of the exponents of this debate. He adhered to the concept of ‘many-valued logic’ in an attempt to overcome strict determinism, focusing on the principle of the ‘excluded middle’, i.e., those statements that are neither true nor false. See Woleński 1990, 190–204. In the logic of Ice, the world outside the Tunguska impact zone is characterized by a three-dimensional logic of ‘true’–‘false’–‘in between’, whereas the ‘Kingdom of Darkness’ is based on a simplified ‘true’–‘false’ dichotomy. A sentence illustrating the validity of a three-dimensional logic is uttered by Gierosławski’s fellow-student Alfred Tajtelbaum in still not icebound Warsaw: ‘Car Mikołaj Drugi nie dożył swoich sześćdziesiątych urodzin’ (Tsar Nicholas II did not live to see his sixtieth birthday; 25), which is true both in the alternative world of Ice – the conversation is set in 1924 – and in recorded history, as Nicholas II (born 1868) was executed by the Bolsheviks in 1918. 18 The novel’s Russian translator states that Dukaj’s Russian is not always authentic. See V. B. Marchenko in Dukaj 2011, 127. 19 The defiant motto of the novel (‘My nie marzniemy’ – We will not freeze), which seems to have been almost hidden on the reverse of the title page – where in Polish books printed in the Russian partition would have been found the censor’s permission (Дозволено цензурою; passed by the censor) – introduces the personal pronoun my (we). The obvious patriotic reading would be ‘We will not allow the Russians to freeze us’, but one might conceive of an alternative reading of the motto including every reader who is willing to read a book like Dukaj’s from beginning to end: ‘Whoever reads thick books will never live to find his mind frozen.’

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Polonizing Siberia’s Heart of Darkness

and apparently densely populated jungles are in contrast to the vast expanses of Siberia virtually devoid of human, as well as animal, inhabitants that characterize much of the setting of Dukaj’s novel. So Benedykt Gierosławski and Jelena Muklanowiczówna are given the chance to act the almost biblical role of a Polish first couple in a Siberia ravaged by revolt.

‘Africa’ as the modern Heart of Darkness It may appear that, in Heart of Darkness, Africa is the one continent onto which all negative clichés about alleged barbarity and lack of human civilization can be projected. This view, however, misses the point that Europe itself is at the very heart of Conrad’s criticism, as can be seen in the narrative framework of the tale. If some phrases occur that seem to praise the beneficial role of European civilization, as in Marlow’s reference to ‘some real work’ going on in Britain’s overseas possessions, any interpretation based on a close reading must take into account the narrative instability of the setting: Marlow’s story is told on unsteady ground, on board a vulnerable nutshell of a boat in the estuary of a tidal river, by a narrator who repeatedly falls silent. The tale is then apparently retold through the filter of another, anonymous narrator about whom the reader learns very little20 and whose memory may not serve him all that well after all. If one is willing to take the category of the author, Conrad, into consideration as well, another safety mechanism woven into the text becomes evident, for, in Edward Said’s words, Conrad is ‘a self-conscious foreigner writing of obscure experiences in an alien language, and he was only too aware of this’ (Said 1966, 4). Heart of Darkness calls into question the conventional wisdoms established by the philosophical schools of utilitarianism, evolutionism and positivism that dominated the decades before the tale was published. For example, the text gradually departs from all the ontological securities of positivism: mapping, measuring, collecting and classifying. As has already been shown, the map of Marlow’s romanticized childhood turns from white spaces to one solid patch of black, and the Company’s farcical doctor who examines Marlow at headquarters undercuts his own beliefs in phrenology by implicitly admitting the inadequacy of his theories when it comes to coping with change: I always ask leave, in the interests of science, to measure the crania of those going out there,’ he said. “And when they come back too?’ I asked. ‘Oh I never see them,’ he remarked, ‘and, moreover the changes take place inside – you know.’ 52 What is more, the positivist penchant for collection and classification is perverted in the Company officials’ taste for hanging their walls with items of weaponry, apparently taken from the locals as trophies, and above all in Kurtz’s leading position in the Company, which is based on the fact ‘that he had collected, bartered, swindled or stolen more ivory than all the other agents together’ (92). As the story unfolds, Marlow’s words make it increasingly clear for the

20 Except for a cryptic reference to Conrad’s short story ‘Youth’, contained in the sentence ‘Between us there was as I have already said somewhere, the bond of the sea’ (43).

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reader that utilitarianism, evolutionism and positivism are just as hollow at the core as Kurtz is himself. Instead of holding the promise of future progress and development, Marlow’s narration focuses on the occurrences of fractures, fissures and holes, like the hole in the bucket of one of the firefighters when part of the Company’s stocks goes up in flames (65). Already the title Heart of Darkness hints at the fact that Conrad’s tale is deliberately playing with the stereotyped imagery of Enlightenment. The traditional dogma that knowledge, and hence civilization, is good, whereas the lack thereof is bad is undermined in many subtle ways. Perhaps the most obvious is in the perverted allegory of Enlightenment as it was depicted by Kurtz in an oil sketch hung up in the dwelling of the young agent at the central station: a draped woman carrying a torch that, first of all, lights up her own face, which is blindfolded (67). In the light of what is yet to come, Kurtz’s dabbling with painting can be read as a prophetic declaration of bankruptcy with regard to the philanthropic ideals with which he had originally embarked on his mission. The ambivalent stance on the tenets of the Enlightenment taken in Heart of Darkness is also reflected in the references to past periods of history at the beginning of Marlow’s narrative. Marlow displays a rare gift for oration here as he draws a parallel between the darkness reigning around the Londinium of Roman times (46–7) and the anonymous colony visited by him, which challenges the widespread identification of light with good, and darkness with evil. In addition, the emphasis on historical parallels can be read as an implicit rejection of the standard assumption of both Enlightenment and classical evolutionism that history is progressing in linear fashion towards ever more perfect states of existence. If ‘hearts of darkness’ are a universal constant, and if they are believed to reappear in certain places under certain political and economic conditions, then history is assumed to be progressing in circles, not in straight lines. Another clear departure from the philosophical traditions that dominated both the age of the Enlightenment and the decades shaped by positivism and evolutionism can be seen in the constant challenge that Conrad’s tale poses to the concept of truth. If Marlow’s comment upon his aunt’s romanticized notions about the colonial project (‘It’s queer how out of touch with truth women are’; 40) suggests that Marlow believes himself to be in the possession of a clear understanding of what truth is, this belief is gradually eroded as his story progresses. Marlow initially seems to subscribe to the traditional equation of truth and light, to the dominance of vision, but this creed gradually gives way to a different perception of reality no longer primarily based on what can be detected by the eye, but rather on what has to be sensed rather than sighted, heard rather than seen. ‘I know that the sunlight can be made to lie too’ (120), Marlow states. In Heart of Darkness, truth is nothing that exists a priori, but something that has to be actively construed through communication and social bonding. Accordingly, John Krapp is right in speaking of Conrad’s dialogic concept of truth (Krapp 2002, 103). As Marlow contemplates his utter loneliness among the other passengers and crew of the French steamer that takes him to his colonial destination, his hold on truth disintegrates: The idleness of a passenger, my isolation amongst all these men with whom I had no point of contact, the oily and languid sea, the uniform sombreness of the coast, seemed to keep me away from the truth of things within the toils of a mournful and senseless delusion. 54

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Every now and then, however, lucid moments seem to occur in this world of misperceptions and self-deceptions. Marlow suggests that Kurtz’s famous cry ‘The horror! The horror!’ (117) may have been prompted by ‘a glimpsed truth’ (118). Perhaps in order to salvage his own concept of truth, Marlow decides to relate his story to others in the form of a dialogue that is essentially a monologue over much of the tale. The delayed response to this seems to be the printed book as the frame narrator’s attempt to create at least ‘hard’ typographic facts.

‘Sybir’ as the post-postmodern Heart of Darkness In Ice, Dukaj presents a post-postmodern alternative21 to the fictitious world created by Joseph Conrad, an alternative that has been propelled into the age of technology, albeit a technology that looks decidedly dated to our modern eyes: Benedykt Gierosławski, the main protagonist, travels on board a luxurious train pulled by a Black Sable steam engine (280), unlike Marlow, who is travelling with more primitive technology along the natural waterways. The list of obvious contrasts between the two texts can be continued: Marlow, and in fact many of Conrad’s other protagonists, gives the impression of belatedness – a hero hopelessly out of touch, living in a time when bravery and chivalry are no longer wanted. Gierosławski learns quickly to use the benefits of modern technology, such as a powerful firearm called a Grossmeĭster (88–9),22 to aid his cause. Kurtz’s primitive hut in the jungle is the final destination of Marlow’s journey. Gierosławski’s journey ends in the economic boomtown of Irkutsk, which is the home of a large cosmopolitan population that includes a sizable Polish diaspora. While Conrad’s narrative point of view moves from the metropolitan centre of a dark empire to the margins and back to the centre, in Ice, there is a shift of the point of reference from the old metropolises of Europe, Warsaw, Petersburg and Moscow to a new imperial centre shrouded in wintry darkness, Irkutsk. The relationship between the two texts seems to be mostly ironic, but upon closer examination a certain philosophical depth can be detected under the comic surface. The ironic attitude of Dukaj’s narrator with regard to Conrad’s fictions and figures is also borne out by the aforementioned explicit reference to Conrad’s Lord Jim, whose hero is ironically referred to as ‘Lord Jim or some other precious human metal from the pages of Conrad, which never rots, never, until it bursts – with a big bang and an echo stretching out to bystanders’.23

21 In view of Dukaj’s protestation, as expressed in an interview with Jakub Winiarski (cited in Lemann 2012, 177), that he disapproves of postmodernism and because of the rather idiosyncratic concept of truth expounded in Ice, I am inclined to revise my original view that the novel can be read as ‘a postmodern play with literature and science’ (Schümann 2013, 339) by adding another prefix post- to highlight the critical distance towards the postmodernist mode of writing. 22 The Russian term, given in Cyrillic script, means ‘grand master’ and can be used both in relation to chess and with regard to the hierarchy of the historical Teutonic Order. Apparently to avoid the latter connotation (in Polish, Wielki Mistrz), the supergun’s name is usually rendered in Polish in the novel as Arcymistrz (unrivalled master). Nikola Tesla later claims that the grossmeĭster gun captured by Gierosławski in a foiled assassination attempt on Tesla is one of only eight hand-produced specimens of its type (115). The gun is made of frost-resistant steel (zimnazo) and fires bullets made of pure Tungetyte, a precious metal mined in Siberia after the Tunguska Event. Whatever comes near the point of impact of these bullets, even Ice Angels, is instantly frozen to the spot. 23 ‘Lord Jim czy inny szlachetny metal ludzki z kart Conrada, co nie gnie się, nie gnie, aż pęka – z wielkim hukiem i echem idącem po bliźnich’ (166).

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The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

Most of the other references to Joseph Conrad contained in Ice, including the recurring circumlocution ‘Heart of Winter’ (serce Zimy) (582, 602) for the industrial town Zimny Nikołajewsk (Cold Nikolaevsk) near Irkutsk, the fictitious centre of Russia’s arms industries, are less explicit. First of all, there is the atmospheric fact that the region of fictitious Siberia engulfed by permanent Winter also lies in permanent darkness – at least until the Thaw sets in at the end of the novel. The whole capitalist empire of the Siberian ‘Winter’ industries – that is, the mining of Tungetyte and the production of frost-resistant metals – is called the ‘Kingdom of Darkness’ (Królestwo Ciemności) (734–61) – perhaps an allusion to the title of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which is called Jądro Ciemności in Polish. Then there are the multifarious plots and intrigues initiated by various pressure groups to prevent either Gierosławski from finding his father or Tesla from proliferating his technology. All of this resembles the acts of sabotage intended to stop Marlow. In addition, the search for truth figures prominently in both Heart of Darkness and Ice. Moreover, there even seems to be a modernized version of Kurtz in Dukaj’s novel: the managing director of the biggest Siberian company, Sibirchozhet, a man bearing the significant name of Pobiedonoscew (the bearer of victory). Like Kurtz, he is mostly present in the form of legends and rumours. He, too, is little more than a voice: Pobiedonoscew’s presumed voice comes from creaky loudspeakers and telephone receivers connected to lines that seem to end nowhere (1015–21). In the end, Gierosławski feels that his suspicion has come true that Pobiedonoscew never existed at all and that he was only a sham. However, the world described in Dukaj’s Ice also differs markedly from Conrad’s bleak vision of colonialism in Heart of Darkness, not least because of its central protagonist’s independence from all political and economic pressure that others try to bring to bear upon him. One may even go so far as to claim that Dukaj presents the reader with a tale about what initially looks like the ‘heart of darkness’ but which finally turns out to be a space in which all former polarities have been reversed. Images of disintegration may abound in both texts, but in Ice, a major empire is shown to disintegrate as a result of humanity, because of the fact that love, hatred, power struggles, diseases and also faith have proved ineradicable, in spite of all attempts to deep-freeze the historical process along the lines of two-dimensional logic. In Heart of Darkness, in contrast, it is humanity that is shown to disintegrate under the influence of empires, and there are strong textual indications suggesting that this will always be the case. In Dukaj’s novel Ice, the existence of all empires seems to be subverted by presenting a historically distorted mirror image of modern capitalism projected into the counterfactual fiction of an alternative Russian Empire. This empire is finally about to be dismantled by people who, like Gierosławski, come from the margins of the imperial space.

Language under threat of extinction Heart of Darkness is a tale about the instability of cultural hegemonies. This is also reflected in a linguistic power struggle going on under the surface of the tale, which is not only a struggle between various European languages of power for a dominant position, but also a struggle for the preservation of language as a means of human communication in general. In the colonial space where the ominous Company is active, French and English can be seen as competing for superiority. Closer textual scrutiny reveals yet more representatives of multinational Europe taking part in the colonial enterprise, but they are faced with the necessity for assimilation to 66

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either French or English culture.24 (British is a term that does not occur in Heart of Darkness and neither does Belgian.) The young Swedish captain who takes Marlow to the first station speaks English ‘with great precision and considerable bitterness’ (56) – bitterness possibly because certain of his experiences were not fit to be recounted in French in this colony. English, the language of the most serious colonial rival, apparently has a wide currency in this colony: when Marlow gives his gang of local carriers a dressing-down in English supported by gestures, he does not encounter any serious problems in making his message understood (62). When Marlow finally reaches the inner station, the Russian admirer of Kurtz immediately approaches the captain in elliptic English (‘You English?’) (98), suggesting that it is in this idiom that he will henceforth converse with him. Even if the text is not explicit about the language in which the Russian harlequin negotiates with the Dutch trader Van Shuyten, the spelling of the latter’s name suggests assimilation towards English culture. At any rate, it is highly unlikely that their common language could have been either Russian or Dutch. Marlow, the inveterate sailor in Heart of Darkness, seems to have a cosmopolitan identity, even if England is the country where his friends are based, the four other ex-sailors who have opted for a more sedentary life. Marlow assures the French-speaking doctor in the ‘sepulchral city’ that he is not a typical representative of his country. The examination for the post reveals that Marlow is sufficiently fluent in French. In the colony, most conversations would have been conducted in that language, even if they are rendered by Conrad in English.25 Marlow seems to be able to master all linguistic challenges connected with his colonial mission. However, back at home his communicative skills leave much to be desired: as he narrates his story into the darkness that is gradually descending upon ‘the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth’ (43), Marlow can increasingly be seen to be at a loss for the right words. The narrative frame may present the tale in the guise of romantic dialogic storytelling but in actual fact no dialogue takes place among the five friends. Only once comes an exhortation to Marlow from one of his listeners to be ‘civil’ (77). This is language running the risk of losing its communicative function, of being pushed onto the brink of extinction. In the story proper, too, there are numerous instances where human communication breaks down. The Company’s officials appear to be unwilling to speak openly to Marlow, the uninvited emissary apparently sent over from the head office, about certain secrets of their trading activities. Marlow’s polyglot faculties bestowed upon him by European civilization, as well as his historical horizon presumably acquired in the course of a classical grammar-school or public-school education, do not seem to have much value in the colonial world, where life is dominated by the precarious equilibrium between the various forces of nature. Significantly, much of the novel’s narrative space is taken up by the rendering of noises. Conrad’s fictitious jungle seems to be full of noises – of roaring rapids, buzzing flies, sounds suggesting the presence of indigenous inhabitants. For Marlow’s over-civilized ears, human voices are not always clearly distinguishable from the noises of nature, as when he describes how Kurtz is

24 Christopher GoGwilt states that ‘the francophone scene of the Belgian Congo means that Kurtz’s report and much, if not all, of the dialogue would presumably be in French’ (in Peters 2010, 151). In some cases there are strong indications, though, that a dialogue takes place in English. See also Hampson 1990. 25 The presence of what critics and commentators have referred to as Gallicisms in the text of Heart of Darkness (see, for instance, Owen Knowles’s comments in Conrad 2010, 439–54) can be read as a testimony to constant linguistic border crossing in Marlow’s mind.

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being taken away from his station watched by a crowd of locals shouting ‘periodically together strings of amazing words that resembled no sounds of human language’ (114). It is in these passages where Marlow explicitly denies the human nature of the indigenous population that the accusations of racism perhaps have the largest justification.26 The figure of Kurtz highlights the novel’s focus on the disintegration of human communication. More than any other character of the tale, Kurtz embodies the linguistic battle fought over cultural hegemony: his mother is half-English, his father half-French; he received some of his education in England (95). Undoubtedly fluent in both languages, and having a German surname into the bargain, he is said to have a rare gift of oration. But when Marlow finally manages to track him down, he appears to be even more at a loss for words than Marlow is in the narrative frame. Consequently, there cannot be any real dialogue between the captain and the Company’s renegade trader either. And as far as Kurtz’s relationship with the locals is concerned, dialogue would clearly be a euphemism that acquires a decidedly macabre ring in the light of the impaled skulls surrounding his compound. The agent’s aforementioned words, which may be a sign of his awakening conscience, demonstrate once more the insufficiency of language in general as a means to render the true character of reality. As he finally falls victim to a tropical disease with which his European body is unable to cope, he takes not only his story but also his voice and his language(s) with him.

Language as a means of subversion As the Polish critic Marta Kaźmierczak and others have noted,27 Jacek Dukaj’s use of the Polish language reflects a careful attitude towards issues of style. His novel Ice makes extremely high demands of a translator, especially if the target language is to be English. Marta Kaźmierczak names three main reasons for this: his recourse to the slightly archaic Polish standard of the 1920s, the extensive use of Russian in the text and the employment of neologisms (see Kaźmierczak 2013, 131). Polish and Russian are cognate languages that allow for a relatively large degree of mutual understanding, notwithstanding the political tensions between the two countries up to the present. So Dukaj’s frequent blending of the two languages works out well in the Polish original of the novel. Due to its largely non-Slavic vocabulary and its reduced tendency to use inflectional forms, this cannot always be imitated by a translator in English.28 However, for the reader who is capable of understanding the original Polish and of comprehending the added value of Dukaj’s frequently inserted Russianisms, Ice constitutes a superb example of Polish post-colonial writing projected onto an alternative eastern counterpart to what has become known as the ‘Roaring Twenties’ in the West.

26 Chinua Achebe’s famous defamation of Conrad as ‘a thoroughgoing racist’ (in Roberts 1998, 117) demonstrates that, even in the 1970s, it was not possible for a (European) writer to touch upon African affairs and try to maintain a neutral position. Achebe’s criticism seems to miss the point that Conrad, the Pole, went through a long struggle for the mastery of the English language – his third foreign language after German and French, not counting the official Russian of his birthplace, Berdychiv – before he invented the English Captain Marlow. 27 See Kaźmierczak 2013, 129–30; see also Mrowiec 2009, 126, and Dunin-Wąsowicz 2008, n.p. (online source). 28 As is the idiosyncratic, impersonal form of third-person narration termed the ‘language of the second type’ (język drugiego rodzaju) (see 31–2) that Dukaj uses for most of his novel. See also Kaźmierczak 2013, 134–5.

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Polonizing Siberia’s Heart of Darkness

Much of the subtle political irony of Ice derives from the fact that, in this novel, Russian is portrayed as the language of power, while Polish is presented as the language of culture in the broadest sense of the term. Whenever Benedykt Gierosławski comes into contact with representatives of the authorities or with those ruling the economic empire of Siberia, various Russian expressions enter his language. This becomes obvious already in the very first line of the novel, when the two petty bureaucrats from the Ministry of Winter who are blackmailing Benedykt into accepting his commission to search for his father are introduced as chinovniks (czynownicy) (7). (This is a borrowing from the Russian чиновник, a minor government official; the Polish word for a government official would be urzędnik.) However, Dukaj doesn’t just borrow a Russian word here, but also inflects it according to the Polish rules of phonology. By inserting numerous Russian expressions into his Polish text without giving translations or glosses for them, Dukaj creates what Ashcroft, Griffith and Tiffin call an ‘interlanguage’.29 In this peculiar idiom, Dukaj’s text sometimes comes close to a fusion of Russian and Polish, when there no longer seems to be a clear distinction of the borders of hegemony and subalternity. Components of this ‘interlanguage’ are not just Polish and Russian words and expressions, but also a number of other European and even non-European languages that the numerous travellers and immigrants bring to the Siberian ‘Heart of Winter’. There is no evidence, however, that they also come into contact with the several local languages spoken by the indigenous population, such as Buryat, Sasha/Yakut, Tuva or Tofa. The economic boom that this region is experiencing means that Siberia, especially the city of Irkutsk, has been turned into a real melting pot of cultures, a truly polyglossic space. In ice-bound Irkutsk, German engineers rub shoulders with British and American speculators and French-speaking travellers and bon vivants, not to mention a whole army of exiled Poles working as businesspeople, engineers, journalists, librarians and factory workers. Some of the passengers on the train apparently make it a sport to hide behind false national identities; some identities are volatile due to political factors. Siberia, according to Dukaj’s fiction, has been open to immigrants for centuries as a stronghold of religious tolerance; consequently, Jewish immigration, too, has been a major factor in the region’s economic development (see 151).30 Apart from Polish and Russian, German is another important source language for the ‘interlanguage’ created by Dukaj. The excessive borrowing from German starts as early as the first page of the novel, when the attire of one of the two government officials is described as comprising a Vatermörder (literally, a man who committed patricide), that is, the stiff kind of collar typical of the formal dress code in Germany in the nineteenth century. In addition to the specialized term Vatermörder, the German word Vater (father) itself also occurs a number of times in Dukaj’s text, but it is always blatantly misspelt as fater.31 These misspellings, as well as the constantly displayed tendency towards Polonizing the Russian and German borrowings in terms of inflectional endings as well as of syntactic roles

29

See Ashcroft, Griffith and Tiffin 2002, 65–7. So much so, it appears, that some sects migrating to Siberia even flaunt their alleged Jewishness as some kind of mimicry: Sergeĭ, one of the conductors responsible for first-class travellers, mentions the żydowstwujuszczie (a Polish transliteration of the Russian pejorative participle жидовствующие, ‘posing as jews’) among a long enumeration of sectarian immigrants of Siberia (see 151). 31 For the nominative case, see, for instance, 294. The genitive fatra, as well as the instrumental fatrem, display the tendency for morphological assimilation with the Polish system of fleeting vowels (see, for instance, 242, 250, 1026). 30

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can hardly be accidental in Ice.32 They seem to be reflective of a general political and cultural attitude prevalent in the novel. In line with the Polish tradition of maintaining a relatively phonetic system of spelling, Dukaj renders borrowings from both Russian and German in a manner consistent with Polish rules of orthography, unlike terms of address and even entire phrases inserted into his text in English, French and Dutch. In these languages, the original spelling is retained and italics mark these passages clearly as non-Polish. The point of this seems to be to emphasize the Polish capacity for ‘writing back’ to the languages and cultures of the oppressors.33 (As European history bypassed the First World War, Dukaj’s alternative Poland is still a partitioned country, in which Russian and German are the two languages of power.) By appropriating both lexical material and syntactic structures from these two languages, the novel turns the tables on the official cultural hierarchies in Dukaj’s fictitious Siberia long before the actual collapse of Russian rule in Siberia, which the novel dates to 1930. The artistic play with cultural hegemonies is also reflected in the constant toying with the main protagonist’s identity. This begins with his name, which is not a name that has been shown to have any currency in Poland.34 Consequently, the reader may assume the name to be just as deliberate a creation as the many neologisms in the novel. Dukaj offers various possible interpretations of Gierosławski’s surname, depending on the linguistic frame of reference of the person using it. (1a) From a Polish perspective, Gierosławski can be paraphrased as ‘the Slavic gambler’ (cf. gier: genitive plural of gry, ‘games’). (1b) Nikola Tesla, alias Engineer Dragan, who has a Serbo-Croatian background, mispronounces Gierosławski’s name as Gieroszewski (93), that is, ‘the gambling tailor’ (szewc: tailor), which sounds very similar to Sieroszewski, a famous Polish exile in Siberia who, in real life, was an influential writer of fiction.35 (1c) One of the aristocratic train passengers introduces the name Gyero-Saski/Gierosaski, which implies a Hungarian aristocratic title with a claim to lands in Germany (Sasy in dated colloquial Polish means ‘Germans’); literally ‘Saxons’. (2) From a Russian perspective, Gero[ĭ] slav[ian]skij can be read as ‘Slavic hero’, but often the name is referred to as Jerosławski (Eroslavskij) by Russianspeaking characters, which could (a) be an attempt to reproduce the historical Polish pronunciation in words such as jeografia (modern Polish: geografia) or (b) highlight the reverse tendency of Russians to ‘write back’ at the Poles by suggesting a link to the hereditary Russian name Iaroslav. (3) If Ancient Greek is taken into consideration, geronto- (‘of old age’) may hint at Benedykt’s emancipation from his father, making Gierosławski appear like an autopoetic creation. This fits in with Gierosławski’s statement ‘Moi, je suis mon ancêntre [sic]’ (I am my own ancestor; 91). (4) There is also the truncated form (pan) Gie (Mister G), which is the Polish name of the letter G, while it also corresponds to the Anglo-Saxon tendency

32

In some cases, though, the orthographical and morphological inaccuracies may be unintentional, as in the following, partly incomprehensible sentence uttered by the shady and frequently incomprehensible Jules Verousse: ‘Potwór tronie die Dunkelheitmat nad nad nad maszyny’ (87) (in rectified English the translation would perhaps be, ‘The monster touches [from Russian, not Polish, tronut’ ‘to touch’, yet with Polish inflection] the dark home country more more more than the machines’). Dunkelheitmat appears to be German but is, in fact, unintelligible. Dunkelheimat (without the first ) could be a neologism reminiscent of Conrad’s tale (‘dark home land’ or ‘home in darkness’). 33 In the sense of the title of the book by Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin (2002). 34 At least not if two comprehensive registers of Polish surnames from the 1990s are an authority to go by. See Rymut 1993, 3: 342; Rymut 1999, 1: 234. There are no entries for Gierosławski, not even for a phonetically similar name. 35 Wacław Sieroszewski (1858–1945) is part of the alternative history created by Dukaj, since his fictitious œuvre includes several invented positions (see 441, 634–5, 868).

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towards shortened names in familiar talk (see 581, 846). On the one hand, the polymorphism of Gierosławski’s name turns the central protagonist into something of a polyglot phantom, while, on the other hand, it also emphasizes the novel’s central philosophical idea that there are not just two types of logic, but many.

Degeneration as eternal truth Kurtz can be seen as the embodiment of degeneration under the corrupting influence of a latenineteenth-century European colonial regime. In his explanation of Kurtz’s moral downfall and his unheroic demise, Marlow puts the blame on the malicious influence of the primeval nature of the colonial space: But the wilderness had found him out early and had taken on him a terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think it had whispered to him things about himself which he did not know, things of which he had no conception till he took counsel with this great solitude – and the whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating. It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core [. . .]. 104 Marlow also states that Kurtz ‘lacked restraint’ (104), implying that restraint is the essence of civilization and culture, whereas the lack thereof is that of nature. This anti-Rousseauistic stance is clearly at odds with both the romanticism of Marlow’s youth and the idealism of European advocates of colonialism such as his aunt. Traces of decay are visible all around him – in the discarded items of machinery at the first station, in the ubiquitous cases of disease among the European colonists, in the hippo meat his local crew lives on, in Kurtz’s hut and even in nature itself. One could argue that Marlow’s position is, in fact, that of a racist in this context, were it not for the cultural relativism expressed in the framework narrative. At any rate, it is a subjective perspective: from the few comments the frame narrator adds to Marlow’s account, the reader cannot conclude that Marlow’s views are objectively true. As the narrative frame clearly demonstrates, Marlow’s bleak view of modern civilization is not based on the empiricism of the positivist decades before he sets out on his mission, but on a subjective perception and reconstruction of the world. In perceiving his own situation to be in parallel to that of a commander of a Roman vessel at the time of the conquest of Britain, he can produce only images of decay in his mind – ‘death skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush’ – imagining that the Roman invaders ‘must have been dying like flies here’ (46). In this the overriding theme of darkness comes full circle again, images of decadence and decay are conceptualized as evidence for age-old degeneration, and Marlow’s assumption is that this is an eternal truth.

Revolutions as eternal truth? Dukaj’s Ice follows a different path. As the Russian Empire of the Tsar is quickly disintegrating in the final chapters of the novel, it remains unclear who will eventually step in to fill the power 71

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vacuum left by the collapse of the ‘Winter’ economy after the melting of the Ice. As Siberia is cut off from the rest of Russia, news filter through from Europe about a so-called ‘Armistice of Cracow’, in which the Habsburgs’ Franz Ferdinand allegedly signed an anti-revolutionary peace accord with Russia’s Nicolas II (see 1001). However, even in Dukaj’s fictitious world of alternative history, it is not clear whether this will stop the further descent of Siberia into chaos and in-fighting. As Benedykt Gierosławski and other survivors of the Siberian revolution are discussing current affairs in an Irkutsk hotel significantly named The Devil’s Hand (Czarcia Ręka), out in the streets some rebel groups proclaim the foundation of the ‘United States of Siberia’. There is little likelihood, however, that a stable confederation will emerge from the Siberian quagmire of violence and lawlessness any time soon. Just like Richard Ned Lebow with his counterfactual phantasy that Franz Ferdinand could (still?) be found alive (see Lebow 2010, 69), Dukaj suggests that the world as it is known today is by no means a necessary outcome of the historical process. As Natalia Lemann recently wrote, ‘History as such is a necessity, but only its existence is essential, not its meaning or its direction of development’ (Lemann 2012, 181). Read against the background of Heart of Darkness, the open-endedness of Ice might lead one to the conclusion that ‘History always repeats itself ’, that it consists of some kind of ‘Eternal Recurrence’, to use an expression coined by Nietzsche36 – even if Nietzsche is never mentioned in the novel. However, the ending of Dukaj’s text lacks the philosophical portentousness present in Conrad’s tale. If there is confirmation of Nietzsche’s concept in Ice, the recurrent theme in history seems to be that of revolution, not evolution, thereby opening up room for the individual to manoeuvre. Nikola Tesla’s invention, it appears, gives mankind the means to overcome the laws of evolution, to create ‘an evolution that is not a necessity – an evolution of a Fauna of Lies – Darwin betrayed by Satan’,37 so Benedykt Gierosławski muses on his way to the Siberian ‘Kingdom of Darkness’. Revolution as the guiding principle of history is also revealed in the first three words of the novel, the date when the actions starts: 14 July 1924, Bastille Day, 135 years after the start of the French Revolution. After all putative truths have disappeared, after the carefully engineered infrastructure and the political system that have kept the Ice in its place for so long have collapsed, constant revolution seems to be the only truth that is left to Dukaj’s protagonist in the end. Interestingly, though, the ending proves that, given the tendency of revolutions and revolutionaries to neutralize themselves, evolution, too, is one of the truths of a many-valued logic. Dukaj’s Benedykt Gierosławski seems to be perfectly adapted to this kind of constant instability of values. Unlike Conrad’s Marlow, he seems to have found his place in the ruins of the former empire. For him, Siberia, the ‘hell on earth’ according to Polish martyrology, becomes a promised land of opportunities. For him, the darkness has been ‘re-enchanted’, to borrow an expression from Alexander Etkind.38 So the novel Ice looks like just one more proof of the popular Polish saying ‘Polak potrafi’ (a Pole will make it).

36

Nietzsche’s term (in The Gay Science) is ‘die ewige Wiederkunft’ (Nietzsche, 3: 1988, 528). ‘ewolucja niekonieczna – ewolucja Fauny Kłamstwa, Darwin oszukany przez Darwina’ (343). 38 See Etkind 2011, 214–23. 37

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Conclusion Ice and Heart of Darkness have been read in dialogue with each other rather than as evidence of an unequivocal genetic connection along the lines of influence, inspiration, creative response and similar concepts. Even if there may be various types of dialogue, and if not every dialogue will necessarily be based on the assumption that both interlocutors are equal, dialogues are a mode of communication that presupposes reciprocity. Speaking of a dialogue in comparative literature implies that the analyzed texts are, to a certain extent, read against the grain of historical linearity. In contrast to that reference to Lord Jim, there does not seem to be a verbatim reference to Heart of Darkness in Ice. There is a ‘heart of Winter’ where Conrad coins the phrase ‘heart of Darkness’, but there is a fashionable luxury train where Marlow seems to lead a rather less comfortable life, and there is the hint of romantic love where the misogynist Marlow believes in eternal solitude. Nevertheless, Dukaj’s familiarity with Conrad’s famous tale can be almost considered a given. It may be debatable whether the chapter ‘Królestwo Ciemności’ (Kingdom of Darkness) could have been written had there not been Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Nonetheless, the absence of a clear Christian connotation in the noun phrase serce ciemności (heart of darkness), when religious factionalism is so pivotal for the plot of Ice, makes it highly plausible that Dukaj had Conrad’s tale at the back of his mind but opted for Królestwo Ciemności because of the metaphysical subtext this allowed him to include in his novel. If the colonial journey motif alone suffices to warrant a comparative reading of Heart of Darkness and Ice, a dialogic concept of the relationship between these two texts opens up an additional potential for interpretation – especially with respect to the idea of truth, which seems to be so important for both Conrad and Dukaj. If Marlow is apparently thoroughly shaken in his former ideological foundations by the realization that he, with the hindsight of having been to the ‘Heart of Darkness’, can no longer see a clear boundary between the truth and the lie, Benedykt Gierosławski’s concept of truth is much more practical: even in the ‘Kingdom of Darkness’ he, the descendant of the zone of Summer, can see more truths than just right and wrong, true and false. Seeing the Russian Empire, whose citizen he is, on the brink of collapse is not enough to uproot his concept of truth. Just as there are different shades of grey between white and black, Ice demonstrates how there can be various tonalities of truth. Dukaj’s ‘Slavic gambler’ Gierosławski, a man of many identities, will no doubt be able adapt to whichever truth may come his way. Darkness has certainly lost its ‘horror’ for him.

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PART 2 THE RECEPTION OF CONRAD IN FRANCE, GERMANY AND ITALY

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CHAPTER 4 CONRAD’S EARLY RECEPTION IN THE CONTEXT OF THE FRENCH ROMAN D’AVENTURES Mark Fitzpatrick

The key thing to note about the French roman d’aventures at the turn of the twentieth century is that it did not exist; at least not yet. In the wake of the fall of the realist naturaliste movement, French letters were experiencing a crise du roman, a crisis of the novel, and, in seeking a way out of this impasse, various critics called for a new novel – the novel that was to come, le roman à venir, the novel of tomorrow – that was to be a novel of adventure. Thus they invoked the very temporality of adventure, the ad venire, in the novel whose imminent arrival they predicted. Their examples came from abroad, particularly from England, where they saw, in writers such as Robert Louis Stevenson, a way forward beyond the stale oppositions that had dominated literary discourse at the end of the nineteenth century: between the novel of incident and the novel of character, the roman romanesque and the roman d’analyse. This new novel would take the narrative drive of the literature of imagination, too long left in the hands of what Henri Ghéon called ‘pornographers, and churners-out of serials’1 during the long dominance of realism, and combine it with the insights of the psychological novelists, to create a new, highly literary roman d’aventures. What I hope to demonstrate is that it was this atmosphere of crisis, and these calls for a way out of the dead-ends in which the French novel found itself, a way out embodied in an artistic novel of psychological as well as physical adventure, which conditioned the early reception of Joseph Conrad in France. His novels of troubled, and troubling, adventure appeared to arrive as if in answer to these calls: his was the novel that was to come.

The new wave of adventure novels Le roman à venir The literary scene in France in the 1890s was dominated by symbolisme, writers pursuing the word, the image, and complex sets of personal metaphors in recondite, bejewelled poetry. The novel was never a symbolist form, and the novel was perceived to be moribund, the pseudoscientific researches of the naturaliste novel and the roman psychologique both exhausted. The erudite critic and writer Marcel Schwob, responding to the crise du roman in 1891, took this

1 ‘Sous prétexte de réalisme ou de pensée, la littérature d’imagination fut ces derniers temps abandonnée aux pornographes et aux entrepreneurs de feuilletons. On sait assez ce qu’ils imaginèrent. Il n’y avait point là de quoi la remettre en honneur.’ (‘Under a pretext of realism or rationality, literature of the imagination has been, this last while, abandoned to pornographers and churners-out of serials. We have a good idea what they imagined. There was nothing there which could bring honour to this literature.’) Ghéon 1900. Translations throughout, unless otherwise noted, are my own.

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idea of crisis and made it central to his prediction for the future direction of the novel. If the novel survives, he said, it would be a novel of crisis, a novel of adventure: ‘The novel will be, then, a novel of adventure in the broadest sense of the word, the novel of the crises of the interior and the exterior worlds.’2 Adventure occurred at the moment of crisis, and this crisis could be outward, and physical, or inward, and psychological or spiritual. Adventure in the broadest sense of the word was the key to the novel that was to come. Influenced by his readings of Stevenson, Schwob predicted that this novel would go beyond the dichotomy of realism and romance, and perform a synthesis.3 It was to be a novel of ‘réalisme irréel’ (unreal realism). Camille Mauclair joined him in an 1898 article entitled ‘Le Roman de demain’ (The Novel of Tomorrow), in which he argues that the adventure novel, reappropriated by intellectuals, is the way forward for fiction in France, announcing its arrival like a voice crying in the wilderness. There is only one way out for us: adventure, which gives us the world as our backdrop. Let us set up our heroes in the Fortunate Isles of fantasy. Fundamentally, what Jules Verne lacked in order to be a truly great novelist was only style and depth, the sense of a moral conclusion before the spectacles he described, and Stevenson, who was possessed of some of the superior gifts, touched true glory. Whether he be the conqueror of the Eastern world, captain, pirate, dictator of anarchy, or priest, or martyr, or chief of barbarians, or a new god, let him raise a voice more haughty than our little voices, let him speak as a master to the waiting crowd, this hero of the novel of the future!4 This description of the hero of the adventure novel of tomorrow puts us in mind of Conrad’s conquerors of the Far East, such as Lord Jim or Karain, his sea captains and pirates, but perhaps particularly of Kurtz, chief of savages and a new god, who was even then in gestation. This shows the extent to which Conrad was to both embody and subvert these ideas of heroism. Importantly, also, it shows us the three features that future critics would call for in this new novel of adventure and which Conrad was seen to succeed in capturing in his work. The novel must have spectacle; exotic settings and narrative drive; but also depth and moral implicativeness. Finally, the novel would be that of an artist, and have style, that eminently French quality that the critics found so abundantly in Conrad. Henry-Durand Davray as critic of Conrad The critic who gave the earliest and most sustained attention to Conrad’s work in its initial reception in France was Henry-Durand Davray, a literary passeur who acted as a conduit

2 ‘Alors le roman sera sans doute un roman d’aventures dans le sens le plus large du mot, le roman des crises du monde intérieur et du monde extérieur.’ Schwob 1891, 26. 3 See, for example, Stevenson’s essays on romance in Memories and Portraits (1887). 4 ‘Nous n’avons plus qu’une issue: l’aventure, qui nous donne le monde pour décor. Élevons nos héros dans les îles fortunées de la fantaisie. Au fond, il n’a manqué à Jules Verne qu’un style et de la profondeur, le sens d’une conclusion morale devant les spectacles qu’il décrivit, pour être un très grand romancier, et Stevenson, qui eut quelques-uns des dons supérieurs, a touché à la gloire. Qu’il soit conquérant du monde extrême-oriental, capitaine, pirate, dictateur d’anarchie, ou prêtre, ou martyr, ou chef des incultes, ou dieu nouveau, mais qu’il élève une voix plus hautaine que nos petites voix, qu’il sache parler en maître à la foule qui attend, le héros du roman futur!’ (Mauclair 1898, 175).

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between English and French letters from the 1890s up to the 1920s, covering Conrad’s entire career. He was quick to recognize Conrad as ‘one of us’, ‘des nôtres’, in his first article on him, identifying Conrad’s ‘style’ as coming directly from the lessons of the French master, Flaubert. Conrad’s intimate knowledge of Flaubert is what gives him access to this quality, so rare in English books, and makes him an honorary Frenchman. This reminds me of a few hours spent with Mr. Conrad, by the sea; the conversation came to the subject of style, and Mr. Conrad, who is one of us, was able to express with a communicative fervour his great admiration for Flaubert and his great love of style.5 In this review of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, Conrad is said to employ the simplest of means to accomplish the most intense of effects, making the reader live through the ‘grand, tragic, mortal hours of the tempest’, these moments of crisis that are at the heart of the novel of adventure, in Schwob’s sense. Davray situated Conrad in a new wave of imaginative literature that was crossing the Channel from England at the beginning of the twentieth century, placing him with Kipling and Wells as embodying all that was lacking in the French novel of the time. André Gide had identified Kipling and Wells as embodying the idea of adventure, as he and his group were beginning to theorize it at this time, providing a new way of not only seeing, but living life, ‘quelque chose d’affirmatif, de forcené’, something passionate and wild (Gide 1900). And Davray, in his series of articles on Conrad, comes back again and again to this triumvirate: Kipling, Wells and Conrad. They embody the diametrically opposite pole to the dominant French novel of manners, drawing rather on the tradition of imaginative literature, of adventure. In a 1901 article, he places them in order of his preference and in order of their achieving the goals that Mauclair had set out for the adventure novel. Kipling has mastered spectacle, revealing an original imagination in his exotic Jungle Books; Wells has gone further, with his poetic vision and his philosophical depth: ‘beyond the exterior action’ he captures ‘the scope of the Idea’. But it is only Conrad who achieves all three, combining exterior action with profound ideas, but also writing with style, mastering form: Joseph Conrad, in Lord Jim, Tales of Unrest, [T]he Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, has revealed to us, in exquisite form, an unknown world, and powerfully and profoundly dramatic existences outside our civilised and European conventions.6 Mauclair’s urgent wish for heroes of romance that bestride the ‘far eastern world’, that rise in the ‘Fortunate Isles of fantasy’, is recalled by Davray’s description of the powerful and profound drama of Conrad’s characters’ lives, in their exotic and savage settings. He goes on to characterize the Conradian adventure novel as one which revolves around conflict, that of the hero with

5

‘Cela me rappelle quelques heures passées avec Mr. Conrad, au bord de la mer; nous vînmes à parler du style, et Mr. Conrad, qui est des nôtres, sut dire avec une communicative ferveur toute son admiration pour Flaubert et tout son amour du style’ (Davray 1899, 265–6). 6 ‘Joseph Conrad, dans Lord Jim, Tales of Unrest, [T]he Nigger of the Narcissus, nous a, sous une forme exquise, révélé un monde inconnu et des existences puissamment et profondément dramatiques en dehors de nos conventions civilisés et européennes’ (Davray 1901, 252–3).

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himself, with events, or with the elements, thus recalling Schwob’s crises of the interior and exterior worlds. If Davray’s project of becoming Conrad’s main agent and translator in France had been more successful, it would have more clearly placed Conrad in this wave of new, literary adventure novels, as Davray had also translated Wells and Kipling.

Le roman d’aventures Translations and reception As it was, progress was very slow, and we can see in Conrad’s correspondence with Davray a growing frustration at his seeming inability to place translations in the French literary periodicals. In the years leading up to the First World War, relatively few translations appeared: Marguerite Poradowska’s version of ‘An Outpost of Progress’, in Les Nouvelles Illustrées in 1903; Davray’s ‘Karain’ in the Mercure de France in 1906; Robert d’Humières’s translation of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, which was serialized in Le Correspondant in 1909 and published in book form by the Mercure de France in 1910; Joseph de Smet’s Typhon, in Progrès in 1911; and Davray’s L’Agent Secret, which was serialized in Le Temps and came out as a volume in 1912, in the Mercure de France’s ‘Collection d’auteurs étrangers’. Davray’s stewardship of Conrad’s work in France had not been a distinct success. Apart from Davray, the critics had paid little attention to Conrad, though there was one significant article on him in 1903, in La Revue, by Kazimierz Waliszewski. Waliszewski had also made the link with Kipling, but presented the author, first of all, as a ‘phenomenon’, both in his double career as a sailor and writer and in the fact of his writing in English. In this article, Conrad is specifically presented as an elite author of difficult, not to say obscure, literature, as far from the popular adventure genre as possible. Indeed, there is this interesting opposition that we can see, where Conrad is often presented to the literary elite audiences of prestigious periodicals as a difficult, somewhat confidential author, known only to the initiated, whereas in newspaper reviews, for a broader public, it is most often as a ‘conteur’, a ‘storyteller’, that he is portrayed. Both audiences are also consistently made aware of his adventurous life, which gives him unprecedented authority to speak of dangerous incident in exotic locations. So as ‘conteur’ he partakes of the tradition of narrative-driven adventure, but very often he is seen to adopt and adapt this material, transforming it through the alchemy of his art into tragedy.

Le Roman d’aventures and the NRF It was around 1910, as Conrad was slowly beginning to penetrate the French literary consciousness, that he started to be read by the group that gathered around André Gide, who had founded the Nouvelle Revue Française in 1909. This reading of Conrad went on in parallel with the development, in the pages of the Nouvelle Revue Française, of a more clearly articulated idea of the roman d’aventures as the way forward for French literature. As we have seen, the idea had been brewing since the turn of the century, and now came to the fore in the group’s newly influential review, which managed to place itself at the centre of French literary life. Once more, the critics turn to England for their examples. English authors, they say, manage to transcend the dichotomy between the novel of incident and the novel of character, admitting 80

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uncertainty, the unexpected (Ghéon 1912, 126–8). They manage to combine psychological depth in character analysis with what Jacques Copeau calls ‘that simple and healthy passion, the essence of the novelistic art: the passion for telling a story’ (Copeau 1912). Copeau argues for the roman d’aventures as the very type of the novel, rather than a specific variety of it. This theorizing culminated in Jacques Rivière’s 1913 essay, Le Roman d’aventure, a lyrical rallying cry, a call to arms, to blow away the cobwebs of the previous century with, finally, a new adventure novel, the source of ‘more violent and more joyful pleasures’ (Rivière 2000, 26). The novel that he describes is one of strikingly Conradian features, even dimensions: this roman d’aventure is a long, even monstrous one, in which ‘interminable narratives interrupt the principal story, confessions, pages from diaries, doctrines professed by one of the characters’, which seems a perfect description of the interleaving narratives of Lord Jim, for example. One also thinks of the ‘monstrosity’ that Conrad himself found in Nostromo, as the story seemed to expand in all directions beneath his hands. Rivière describes a novel in which impressions are communicated directly ‘in dialogue, in meetings, in visits, in goings up and down of stairs, in incidents on footpaths, in chance encounters on street-corners’, recalling the urban adventure of Conrad’s The Secret Agent, which had just come out in French the previous year. The novel he imagines is abundant, massive, ramifying, just as Davray had noted Conrad’s novels were; it is a novel that calls into being a new reality, a novel that creates a whole world. It is to be a novel of the crises of the interior and the exterior worlds, echoing Schwob, and so admitting the possibility of a psychological novel of adventure. But also, and perhaps most significantly, it is to be a novel of formal adventure: ‘Adventure is the form of the work rather than its matter.’7 This was the truly key observation of Rivière’s call for a highly literary novel of adventure: that this novel would not only speak of adventure, but would, in its formal experiment, embody adventure. And this was the quality in Conrad that then came to the fore. While many previous critics had commented on the combination of gripping narrative with psychological depth that characterized Conrad’s work, it was Joseph de Smet, the first translator of Typhoon, who drew attention to Conrad’s formal experimentation. In fact, he comments on this as a drawback in Conrad’s work, speaking of his ‘abuse of disrupted chronological order’. Conrad’s innovative use of anachrony is linked in de Smet’s Mercure de France article in 1912 with the complexity of his embedding of narratives one within the other, which also disturbs de Smet’s sense of literary propriety: I noted in Lord Jim, an otherwise marvellous book, the curious example of this type of transposition to the fifth degree: at a certain point the author says that Captain Marlow recounts that a certain Egstrom has written to him that a ship’s captain has related to him that Jim said to him that [. . .].8

7

‘L’aventure, c’est la forme de l’œuvre plutôt que sa matière’ (Rivière 2000). ‘J’ai noté dans Lord Jim, ce livre du reste absolument merveilleux, l’exemple curieux d’une transposition de ce genre au cinquième degré: à un certain moment l’auteur dit que le capitaine Marlow raconte qu’un certain Egstrom lui a écrit qu’un capitaine de navire lui a relaté que Jim lui dit que [. . .].’

8

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Troubling narratives, troubled heroes Conrad’s difficulty Of course, this narrative experimentation – breaking out of the traditional chronological sequence of plot with anachrony, dispensing with the omniscient authorial voice for a chain of reported narratives that distorts, amplifies and blurs the facts, thus dissociating fabula from sjuzhet – is one of the primary ways in which we may identify Conrad as one of the first modernist writers. In the Nouvelle Revue Française, Valéry Larbaud, who had first introduced Conrad to Gide, provided a much more knowing assessment of Conrad’s formal adventurousness. In a review of Chance, in 1914, Larbaud comments on Conrad’s use of ‘indirect narration’, which he is said to employ ‘always successfully’. It provides not only the necessary distance from tragic events, Larbaud says, but also responds to the need for the ‘modern novel’ to have ‘a conscience, a critical and moral faculty operating somewhere: in the novels of Conrad, this conscience is the supposed narrator’.9 Here, Larbaud shows himself to have a more modern sensibility than many of the other critics of the time. He attributes to the novel itself both the consciousness and the moral conscience that others would speak of as belonging to the author. We note the difference between Joseph de Smet’s ‘the author says that [. . .]’ and Larbaud’s much more knowing ‘supposed narrator’. But as for plot, Larbaud goes on to say, ‘what does it matter to us?’ For him, the adventure in fiction is no longer in incident, but in narrative mode. However, in England, he tells us, things are different. There, the novelist must appeal at once to both the ‘discreet elite’ and the ‘general reader’, and the condition for the existence of the novel, unlike in France, is plot. And so, Conrad, unwilling to detach himself from what Larbaud calls the ‘old rusty carcass of plot’,10 continues to write novels that are adventurous both in their incident and in the manner of their narration, adventure both outward and inward, both physical and psychological. Conrad’s troubled heroes The turning point in Conrad’s literary fortunes in France was Gide’s taking over of the translation project from Davray and Conrad’s adoption by the Nouvelle Revue Française group as the author who best embodied their theory of the roman d’aventures, with the decision to make him the first foreign author whose complete works would be published by the Éditions de la Nouvelle Revue Française. The first of these translations to appear was Gide’s own Typhon in the Revue de Paris in 1918. The portrait of the obtuse and headstrong MacWhirr, almost oblivious in the face of the destructive force of nature, was to prove highly influential on the perception of Conrad’s work in France, associated as it was with Gide’s literary eminence.

9 ‘C’est un procédé familier à Joseph Conrad: la narration indirecte. Il en usé ailleurs, toujours avec succès. D’abord cela donne un recul nécessaire à la description des événements tragiques: mais surtout cela répond à un des besoins du roman moderne, que la conscience pénètre de plus en plus. Il faut qu’un roman moderne ait une conscience, une faculté critique et morale agissante quelque part : dans les romans de Conrad, cette conscience, c’est le narrateur supposé’ (Larbaud 1998, 187). 10 ‘En Angleterre le roman est obligé de s’adresser à la fois à ce que Jules Laforgue appelle la discrète élite et au “general reader”? De là l’influence sociale de H. G. Wells. Et c’est ainsi que chez Dickens paraît, quelquefois, sous les beaux tissus brillants de la fantaisie, la vieille carcasse rouillée de l’intrigue’ (Larbaud 1998, 187).

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Indeed, Emily Wittman, in an article on Conrad First, argues that it was fundamental to the appeal of Conrad in France that he evoked a nostalgia for an earlier time in which masculine heroism was possible, the time before the First World War (Wittman 2013). In fact, I would argue that together with this nostalgia, which is certainly present, there is also a deep ambivalence about the very idea of heroism, a problematization of the idea of adventure, that particularly resonated with French readers in the wake of the Great War. Juliette Droz, in an article from 1918, notes that Conrad elects, as his heroes in the foreground, figures which had previously only been known as extras, as silhouettes, and that he questions the imperialist notion of the pre-eminence of ‘the just man, the strong man, the Occidental conqueror’ lording it over the poor wretches of natives, in a way that leaves the reader troubled and disconcerted (Droz 1918). Davray picked up the same point just after Conrad’s death: ‘Conrad’s characters are not legendary heroes, nor exceptional, complex, abnormal beings. They are in no way superior in physical qualities, nor in moral virtues’.11 Edmond Jaloux, in an article published in the Nouvelle Revue Française’s ‘Hommage’ to Conrad, just after his death, returns to the same theme. His article is entitled ‘Joseph Conrad et le roman d’aventures anglais’, and, in it, he attempts to articulate what it was that made Conrad so different to previous writers of adventure. He concludes that it is in his subversion of the conventional idea of the adventure hero that Conrad is at once so different and so much more of an artist than previous purveyors of adventure. ‘The heroes of Joseph Conrad,’ he says, ‘are not made for adventures.’ They are swept into adventure ‘against their will’.12 Before now, we had looked upon the heroes of adventure novels as if they were of a different species to us. We admired them without really believing in their existence. But with Conrad, we suddenly understand that we could be swept away tomorrow by twists of fate as extraordinary as those which fill Almayer’s Folly or ‘The Shadow-Line’.13 Psychologically, Jaloux argues, Conrad’s heroes are never completely determined, they are forever ‘moving and in a state of perpetual becoming’.14 This is a psychological relativism with which he sees Conrad as prefiguring Proust. In fact, Jaloux says, linking up with Rivière’s Le Roman d’aventure, if Conrad had written in French, if he had truly become ‘one of us’, ‘he would have given us a type of novel which we have always lacked: the great novel of psychological adventure’. Conrad, he says, was the only adventure novelist who was also a great psychologist. However, Jaloux does not see the possibility of this novel ever truly being written in France,

11

‘Les personnages de Conrad ne sont pas des héros de légende, des êtres exceptionnels, complexes, anormaux. Ils n’ont rien de supérieur en qualités physiques, ni en vertus morales.’ 12 ‘En effet, ce qui frappe au premier abord dans les héros de Joseph Conrad, c’est qu’ils ne sont pas faits pour les aventures; il n’y a pas entre l’imprévu et eux cette parfaite adaptation qui caractérisait les héros des anciens romanciers. Ils ont des aventures à leur corps défendant’ (Jaloux 1924, 73). 13 ‘Jusqu’ici nous regardions agir les héros de romans d’aventures comme s’ils appartenaient à une autre espèce que nous. Nous les admirions sans beaucoup croire à leur existence. Mais avec Conrad, nous comprenons soudain que nous pourrions demain être embarqués dans des péripéties aussi extraordinaires que celles qui remplissent La Folie Almayer ou La Ligne d’Ombre’ (Jaloux 1924, 75). 14 ‘Les héros ne sont jamais complètement déterminés; ils sont mouvants et dans un état de perpétuel devenir’ (Jaloux 1924, 76).

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‘perhaps because the adventure novel comprises above all the examination of human solitude, and the French novel has no other object of study than society’.15 Despite a renaissance of interest in the roman d’aventures in the 1920s, it is arguable that the best answer to the calls for that future novel, ever tantalisingly out of reach, was to come from Conrad. In the translations of his work that were produced throughout the 1920s, we see him being adopted into the centre of French literary culture. As Rivière had predicted, this roman d’aventure psychologique from abroad was ‘infused into the bloodstream of French literature’. As we know, Conrad himself was sceptical of the very idea of adventure. As he said in his 1918 essay ‘Well Done!’, ‘Adventure by itself is but a phantom, a dubious shape without a heart’ (NLL, 190). Davray quotes telling words from him from around the same period. ‘Just after the war,’ he says, ‘speaking of modern methods of destruction, Conrad said to me “Romance died with the knights errant. There is no panache anymore. Adventure must be sought elsewhere, but everywhere that man finds it, he kills it” ’ (Davray 1924). This is the paradox at the heart of Conrad’s writing of adventure: it both belongs to a vanished past, the object of a now painful nostalgia, and it is forever in the future, slipping away over the horizon, in ‘that Ever-undiscovered country over the hill’, never quite attainable. His novels provided at the same time both the essence of adventure, for the French reading public, and a meditation on its impossibility. The French conception of the roman d’aventures, as it developed in the years around the turn of the twentieth century, was of a novel that would transcend the oppositions between the novel of analysis and character and the novel of imagination and incident. Conrad was seen to achieve this synthesis of opposites, being described as both a ‘réaliste imaginatif’ and a ‘psychologue romanesque’. His novel was the one that Schwob and Mauclair had predicted, and had called for, the novel of the crises of the interior and exterior worlds, the novel in which a whole world was created, in which dramatic incident intersects with vivid, living character, in which existential and elemental forces provide the conflict between characters, within them, and with the world around them. It was not only a novel of adventure in the narrative sense, but also in the philosophical, the moral senses, and in its formal experimentation. Conrad’s flawed, human heroes, confronted with the disillusionment of seeing their beliefs in romance shattered, questioned the very possibility of adventure, thus providing the philosophical depth necessary to epitomise this roman d’aventures.

15 ‘Si Conrad était devenu un des nôtres, il nous aurait donné un type de roman qui nous a toujours manqué: le grand roman d’action psychologique. [. . .] On ne voit pas ce genre de roman germant un jour en France; peut-être parce que le roman d’aventures comporte avant tout l’examen de la solitude humaine et que le roman français n’a d’autre objet que l’étude de la société’ (Jaloux 1924, 76–7).

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CHAPTER 5 THE FRENCH RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD FROM THE 1930s TO THE PRESENT DAY Véronique Pauly

In the 1930s a whole array of passeurs – reviewers, literary critics, publishers, translators acting as ‘foreign exchange brokers’ (Casanova 2004, 21)1 in what Goethe called ‘the commerce of ideas among peoples’ (Casanova 2004, 14)2 – had already contributed to the formation of Conrad’s cultural capital in France. As Mark Fitzpatrick’s contribution to this volume shows, early reviews and translations by Joseph de Smet, H.-D. Davray and Robert d’Humières3 and then Conrad’s adoption by the prestigious Nouvelle Revue Française (NRF), which undertook, under Gide’s supervision, to translate the whole of Conrad’s œuvre, had firmly established Conrad on the French literary scene. As Mark Fitzpatrick also shows in this volume and has shown elsewhere, H.-D. Davray had been the first reviewer to promote Conrad as ‘un-English’ and, essentially, ‘one of us’, thus ‘situating him not merely as French at heart, but also a member of the lettered élite, the world of letters’ (Fitzpatrick 2017, 79). There were also larger issues involved in Davray’s promotion of Conrad as ‘one of us’. Although the period which roughly spans France’s Third Republic (1870–1940) is commonly perceived as marking the ‘triumph of cosmopolitanism’ (Wilfert-Portal 2007, 27),4 with Paris as ‘the capital of the literary universe’ (Casanova 2004, 24),5 translating and publishing foreign literature virtually amounted to taking a stance in a protracted debate that had been raging since the 1880s between the nationalists and the cosmopolitans. In April 1931, H.-D. Davray devoted one of his ‘Lettres anglaises’ columns in the Mercure de France to the art of translation. Adopting the position of the eminent linguist and translator of Wells, Kipling, Wilde, Bennett and Conrad that he was, Davray’s chronicle does not, paradoxically, defend the profession against repeated criticisms of the poor quality of the translations in circulation: ‘[t]hat translators are very often not up to their task, no one denies. How could we? The evidence accumulates in abundance, most of it overwhelming. But if we revile them and if they are rightly held in low esteem, if not in complete disdain, we recognize the usefulness, the importance and the difficulty of translation’ (Davray 1931,

1

‘Les grands médiateurs (souvent polyglottes) sont en effet des sortes d’agents de change, des cambistes chargés d’exporter d’un espace à l’autre des textes dont ils fixent, par là même, la valeur littéraire’ (Casanova 1999, 43). 2 ‘Goethe tenait à la notion concrète de “commerce des idées entre les peoples”, évoquant un “marché d’échange mondial universel” ’ (Casanova 1999, 33). 3 Chronologically, Conrad’s first translator was his cousin Marguerite Poradowska, whose translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ was published in 1903 in Les Nouvelles Illustrées (Illustrated News). H-D. Davray’s first translation of Conrad followed in 1906 when his rendering of ‘Karain’ was published in the Mercure de France. 4 ‘[L]e triomphe du cosmopolitisme’. Wilfert-Portal is here quoting Raimond 1966. 5 ‘Paris, capitale de l’univers littéraire’ (Casanova 1999, 47).

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470).6 Davray’s stance here is in line with the general devaluation of translators, who were viewed as menial workers whose contribution to the importation of foreign literature more often than not remained anonymous and who formed, as Blaise Wilfert-Portal put it, ‘the proletariat of the world of letters’ (Wilfert-Portal 2007, 29).7 Translation is an art, Davray argues, that is best left in the hands of published authors, real men of letters. Yet, for all his elitist stance, Davray’s point lies elsewhere. In the early decades of this lengthy debate, naturalism, which was increasingly perceived as embodying the respectable and stilted kind of literature upheld by the Academy, was running out of favour. The promotion of foreign literatures – which led to the rise of French Wagnerism in the late 1880s and of Symbolism, and to the importation of Russian literature, of Scandinavian theatre, with Ibsen as the most prominent figure, and above all of the British aesthetic movement – constituted the ‘act of secession par excellence’ (Wilfert-Portal 2002, 32) from the conservative academic pole in an ongoing debate over what French literature actually was or was supposed to be. Around 1895, hostility was mounting against foreign influences, with the ‘nationalists’ railing against the ‘denationalisation of French literature’ (Wilfert-Portal 2002, 39). The responsibility for this state of affairs gradually shifted onto the translators who were accused of contaminating the French language and of contributing to the invasion of foreign novels (Wilfert-Portal 2007, 47). A good translation, the nationalists assumed, should bend the original language to the usages of the target language, rather than corrupting this target language for the sake of rendering the stylistic peculiarities of the original language. Translators thus became ‘border-builders’(Wilfert-Portal 2007, 51),8 contributing to the nationalization of foreign literatures. It was in this general context that H.-D. Davray defended the art of translation against ‘a narrow-minded nationalism priding itself on its narrow, intractable views’ (Davray 1931, 475).9 Opposing the motto of the nationalist, far-right, royalist daily L’Action française –‘all that is national is ours’ (Davray 1931, 469)10 – Davray, one of the founders of the Anglo-French Society and co-editor of the Anglo-French Review, reasserted the importance of foreign imports both for the French literary market and for the French language.11 It is thus reasonable to think that Davray’s promotion of Conrad as ‘one of us’ somehow sought to propitiate the nationalists without conceding any ground in his defence of foreign imports, while Jacques Rivière’s and Edmond Jaloux’s wish that French authors look more

6

‘Que les traducteurs soient fort souvent au-dessous de leur tâche, nul ne le conteste. Comment le pourrait-on ? Les preuves s’accumulent à foison, pour la plupart écrasantes. Mais si on les vilipende et s’ils sont à juste titre tenus en piètre estime, sinon en complet mépris, on reconnaît l’utilité, l’importance et la difficulté de la traduction.’ 7 See also Wilfert-Portal 2002. 8 ‘Des bâtisseurs de frontières’. 9 ‘Un étroit nationalisme continental tire gloire au contraire de ses vues étroites et récalcitrantes.’ 10 ‘Tout ce qui est national est nôtre.’ 11 Teasingly, Davray also pokes fun, in passing, at columnists who ‘in want of a subject, repeatedly rail against the invasion of French by English words, not that I have ever seen a British columnist lashing out against importations of French words on the other side of the Channel, insularism being too wise to declare exclusivity against what is on the whole a vivifying and enriching contribution’. ‘On a souvent vu un chroniqueur à court de sujet vitupérer l’invasion des mots anglais dans la langue française, encore que je n’aie jamais vu un chroniqueur britannique s’en prendre aux importations de mots français outre-Manche, l’insularisme étant trop avisé pour prononcer l’exclusive contre un apport somme toute vivifiant et qui enrichit’ (Davray 1931, 475).

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The French Reception of Joseph Conrad From the 1930s to the Present Day

towards the ‘action-driven psychological novel’ (Jaloux 1924, 76)12 that Conrad practised justified a more cosmopolitan approach to the world of letters. The translation of Heart of Darkness by André Ruyters, the first instalment of which appeared in the 1924 Revue des Deux Mondes commemorative issue, was to provide the required impetus, and the particular status that Conrad’s 1899 novella was to acquire seems to suggest that Jaloux’s call was heard.

The reception of Heart of Darkness in the 1930s Heart of Darkness can indeed be traced as a source of inspiration for a number of novels published in the early 1930s. The most notable among these are André Malraux’s La Voix Royale (The Royal Way), published in 1930, and Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s Voyage au bout de la Nuit (Journey To The End of the Night), published in 1932. In Voici que vient l’été (Here Comes the Summer), André Malraux’s wife, Clara, describes The Royal Way as a ‘very Conradian œuvre where are to be found the themes of this Heart of Darkness that we loved, with its movement back to the sources, its “womb-like” quality, if I may say so, the presence of the forest, and its sense of horror in front of the original mystery’ (C. Malraux 1973, 172).13 André Malraux had read Heart of Darkness shortly after its original publication in La Revue des Deux Mondes between December 1924 and February 1925. Malraux had then just got back from an expedition in the Cambodian forest and was about to leave for Saigon, and it is very likely that Heart of Darkness chimed in with his experience in South-East Asia. Commonly defined as an existentialist novel of adventures, the Royal Way, in its plot, characters, themes and occasionally verbal texture, displays striking analogies with Heart of Darkness. Set mainly in Cambodia and Laos, both of which were under the French protectorate, and Siam, the novel narrates the journey along the Royal Way to Angkor of two main characters: Claude Vannec, a young archaeologist sent by the French government on an exploratory mission who, without the authorities’ permission, intends to steal bas-relief sculptures from the temples; and an older, Kurtz-like character, Perken, a Dane of German origins, about whom the ‘myth’ goes that ‘he had lived amongst the natives, ruled over them in districts where many of his predecessors had been killed, and it was rumoured that the methods by which he had achieved this were more strenuous than law-abiding’ (A. Malraux 1935, 14).14 When he first meets him in Djibouti, Vannec is initially attracted by Perken’s voice, in which ‘there was an

12

‘Si Conrad était devenu un des nôtres, il nous aurait donné un type de roman dont nous avons toujours manqué : le grand roman d’action psychologique. [. . .] On ne voit pas ce genre de roman germant un jour en France ; peut-être parce que le roman d’aventures comporte avant tout l’examen et de la solitude humaine et que le roman français n’a d’autre objet que l’étude de la société.’ ‘If Conrad had become one of us, he would have given us a type of novel that we have always lacked: the great action-driven psychological novel [. . .] One cannot foresee this type of novel ever germinating in France; perhaps because the novel of adventures involves above all examining human solitude and because the French novel has no other object than the study of society.’ 13 ‘Œuvre très conradienne, certes, où l’on retrouve les thèmes de ce Cœur des ténèbres que nous aimions, avec sa montée vers les sources, son côté, si je peux dire, «matriciel», sa présence de la forêt, son horreur devant le mystère originel.’ 14 ‘la légende de Perken [. . .] Il avait vécu parmi les indigènes et les avait dominés, dans des regions où beaucoup de ses prédécesseurs avaient été tués, sans doute après des débuts assez illégaux’ (A. Malraux 1930, 15).

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undertone of irony that seemed to lose itself in the dark immensity of Africa’ (A. Malraux 1935, 3).15 Perken’s voice, like Kurtz’s, becomes a leitmotiv in the novel, fascinating Claude who feels increasingly drawn closer to its expression of something obscurely inhuman: ‘a man’s voice, lonely and remote, poised between the shining sky, and death, and darkness; yet in it there was something so inhuman that Claude felt as isolated from it as he would have been by incipient madness’ (A. Malraux 1935, 144–5).16 The African context of their meeting, combined with these repeated references to Perken’s voice, contribute to the novel’s definite Conradian ring. This is not the only link between the the two texts, however, for if the younger character, Claude, may appear to have for Perken the fascination Marlow develops for Kurtz, Perken himself finds in Claude’s project an opportunity to go searching for a friend of his, Grabot, an adventurer who joined rebellious populations in the border region between Cambodia and Laos and was never heard of again. When Grabot is eventually found, at the end of the journey, tortured and blinded, held captive by the ‘rebellious’ Mois, who are depicted as cruel savages, the ‘truth’ that he delivers is all contained in the word ‘nothing’: ‘the man was not insane; he had lingered on the word as if he groped for other words to add. Obviously it was not his memory that failed him, or that he would not answer; this was his truth!’ (A. Malraux 1935, 159).17 The final note at the end of this metaphysical journey thus stresses the absurdity of life, the hollowness of it all. Grabot, who had always considered that he would choose suicide over a senseless death, dies with this last word, ‘nothing’, and Perken, who had always thought that he would put up a good fight to the end, dies a pathetic death, fatally wounded in the release of Grabot, and deprived even of this final experience: ‘There is . . . no death’ (A. Malraux 1935, 249)18 are his dying words. Heart of Darkness thus certainly struck a personal chord in Malraux, whose own novel offers a heightened blend of adventure, violence and a questioning of personal choices, reflecting this ‘obsession with the irremediable’ that he found in Conrad (A. Malraux 1976, 300).19 In L’Homme précaire et la littérature (1977) (Precarious Man and Literature), Malraux later wrote that the modern novel, ‘what, as an essential and international realm, we call the novel’, was born with ‘the persistent questioning of man which is to be found going on since Joseph Conrad, because it will be that of the West itself ’ (A. Malraux 1977, 77).20 Smugly denying the rest of the world any questioning of the human condition, Malraux’s controversial novel21 is also very typical of the colonial literature of the period.

15

‘[U]n ton de voix d’une ironie insistante qui semblait se perdre aussi dans l’obscurité africaine’ (A. Malraux 1930, 8). ‘Cette voix, seule, entre le ciel éblouissant et la mort et les ténèbres, venait d’un homme mais avec quelque chose de si inhumain que Claude se sentait séparé d’elle comme par une folie commençante’ (A. Malraux 1930, 108). 17 ‘L’homme n’était pas fou. Il avait traîné ce mot, comme s’il cherchait encore, mais ce n’était pas un homme qui ne se souvenait pas, ni qui ne voulait pas répondre; c’était un homme qui disait sa vérité!’ (A. Malraux 1930, 119). 18 ‘ “Il n’y a pas . . . de mort” ’ (A. Malraux 1930, 182). 19 ‘[L]’obsession de l’irrémédiable’. 20 ‘[E]n tant que domaine capital et international, ce que nous appelons le roman est né alors avec ce que nous en avons vu, et aussi avec la pressante interrogation sur l’homme que nous trouverons jusque chez Joseph Conrad, parce qu’elle deviendra celle de l’Occident.’ 21 Although not directly autobiographical, The Royal Way transposes the controversial episode of Malraux removing a bas-relief from the Banteay Srei temple in Cambodia, with a view to selling it to an art collector, an act for which he was arrested and charged by the French authorities. First sentenced to three years’ imprisonment, an appeal, following a petition signed by such famous names as André Gide, Louis Aragon, André Breton and Gaston Gallimard, reduced the sentence to one year suspended. 16

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Published two years after The Royal Way, Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s Journey to the End of the Night invited comparison with both Heart of Darkness and Malraux’s novel. Céline never acknowledged any Conradian influence and the only passing reference to his having read any of Conrad’s work occurs in his correspondence with the American scholar Milton Hindus in which, in 1947, he wrote that ‘The Nigger of the “Narcissus” was admirably translated by Gide – a great translator, one must admit.’22 Nevertheless, as Isabelle Guillaume has aptly shown, a common theme, that of otherness, connects the novel with both Heart of Darkness and The Royal Way: ‘[The three fictions] indeed follow the same thematic pattern. The three of them state, in their own way, that the time for discoveries is over and that the discovery of virgin territories, this topos of the literature of adventure, has been replaced by the exploration of the Other’ (Guillaume 2006, 2).23 Only four chapters of Journey to the End of the Night are set in Africa (chapters 10 to 14), and, in these chapters more specifically, analogies can be noted with Heart of Darkness:24 Bardamu, Céline’s semi-autobiographical character, is sent by the grotesquely named Compagnie Pordurière du Petit Congo25 to an inner station to replace a corrupt agent; his itinerary, the sea voyage to the coastal station, then the journey up the river to the inner station seems to follow in Marlow’s footsteps. Their experiences there present a very similar portrayal of colonial life. The general corruption, the constant bickering between the military, the colonial agents and the commercial agents, the absurd tasks with which most of the Africans are kept employed – such as building roads that nobody ever uses – while others, like Conrad’s ‘reclaimed’, are recruited to control them, suggest that, in the outposts of empires, civilization is only skin deep. Bodies talk, and what the ‘biological confession’ (Céline 2006, 95)26 reveals is the general decay and ugliness in these journeys to the end of the night or to the heart of darkness: ‘From that moment on we saw, rising to the surface, the terrifying nature of white men, exasperated, freed from constraint, unbuttoned, their true nature, same as in the war. That tropical steam bath called forth instincts as August breeds toads and snakes on the fissured walls of prisons’ (Céline 2006, 95).27 The analogy drawn here with the war is a reminder that in this anti-patriotic, anti-capitalist, anarchist, anti-colonial novel, the ‘horror’ both precedes and follows the African episode, which illustrates one form of this lack of ‘restraint’ that Conrad depicted in Heart of Darkness. In its generalities and particulars, however, Céline’s description of colonial life and practices recalls what Gide witnessed in 1925–6, which he related in his Congo Diary (dedicated to

22

Letter of 12 June 1947 (Hindus 1951, 147) (cited in Guillaume 2006, 1). The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ was actually translated by Robert d’Humières, commissioned by Gide for Gallimard. This speaks volumes about the anonymity of the translators. 23 ‘Celles-ci décrivent, en effet, le même parcours thématique. Les trois récits disent à leur manière que le temps des découvertes est échu et qu’au motif de la découverte de territoires vierges, ce topos de la littérature d’aventure, se substitue celui de l’exploration d’autrui.’ 24 For a comprehensive list of similarities between the two novels, see Farn 2005, 89–95). 25 Left untranslated in Ralph Manheim’s translation, the name is a pun on the French homophones, ‘port’ and ‘pork’, and on the French ‘ordure’, which means either ‘garbage’ or ‘bastard’. ‘Petit Congo’ is the name sometimes given to ‘CongoBrazzaville’, a former French colony, to distinguish it from the Belgian Congo-Kinshasa; the name, nevertheless, belittles the whole colonial enterprise. 26 ‘[L]’aveu biologique’ (Céline 1932, 149). 27 ‘C’est depuis ce moment que nous vîmes à fleur de peau venir s’étaler l’angoissante nature des blancs, provoquée, libérée, bien débraillée enfin, leur vraie nature, comme à la guerre. Etuve tropicale pour instincts tels crapauds et vipères qui viennent enfin s’épanouir au mois d’août, sur les flancs fissurés des prisons’ (Céline 1932, 149).

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Conrad), as well as the colonial literature of the period. As Luc Rasson puts it, ‘the analogies spotted between the two texts (Journey to the End of the Night and Heart of Darkness) should not necessarily point to Conrad’s direct influence. One must take into account the role played by the European discourse on Africa’ (Rasson 1988, 273).28 All three novels, however – Conrad’s, Malraux’s and Céline’s – are structured by their main character’s search for another, Kurtz, Grabot or Robinson, fascinating dark doubles they wish they could talk to and get non-conventional answers from.29 But, as Isabelle Guillaume concludes, in all three novels ‘brotherhood is denounced as an illusion masking the real experience of “separation” ’ (Guillaume 2006, 2),30 and the quest for the Other reveals only the Marlovian conclusion that ‘we live as we dream, alone’. Besides these two very famous novels written by very famous authors, Heart of Darkness also spawned in the 1930s a number of now largely or virtually ignored rewritings. This is the case of René Guillot’s 1932 novel entitled Atonement in the Sun in Philip John Stead’s English translation (Guillot 1944) and Le Blanc qui s’était fait Nègre in the original French, a more offensive title, which literally translates as ‘The White Man Who Had Turned Negro’ and which more clearly advertises its link with Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. René Guillot (1900–69) is more commonly known as the writer of popular novels for children, such as Crin Blanc (1959) (The Wild White Stallion, 1961). Most of these novels are set in Africa, like Sirga la lionne (1951) (Sirga, 1953) or Kpo la panthère (1955) (Kpo the Leopard, 1963, translated, like all those mentioned here, by Gwen Marsh), and all written while Guillot was a maths teacher in Dakar, Senegal. He is also identified as a regionalist writer writing about his native Saintonge, on the west central Atlantic coast. One of these regionalist novels, Vent de Norois (1938) (Norois Wind) may have been inspired by both Typhoon and The Shadow-Line. Subtitled Roman Maritime (Sea Novel), Vent de Norois, as its name might suggest, involves a storm at sea. The ship is commanded by a Captain Mourne, who has a reputation for being cursed, and, when the crew are ill with fever, keeps bemoaning his bad luck (Gnocchi 2016, 5). Sometimes nicknamed the Kipling from Saintonge, René Guillot also wrote three colonial novels, Ras El Gua (1936), Looga (1941) and Atonement in the Sun (1932). This last may be viewed as one of the earliest French rewritings of Heart of Darkness. Guillot borrowed from Conrad the technique of embedded narratives, with an unnamed frame narrator, a young traveller in Africa, relaying the story of an elderly man named Barail, the main character and narrator. His story, told not between the tides but while the young traveller is convalescing in Barail’s hut, nursed by him, reads like the redemption of Kurtz. The telling of it, in Barail’s deep resonant voice, involves the narrative moving back and forth between Africa and Saintonge, turning the work into both a regionalist and a colonial novel. As the title given to the English translation highlights, the novel has a very marked psychological and moral dimension, tinged with elements of mysticism that Guillot borrowed from Flaubert’s tale, The Legend of Saint-Julian The Hospitaller.31 Resting essentially on the

28 ‘Les analogies repérées entre les deux textes ne doivent pas pointer vers une influence directe de Conrad. Il faut faire la part du discours européen sur l’Afrique.’ 29 Robinson, who lets the inner post run wild, appears in Céline’s novel as the antithesis of Defoe’s hero, embodying the opposite of that exemplary colonialist. 30 ‘La fraternité est dénoncée comme une illusion qui dissimule l’authentique expérience de la “séparation” ’. 31 See Gnocchi’s introduction to Guillott 1932.

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notion that ‘the power given to the white man in this land at once innocent and barbaric’ (Guillot 1944, 47)32 brought out the worst in men, the novel focuses on a character who, like Kurtz, though differently, is ‘hollow at the core’. Guillot, unlike Conrad, however, turns this into a psychological disposition making Barail, a foundling, dependent on his two ‘secret sharers’, Giraud and Sidoine, to define and guide him: ‘Sidoine, like Giraud, was one of the potentials for Barail who sought himself avidly in others, and found in them strangers who were like himself. [. . .] Each of them had a secret echo in him.’33 Giraud and Sidoine, both named Louis, are two sides of the same coin, one impossibly good, endowed with ‘a morality in black and white where good and evil can never mingle or meet’ (Guillot 1944, 49)34 and the other utterly evil, full of tales ‘of death, of the intoxication of slaughter’ (Guillot 1944, 48).35 In psychoanalytical terms, Barail’s secret sharers function as embodiments of the superego and the id. The sins Barail atones for by becoming ‘a negro’ is the destruction, while all three characters were soldiers in the colonial army, of a whole African village and the slaughter of all its inhabitants in a revenge attack carried out with Sidoine for the apparent murder of Giraud, as well as the subsequent murder of Giraud himself. Giraud, who was, in fact, merely wounded, is then killed by both Barail and Sidoine. Back in civilian life, Barail goes to Giraud’s family farm in Saintonge where he gradually replaces him as a son, husband and father. When the Great War breaks out, Barail enlists, and later joins the colonial army again. Back in Africa at the end of 1920, Barail goes to the government office in Sikasso in Mali, requesting to be granted a concession covering the exact location of the village that he and Sidoine destroyed years before. Using all his money, ‘down to his last farthing’ (Guillot 1944, 9),36 Barail rebuilds the village, digging a creek, bringing water and giving the people seeds to sow. This is the white man ‘gone native’ that the young traveller meets in Dougouni, the village in which, like Saint-Julian the Hospitaller, he is a healer, a mystic of sorts, feeling for both people and animals. Like Kurtz, he is also a voice, addressing the people gathered for the palaver, and convincing them, against the witch doctor’s opinion, that the earth does not hate him, that he is not cursed: ‘Amid the negroes, setting the example, more peaceable, more indifferent, blacker than the oldest of them all, Barail, in his tranquil voice, was promising the future’ (Guillot 1944, 29).37 Like Kurtz, Barail is eloquent, and the story he tells the young traveller convinces him that he is not the old lunatic that government officials take him for. Guillot’s transposition of Marlow’s final lie in Heart of Darkness takes the form of a mysterious twist given to Barail’s story. Shortly after the young traveller’s recovery, Barail comes upon another young wounded man, whom he nurses too. While doing so, he gradually becomes convinced that this is Sidoine’s son. The young man does not survive and is buried next to Giraud. Shortly afterwards, Barail himself dies. The anonymous narrator sees him now as

32

‘[L]a puissance qui était donnée à l’homme blanc dans ce pays à la fois innocent et barbare’ (Guillot 1932, 51). Translation mine, as Philip John Stead’s translation of the passage does not render the sense of hollowness suggested in the original sentence. ‘Sidoine, comme Giraud, était une forme du possible pour Barail qui se cherchait avidement chez les autres, et découvrait en eux des inconnus qui lui ressemblaient. [. . .] Chacun d’eux avait en lui un secret écho’ (Guillot 1932, 55). 34 ‘[U]ne morale en blanc et noir où ne sauraient se rejoindre, se toucher, le bien et le mal’ (Guillot 1932, 54). 35 ‘[I]l racontait la mort, l’ivresse de tuer’ (Guillot 1932, 52). 36 ‘[J]usqu’à son dernier sou’ (Guillot 1932, 9). 37 ‘Au milieu de ces noirs, donnant l’exemple, plus paisible, plus indifférent, plus noir que le plus vieux d’eux tous, Barail, de sa voix tranquille, promettait les temps futurs’ (Guillot 1932, 31). 33

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Giraud – ‘Now that Sidoine was dead, Barail was Giraud alone, and it was Giraud whom I saw die’ (Guillot 1944, 132).38 When Giraud’s grave is opened, to make room for Barail’s body, it is found to be empty. The whole story is thus predicated on an absence, a void, which takes us back to the hollowness of both Kurtz and of the whole ‘civilizing mission’. The young narrator avoids white people on his way back to France, not even trying to know who the other traveller was. The anonymous narrator has become a believer of sorts, a disguised spokesman for Guillot’s militant humanist and Christian story of guilt and repentance. The gist of the story is given right from the start in a foreword provided by the anonymous narrator. I want to tell, simply, the story of Barail, the white man who became a negro. His last words still sound in my ears, and they are beautiful, with an inexplicable joy: ‘Now I’m finished, this village can have a thousand year’s peace . . .’ And his hand, his barbarian hand, moved in benediction. Guillot 1944, 539 René Guillot’s psychological rewriting of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness thus appears to be an early fulfilment of Jaloux’s wish for an action-driven psychological novel, as well as an early instance of a trend which developed in French criticism, following the publication of Tzvetan Todorov’s 1975 article entitled ‘Connaissance du vide’ (Knowledge of the void), and which favoured psychological interpretation of Conrad’s novella over historicizing readings. In the 1930s, however, when much of the political debate in France focused on French colonies, two related trends developed. On the one hand, there was a new spate of colonial novels. Contrary to received opinion, these were not all of the same hue. To put it succinctly, there are significant differences between Robert Randau’s vision of ‘our indigeneous peoples’ (Randau 1929b, 422) whom ‘we’ need to know the better to ‘govern’ them (Randau 1929b, 418),40 thus justifying the educational and political use the colonial novel can be put to, and Robert Delavignette’s rejection of this essentialist definition of the colonial ‘other’ and his depiction, in Les Paysans noirs (The Black Peasants), for instance, of blacks and whites as having common pursuits and common interests (Delavignette 1931).41 The other trend, which developed simultaneously, was the promotion of ‘reportage’ and of the figure of the ‘grand reporter’, halfway between a journalist and a man of letters. A literary dimension, including the use of stylistic devices and a literary style, was expected of the reporter: their function was to ‘fuse the Anglo-Saxon style of journalism, based on facts only, and a French style of literary journalism which did not neglect style and intertextuality’ (Favre 2007, 1).42 In 1927 and 1928, the publications of André Gide’s travelogues, Le Journal du Congo (Congo Diary) and Retour du

38 ‘Maintenant que Sidoine était mort, Barail était seulement Giraud, et c’est Giraud que j’ai vu mourir’ (Guillot 1932, 140). 39 ‘Je veux dire, simplement, l’histoire de Barail, le blanc qui s’était fait nègre, dont j’entends encore la dernière parole embellie d’une mystérieuse joie. – Maintenant que je vais crever, ce village-ci en a pour mille ans de paix . . . Et sa main de barbare bénissait’ (Guillot 1932, 3). 40 ‘Et en effet, pour gouverner les hommes, il faut les connaître.’ 41 For Delavignette, colonial administrator and novelist, as a defender of decolonialization, see Kalck 1967. 42 ‘Le grand reporter doit donc réaliser la fusion du journalisme à l’anglo-saxonne, attaché aux “faits bruts”, et du journalisme littéraire à la française, ne négligeant pas le recours au style ou à l’intertextualité.’

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Tchad (Back from Chad), had already sanctioned the marriage of literature and reportage. The publication in book form of Albert Londres’s anti-colonialist articles, Terre d’ébène (Ebony Earth), in 1929, or of Joseph Kessel’s Le Marché d’esclaves (The Slave Market) in 1933, further blurred the frontier between journalism and literature. In this context, Conrad became a reference point for all would-be travel writers. It is not, however, for Heart of Darkness that Kessel expresses his admiration in The Slave Market, but rather for ‘Youth’, ‘the charm’ of which, ‘among so many stories fraught with poetry, sadness and magnetic power’, is to him ‘indelible’ (Kessel 1933, 125).43 A year after the publication of The Slave Market, another traveller, Michel Leiris, was also to testify to Conrad’s influence in French literary circles. However, Leiris’s L’Afrique fantôme (Phantom Africa) undoubtedly struck a discordant note when it was first published by Gallimard in 1934, just a few months after the return of the Dakar–Djibouti ethnographic and linguistic mission it was supposed to report on. The book did not tally with the strict task Leiris had been assigned, which was to keep a record of the mission’s daily activities. In Leiris’s own words, the book is ‘half documentary, half poetic’ (Leiris 1934, 9)44 and goes well beyond the initial purpose it was supposed to serve. The interesting thing here is that Leiris refers to Conrad not so much to express his admiration for him but to examine his own frame of mind at different periods of his life, including during the ethnographic mission itself. More importantly perhaps, he does not refer to Heart of Darkness, but to Lord Jim and Victory. The text of Phantom Africa is now inseparable from the prefaces Leiris later added; the first one was written in 1950, when the book was republished after being banned – and all copies destroyed – during the war; the second one was written in 1981. In the 1950 preface, Leiris uses a comparison with the character of Lord Jim to explain the transformation that he underwent as a result of the experience: [. . .] ceasing to aspire to the romantic role of the white man who, in a generous leap (like Lord Jim pledging his life on his fidelity to a Malay chief), steps down from the pedestal the prejudice of the hierarchy of the races had created for him, to bond with men situated on the other side of the fence. Leiris 1934, 13–1445 Jim is used here to qualify the ‘mythological idea of Africa’ that was his conception of the continent before he actually went there (Leiris 1995, 880).46 When he launched into the experience, Leiris had just broken away from the circle of the surrealists and was generally disaffected and depressed. He saw in this trip to Africa an opportunity to get out of himself by immersing himself in ‘a primitive mentality he felt nostalgia

43

‘Il y a chez Joseph Conrad, parmi tant de récits chargés de poésie, de tristesse et de puissance magnétique, une nouvelle dont le charme demeure indélébile. Elle s’appelle Jeunesse.’ 44 ‘[M]i documentaire, mi poétique.’ 45 ‘[C]essant d’aspirer au rôle romantique du Blanc qui, en un geste généreux (tel Lord Jim gageant de sa vie sa fidélité à un chef malais), descend du piédestal que lui a fait le préjugé de la hiérarchie des races pour lier partie avec des hommes situés de l’autre côté de la barrière.’ 46 ‘[L]’idée mythologique que je m’étais faite de l’Afrique.’

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for’ (Leiris 1934, 13).47 In his successive rereadings of the 1934 text, Leiris is very harsh on himself, repeatedly reproaching himself for his self-centredness, for his constant brooding over his own deficiencies and his failure to see in Africa anything else but a ‘phantom’, and to grant Africa, where he had ‘found much but not deliverance’, the ‘plenitude of existence’ (Leiris 1934, 7).48 In the 1950 preface, Leiris mentions that, to compensate for what he saw as a weakling’s nervousness in himself, he sometimes had mood swings in which he identified, ‘in the blink of an eye, with the brutal colonial he had never been but to whom a certain Conradian taste for the madcaps of the borders could, in brief flushes, give a desire to borrow certain gestures’ (Leiris 1934, 14).49 Towards the end of the journal, Leiris, increasingly bored with the whole expedition, plans to write ‘a tale the elements of which would be borrowed, to the largest extent, from the current reality’, but with ‘a character of the Axel Heyst kind, or even Conrad’ (Leiris 1934, 616).50 Leiris then delineates the plot, commenting on the similarities with and differences from Conrad’s character. Leiris’s outline of the plot and of the narrative devices he intends to use is very detailed and shows his knowledge and understanding of Conrad’s fiction and methods. The context of Leiris’s tale is just ‘any colony’ in which Heyst has just ‘any job’ (Leiris 1934, 616).51 The ‘current reality’ he wants to borrow from, however, is not Africa, but his own feeling of impotence, both sexual and metaphorical. Leiris transforms Conrad’s story of detachment and involvement into a self-portrait, the explicitness of which is definitely not Conradian. Leiris’s Axel Heyst is an exaggerated version of Conrad’s character whose detachment from human affairs could have been ascribed a sexual cause. The plot of Heyst’s story involves rumours of his being either a homosexual or impotent, a man brutal with native whores and servants. It also involves a failed suicide and his eventual death in an epidemic against which he does not try to protect himself (which, accordingly, appears as a substitute for suicide). Closer to Conrad’s fiction are the narrative devices that Leiris borrows from Victory, as well as from Lord Jim and Heart of Darkness. Thus, Leiris borrows the character of Captain Davidson, who becomes an anonymous doctor keeping a friendly eye on him. When, coming back from a lengthy leave of absence, the doctor learns that Heyst has died during the epidemic, he becomes the recipient of a parcel, which evokes the parcel the privileged listener receives in chapter 36 of Lord Jim containing Marlow’s letter and narrative, Jim’s attempt at writing a diary, and his father’s letter. This parcel contains the photograph of a young blonde girl, ‘very sane, of the English kind’, with an inscription on the back, ‘expecting his return’ (Leiris 1934, 617);52 a few books, novels mostly; a volume or two of classical poetry; a guide to Marxism; a few

47

‘[U]ne mentalité primitive dont j’éprouvais la nostalgie.’  ‘Déception qui, en quelque sorte, amenait l’égocentriste que je n’avais pas cessé d’être à refuser, par le truchement d’un titre, la plénitude d’existence à cette Afrique en laquelle j’avais trouvé beaucoup mais non la délivrance’ (1981 introduction). 49 ‘[U]ne nervosité de femmelette se traduisant parfois en mouvements d’humeur qui tendaient à m’identifier, l’instant d’un éclair, au colonial brutal que je n’ai jamais été mais à qui un certain goût conradien des grandes têtes brûlées des confins pouvait, par brèves bouffées, me donner envie d’emprunter certains gestes.’ 50 ‘Idée d’un conte, dont les éléments seraient empruntés, dans la plus large mesure, à la présente réalité. Un personnage dans le genre de Axel Heyst (voir Conrad).’ 51 ‘Il exerce un métier quelconque dans une colonie quelconque.’ 52 ‘La photographie d’une jeune fille blonde, très saine, de type anglais; au dos une quelconque dédicace tendre se terminant par: “en attendant son retour”.’ This recalls the studio photograph of ‘the Intended’ that Marlow is left with after Kurtz’s death. 48

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journals (one of them including a heavily annotated article on Freud); some movie picture magazines; and finally, a rather large batch of loose sheets forming a rather confused diary. The projected diary, Leiris writes, should contain reflections on suicide, on sexuality, on Heyst’s abhorrence of romanticism, although it should also include a few tender words about his fiancée, and, on a separate sheet, dated, perhaps the equivalent of Kurtz’s infamous postscript, a single sentence: ‘even a negro whore’s ass is not for me’ (Leiris 1934, 618).53 After placing Axel’s books on his own bookshelves and hesitating to burn the papers, the doctor then writes a letter to the fiancée, sending back the picture. Leiris, however, does not say what truths or lies the letter may contain. He then jots down in his journal the alterations he plans to make: the diary would have to be replaced by a batch of unsent letters to the fiancée, and the narrative would have to begin with the episode of Heyst going to see the doctor with a head injury resulting from the failed suicide. He then drafts two versions of a preface. The book was never written and, of course, never published. Leiris was the first judge of its flaws, mainly self-centredness and self-complacency – definitely the exact antithesis of Conrad’s restraint – which, he thought, testified to his inability to get out of himself.54 In a note for the 1951 edition, Leiris offers a different interpretation, suggesting that what would have cured Heyst would have been a ‘radical conversion’ to a relationship of ‘pure and simple humanity’.55 Strangely enough, Leiris fails to realize the metaphorical significance of his fear of impotence in a colonial situation which rests on the principles of the colonizer’s potency, might and right of possession.56 In this context, Leiris’s alleged impotence, one suspects, amounts to an inability, or refusal, to endorse the bases upon which the very presence of the expedition is justified; and his choice of fiction, and of Conrad, to express this, testifies to his understanding of a very Conradian linking of aesthetics with ethics. Looking back on the early 1930s, it is altogether remarkable to see how quickly the process of literary appropriation took place, and how Conrad’s fiction, with a new title released every year by Gallimard, seemed to chime with the period. An image of Conrad started to crystallize and, allowing for the customary ebb and flow of reputation and public favour, Conrad was to remain a continuing presence in the French literary market and literary spheres.

Conrad in translation Several decades later, in 1982, the publication of volume 1 of Conrad’s complete works in La Pléaide, Gallimard’s prestigious collection, clearly established Conrad as a canonical author of 53

‘Même le cul d’une putain nègre n’est pas pour moi.’ In a footnote written for the first 1934 edition, Leiris, rereading all this ‘in cold blood’, explains away his dread of impotence and concludes by saying that everything got warped here by the choice of using the fiction of Axel Heyst. ‘Maintenant que je regarde ce journal avec sang-froid, je puis ajouter quelques précisions. [. . .] Du fait d’avoir choisi pour me décrire la fiction d’Axel Heyst, un grand nombre de choses se sont trouvées faussées’ (Leiris 1934, 621). 55 ‘[L]a crainte dont il souffrait de s’avérer inférieur – marquant le prix élevé qu’il attachait à son prestige et le souci trop grand qu’il avait de lui-même – ne pouvait pas se liquider sans une conversion radicale, telle qu’en une femme, par exemple, il aurait su ne plus voir que cette femme au lieu de la réduire à l’état d’instrument lui permettant de tenter une expérience ou de faire ses preuves ; telle en somme que, d’une manière tout à fait générale, inquiet de virilité à un moindre degré il se fût révélé plus prodigue de pure et simple humanité’ (Leiris 1995, 835). 56 In his subsequent career as an anthropologist, the conquest of material possessions was to be replaced by the study of spirit possession and zār rituals in Ethiopia. 54

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world status, deserving to feature, as far as English or British literature is concerned, alongside Shakespeare and a select few other authors – Defoe, Fielding, Austen, the Brontës, De Quincey, Dickens, Carroll, Kipling, Stevenson, Wilde and Woolf. In between Gallimard’s first translations and the Pléiade edition (five volumes with a publication spanning from 1982 to 1992), there had been virtually no new translations – with one notable exception: Jean-Jacques Mayoux’s translations of Heart of Darkness, ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘The Secret Sharer’ for a bilingual edition in 1980. Not all the translations published in La Pléiade, however, were new translations. In 1982, in his introduction to volume 1, Sylvère Monod, the general editor and heart and soul of the whole enterprise, paid homage to the great pioneers, namely André Gide and G. Jean-Aubry, and specified that the aim of this new publication by Gallimard was ‘to complete and modernize’ their works (Conrad 1982, 32). In the advertisement for the same volume, he added that the decision either to revise existing translations or to produce new translations was not an easy one to make. A number of new translations were produced, however: in volume 1, Almayer’s Folly (Anne-Marie Soulac) and Lord Jim (Henriette Bordenave); in volume 2, ‘The End of the Tether’ (Gabrielle d’Harcourt); in volume 3, The Secret Agent and ‘Poland Revisited’ (Sylvère Monod), Gaspar Ruiz and other tales (Pierre Coustillas) and Under Western Eyes (Jean Deurbergue); and in volume 4, Chance (Roger Hibon), Victory (Paul Le Moal), Within the Tides (Philippe Jaudel) and The Shadow-Line (Florence Herbulot). Gide’s translation of Typhoon, Sylvère Monod specified in the same advertisement to volume 1, was to be viewed as an exception; because it was a literary piece of such high standard, it was deemed unthinkable to touch it. Monod does not go into the details of Gide’s merits in this particular instance, and it remains a question whether Gide’s translation of Typhoon was being republished because of its exceptional quality or whether, because Gide was one of Gallimard’s father figures, it would have been bad politics to question his talents as a translator. This high valuation seemed to be the consensus for a very long time, from the original publication of Gide’s translation in 1918 to 1983 when the first new translation of Typhoon appeared (by Jean-François Ménard, the translator of Harry Potter), for a children’s edition, with illustrations by Sylvaine Pérols. After another fifteen years’ gap, three new translations were published consecutively: Odette Lamolle’s in 1998 (Autrement), Marc Porée’s in 1999 (Flammarion) and François Maspéro’s in 2005 (J’ai lu, Librio collection). In addition to the new translations published in La Pléiade, there were Jean-Pierre Naugrette’s translations of The Shadow-Line (1996) and of A Smile of Fortune (2010), and Claudine Lesage’s very polemic 2009 translation of Heart of Darkness, entitled Coeur des ténèbres, instead of the customary Au Coeur des ténèbres.57 There have also been numerous

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Claudine Lesage’s translation caused a bit of a stir. Justifying her approach by referring to Conrad’s letter to André Gide (19 May 1916) in which he stated that ‘one [could] translate [him] faithfully by seeking the equivalent French idioms’ (Conrad 2009, 8), and accusing Ruyters’ translation of being ‘approximate, flawed, colonialist and partisan’ (Conrad 2009, 10), Lesage renders Conrad’s text in sometimes very colloquial French, justifying the erasure of images by the lack of a French equivalent. Thus, the image of the ‘cracked nut’, in the anonymous narrator’s depiction of Marlow as an untypical seaman, is removed because, she claims, Conrad built it from the idiomatic phrase ‘in a nutshell’, which, having no exact equivalent in French, is therefore translated as ‘in a few words’(Conrad 2009, 10–11). One might wonder, however, whether Conrad did not construct the phrase from a French expression, ‘une coquille de noix’, which refers to a frail boat.

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reprints in paperback editions, which makes Conrad’s works highly available to the general public. Odette Lamolle’s translation of Conrad’s works is a particularly interesting case. Lamolle – who died in 2000 – was neither a university professor nor a professional translator. She was born in 1910, and, after a BA in English (University of Bordeaux), she taught for a while, then worked in the retail business of hairdressers’ accessories; she then became a cattle breeder, while writing poetry and novels on the side. As a teenager she had read Lord Jim and continued to read Conrad throughout her life. But she found Philippe Néel’s translations very unsatisfactory; accordingly, when she retired, she started to translate Lord Jim. Eighteen other translations followed, all published by Autrement, the last ones published posthumously. Although somewhat daunted in 1982 when volume 1 of the Pléiade edition came out, she did not falter, and her enterprise won her the sanction of Sylvère Monod who, in an afterword to the first volume (Lord Jim) wrote: Nobody can claim that Odette Lamolle’s translations of Conrad are perfect, for the simple reason that there is no perfect translation. But they deserve the homage of admiration and gratitude for a great talent put at the service of a mighty task. They prove that, contrary to an absurd legend, Conrad is not a male readers’ writer only. A feminine sensitivity can vibrate in unison with his art. For these translations are what is called in English ‘a labour of love’, accomplished to satisfy an inner call and a passion. And as such they are sure to satisfy and nourish many others. Conrad 1996, 475 Sylvère Monod’s delicately expressed praise of (and reservations about) Odette Lamolle’s translations and the very publication of Odette Lamolle’s nineteen translations of Conrad’s works illustrate the various ways through which an author ceases to be merely a literary figure and becomes something akin to a cultural object. By publishing the work of an amateur translator whose personal history and personality inevitably generated press reviews that just any new translation of Conrad would not necessarily have attracted,58 the publishing house was not only putting Conrad under the spotlight but was also making him more accessible to general readers. For once, the translator was someone the readers – and female readers at that – could identify with, and the publishing house’s bold decision signified that Conrad was not exclusively the highbrow Pléiade author but also an author who deserved to be the object of ‘a labour of love’, as Sylvère Monod, the general editor the Pléiade edition, warmly put it. The image of a literary author is fashioned by a chain of actions which begins with reviewers, translators and publishing houses deciding to bring him or her to the reader’s knowledge and to market him/her as successfully as possible. But the image of a writer nowadays is also fashioned by other discourses: by the scholarly discourse of academics, for example, but also by other authors or, indeed, other artists working in different media appropriating their writing in their own works. It is also fashioned by the readers themselves who, as we shall see, in the case of Conrad, constitute an important link in the chain of cultural transfers of which Conrad is the object.

58 All press reviews drew attention to the fact that nothing in Odette Lamolle’s life could have predicted her becoming a published translator of Conrad.

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Conrad as a cultural object In the 1960s, academic discourse started to take over as the dominant discourse on Conrad. In 1960, a year after the publication of Raymond Las Vergnas’s Joseph Conrad, romancier de l’exil (Joseph Conrad, novelist of exile), Jean-Jacques Mayoux’s seminal Vivants Piliers: Le roman anglo-saxon et les symboles (Vivid Pillars: The Anglo-Saxon Novels and Symbols) stimulated academic interest in his work. As Josiane Paccaud-Huguet put it in her introduction to Conrad in France, which offers ‘a diachronic selection of essays [. . .] representative of Conrad’s reception among several generations of readers and critics’ (Paccaud-Huguet 2006, 1), ‘[a]s often happens in the case of major writers, French Conradian criticism has gone through various stages ranging from the early biographical record or general appreciation, to closer textual readings underpropped by the concepts of modern literary theory’ (Paccaud-Huguet 2006, 1). Academic interest in Conrad has hardly abated ever since. The Société Conradienne Française (French Conrad Society) was founded in 1982. It organizes international conferences and publishes a journal, L’Époque Conradienne. In addition, as another sure sign in France that an author belongs to the canon, five of his works featured on the syllabuses of competitive examinations for teachers: ‘Youth’ as early as 1946; Lord Jim four times, the first time in 1948; Victory in 1980; Nostromo in 1983; and Heart of Darkness twice in 2018, on two separate syllabuses. Fortunately, Conrad is not exclusively an author for students to toil over. In the absence of actual sales figures, which the publishing houses refuse to disclose, one can only fall back on less objective facts such as readers’ blogs59 or rankings60 to get an idea of Conrad’s readership. Conrad features regularly in these rankings, whether they be of the ‘favourite book’ or ‘the best novel of the twentieth century’ type. Unsurprisingly, the titles that appear most often are Heart of Darkness and Lord Jim. Conrad has also been appropriated by other media and adapted or transposed into graphic novels, plays and films or set to music. In 2010, a volume entitled Visions d’Afrique (Visions of Africa),61 collected three graphic novels in black and white by African Francophone graphic novelists and scriptwriters. The first text is based on a prose poem written for this collection by the Mauritian poet Umar Timol with illustrations by the Congolese artist Jason Kibiswa. Entitled Les Yeux des autres (The Eyes of The Others), it relates the dreams of a woman living in an unnamed African country and the realities of her life, which is marked by a sense of confinement and inter-ethnic violence. The

59 http://l-or-des-livres-blog-de-critique-litteraire.over-blog.com/search/conrad/; http://intemperiesetdetours.eklablog. com/search?q=Conrad; http://mesmilleetunenuitsalire.over-blog.com/2018/02/un-secret-malgre-le-monde-entier-aucoeur-des-tenebres-joseph-conrad.html; https://charybde2.wordpress.com/2014/03/24/note-de-lecture-la-rescoussejoseph-conrad/. 60 In the spring of 1999, FNAC (the French retail chain selling books and other cultural products) and Le Monde (the daily evening paper) carried out a survey asking their customers about their favourite books. Choosing from a list of 200 titles – selected by journalists and booksellers – 17,000 people answered. Lord Jim featured 75th out of 100 (https://www.senscritique.com/liste/Les_100_livres_du_vingtieme_siecle_d_apres_Le_Monde/68328). In 2008, the cultural website Culturecafé organized an online survey aimed at establishing a list of 500 favourite titles: 5,000 people responded, more than 3,000 titles were mentioned, and Heart of Darkness came out as number 279, while Lord Jim came out as number 299 (http://www.culture-cafe.fr/site/?p=268). In March 2010, Linternaute.com asked readers to establish a list of fifty ‘must read’ novels: Heart of Darkness featured as number 13 (http://www.linternaute.com/livre/ roman-litterature/1143815-50-livres-a-avoir-lu-absolument/). 61 Timol et al. 2010.

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second graphic novel is an adaptation of Albert Londres’s anti-colonialist work, Terre d’Ébène (Ebony Earth), with drawings by Malagasy graphic artist and press caricaturist Pov, based on a text by Franco-Cameroonian graphic-novel scriptwriter Christophe Ngalle-Edimo. Finally, the third graphic novel is an adaptation of Conrad’s short story ‘An Outpost of Progress’, based on a script written by Jean-François Chanson with drawings by the Cameroonian artist Yannick Deubou Sikoué. Juxtaposing a contemporary vision of Africa to two older texts on colonialism written by European writers, the volume constitutes a reappropriation of a discourse on Africa that had been appropriated by non-African writers, but it also offers a dialogue with texts which quite clearly depicted the absurdities and atrocities of colonialism. In the case of Conrad’s work, by foregrounding ‘An Outpost of Progress’, the volume also gives the lie to Chinua Achebe’s accusations of racism. Since then, Heart of Darkness has given rise to two more graphic novel adaptations. The first one, entitled Kongo: Le Ténébreux voyage de Jόzef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski (Kongo: The Dark Voyage of Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski) was published in 2013 (Perrissin and Tirabosco 2013). Adapted by Christian Perrissin with black-and-white drawings by graphic artist Tom Tirabosco, the volume blends the figure of Conrad with that of his privileged narrator, Marlow, transforming Conrad’s fiction into an autobiographical story. The second adaptation, published a year later, in 2014, and quite straightforwardly entitled Au Coeur des ténèbres (Miquel and Godart 2014), is a less documentary and more literary reading of Conrad’s text in which Stéphane Miquel, the scriptwriter, and Loïc Godart, the graphic artist, enhance the nightmarish quality of Marlow’s journey. Drawn, like the rest of the book, in shades of sepia and ochre, the front-cover shows a shaven-headed Marlow, sitting on board the steamer, his feet in a puddle of blood, an arrow, an overturned lamp and loose sheets of paper scattered on the floor. This is the end of the journey, the story has been told and its horror is reflected in Marlow’s dazed expression. The back cover rewinds to the start of it all and depicts Marlow as a young boy, sitting in what looks like an attic, surrounded by open books and atlases, dreaming away. Taken together, front cover and back cover not only reverse the chronological order of things, but, by suggesting a cyclical movement, also allude to the telling and retelling of this story of a dream gone horribly bad.62 Heart of Darkness has also been turned into drama. As recently as 2015, in Lyons, the Théâtre de l’Elysée presented Joël Jouanneau’s adaptation of Conrad’s text, staged by Michel Raskine. The performance opened with a prologue in which a male actor, Thomas Rortais, read ‘Le Bateau ivre’ (The Drunken Boat), Rimbaud’s allegory of personal, poetic and political rebellion, guiding the audience’s interpretation of Conrad’s text. The adaptation of Conrad’s text proper was performed by Marief Guittier, an actress known for the androgynous roles she repeatedly played and who, alone on stage, evoked the African journey, to music by Benjamin Britten and the Doors. Putting Conrad’s text in context by adding a prologue seems to be a regular practice when it comes to Conrad’s African fictions. This was also the choice made in 2009 by Philippe Adrien who added a prologue to an adaptation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ at the Théâtre de la Tempête, one of the Cartoucherie de Vincennes theatres. Entitled ‘The Conrad Project’, this prologue

62 For pictures of, and an interview with, Loïc Godart, see http://bdzoom.com/72217/interviews/%C2%AB-au-coeurdes-tenebres-%C2%BB-par-loic-godart-et-stephane-miquel-d%E2%80%99apres-joseph-conrad/.

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stages the production of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ as a work in progress during which the actors and the stage director – played by an actor – discuss the difficulties of avoiding neo-colonial attitudes and the topicality of Conrad’s text. The reviews were, on the whole, not very favourable, the device being generally deemed too didactic. In 2017–18, Conrad’s One Day More – his own theatrical adaptation of his short story ‘Tomorrow’ – was paired with Eugene O’Neill’s The Rope, both translated by Françoise Morvan for a joint production entitled Les Fils prodigues (The Prodigal Sons), staged by Jean-Yves Ruf.63 For once, French theatregoers were given an opportunity to realize that Conrad had not written exclusively about Africa and not exclusively novels and short stories. The cinema seems less obsessed with the African texts, probably because Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now makes it too daunting for any movie director to try to adapt Heart of Darkness again. As the Cahier Conrad, edited by Claude Maisonnat and Josiane PaccaudHuguet for L’Herne, has already shown (Maisonnat and Paccaud-Huguet 2015, 338–61), other texts by Conrad were transposed into films. In 2005, the opera and theatre director, filmmaker, actor and producer Patrice Chéreau (1944–2013) adapted Conrad’s largely ignored early short story ‘The Return’ into a film entitled Gabrielle, set in turn-of-the-century Paris with Isabelle Huppert playing the title role. Chéreau manages to render in cinematographic language some of the most interesting elements in this much-criticized ‘tale of unrest’. In particular, Chéreau juxtaposes black-and-white film with colour, but he completely reverses the more customary cinematographic uses of this juxtaposition. Black-and-white scenes are used to represent the present stifling domestic life of this couple immured in silence, while colour is used for posttraumatic flashbacks following the discovery of Gabrielle’s letter, as Jean (Alan Harvey in Conrad’s story) tries ‘to rescue meaning for the present out of the obscure past’, as Edward Said put it in Joseph Conrad and the Fiction of Autobiography (Said 1966, 99). Jean’s inability to express anything is conveyed by dialogue intertitles, of the kind to be found in silent movies, which are juxtaposed to discordant contemporary symphonic music registering the inner tumult Alan Harvey experiences in Conrad’s story when his wife’s letter abruptly shatters the silence that had established itself as the couple’s modus vivendi: [H]e was stunned by a noise meaningless and violent, like the clash of gongs or the beating of drums; a great aimless uproar that, in a manner, prevented him from hearing himself think and made his mind an absolute blank. This absurd and distracting tumult seemed to ooze out of the written words, to issue from between his very fingers that trembled, holding the paper. TU, 125–6 Far from being lost in translation and in transposition, Conrad’s story gains from this cinematographic adaptation which transformed what could have been treated as a mere period-piece bourgeois domestic drama into a clever cinematic rendering of Conrad’s experiments in style. Chantal Akerman’s free adaptation of Almayer’s Folly, released in 2012, offers another very personal, stylized reading of Conrad’s work. Her complex treatment of time and the sensual

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http://www.chatborgnetheatre.fr/les-fils-prodigues/.

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quality of her images, with an emphasis on the meandering river and the jungle, highlight themes that are common to both Conrad and Akerman – alienation, uprootedness, madness, hybridity – subjects she has treated in other films, as well as in documentaries and video installations.64 A few months after the release of Akerman’s film, a newspaper article by Bruno Philip, entitled ‘Joseph Conrad à Bornéo: les tombes oubliées de Berau’ (Joseph Conrad in Borneo: the forgotten graves of Berau) was published in Le Monde on 16 August 2013. This enabled the general reader and viewer to know more about William Charles Olmeijer whom Conrad had met in 1886 in Makassar. Following various leads, the journalist tries, unsuccessfully, to locate his grave, which may be located either in Berau, as is usually assumed, or in Makassar. He is also told by an informant that Olmeijer never had a daughter, but a son. In 2016, a new film adaptation of ‘Youth’ (entitled Jeunesse in French and The Young One in the English-speaking world) was released. Directed by Julien Samani, it is a modern-day transposition of Conrad’s story in which a young man, Zico, dreams of escaping the monotony of his life in Le Havre, constrained by economic conditions and a general lack of prospects. The young man seems to seethe with rage: he wants to run away as much as he wants to discover the world. Without any qualifications, he manages to embark on the Judea, a dilapidated freighter registered under the flag of Panama and bound for Angola. The film then focuses on the relationships between Zico and the other crew members. Faithful to Conrad’s tale of initiation, the film also offers scenes reminiscent of ‘Typhoon’ and The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ – the storm and the scene in which the body of one of the members of the crew is slipped into the sea – testifying to Julien Samani’s wider knowledge and understanding of Conrad’s fiction. Indeed, as Claude Maisonnat and Josiane Paccaud-Huguet put it, Samani ‘has touched the heart of Conrad’s poetics’ (Maisonnat and Paccaud-Huguet 2015, 156). In addition to these graphic novel or film adaptations, Radio France, the state-owned radio broadcasting corporation, and one of its divisions, France Culture, has made its own contribution to this already rich field. In June 2014, a ‘concert-fiction’ was broadcast, featuring Heart of Darkness, freely adapted by Stéphane Michaka, read by comedians and set to music composed by Didier Benetti and played by Radio France’s National Orchestra. In this free adaptation, Marlow does not relate his story to a group of retired seamen on board the Nellie, but to Kurtz’s Intended; in the ‘whited sepulchre’, Marlow hears agents discussing the ‘civilizing mission’; and the helmsman, who is given a name, Léo, and a voice, speaks both French and some unidentified African language. Léo has also met Kurtz and discusses with Marlow the strange ways of white people. Kurtz, too, is surprisingly vocal. One of Marlow’s controversial statements, for instance, is attributed to Kurtz: ‘The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much’ (HoD, 50–1). To this familiar statement Kurtz adds, ‘So why should you?’ Finally, the reading does not conclude with ‘the heart of an immense darkness’, but with Marlow declaring, on stepping out of the Intended’s house, that he had ‘never felt so alive’. Readings of Conrad’s fictions feature regularly on France Culture programmes, and, in October 2017, the radio channel devoted four consecutive mid-afternoon programmes to interviews with Conrad scholars: Alain Dugrand, Alain Jaubert, Marc Porée and Claude Maisonnat.

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For a detailed analysis of Akerman’s adaptation of Almayer’s Folly, see Delmas 2013.

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Although, as we have seen, Conrad has been appropriated by other media, literature nevertheless remains the privileged domain of Conrad’s influence. Among the contemporary French writers referring to Conrad in their works, the Cahier de l’Herne devoted to Conrad focuses on Marie Darrieussecq and Patrick Deville. In Kampuchéa (2011), Patrick Deville traces a curious web of connections around the site of Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat was reconstructed by Coppola in the Philippines for his transposition of Conrad’s Congo, as it had been reconstructed for the Colonial Exhibition that took place in Vincennes in 1931, a year after Malraux published his novelistic account of his own journey to Angkor, largely influenced, as we have seen, by Heart of Darkness. Angkor, Deville concludes, is ‘erected on the black heart of Conrad’s œuvre’ (Maisonnat and Paccaud-Huguet 2015, 327).65 Marie Darrieussecq’s use of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness is more intimately woven into the plot and texture of her novel Il faut beaucoup aimer les hommes (Men, in Penny Hueston’s 2016 translation for Text Publishing).66 Staging the love affair between Solange, a white French actress living in Hollywood, and Kouhouesso, a Cameroon-born Canadian movie director who wants to shoot a new adaptation of Heart of Darkness in Africa, the novel questions the clichés and stereotypes that have accumulated around such concepts as gender, race and identity. ‘Africa does not exist’ Kouhouesso tells Solange, ‘it is an ethnological fiction’ (Darrieussecq 2013, 89),67 and yet the production that he manages to put on, which includes such Hollywood and international stars as ‘George’ (Clooney) and ‘Vincent’ (Cassel), runs the risk of being anything but an African reappropriation of Conrad’s novella. Solange, somewhat mesmerized by his aura, tries to grapple with several forms of otherness: her distant Black lover, Africa itself that, like Marlow, she discovers gradually, and a book that tells her that women ‘should be out of it’. Before Deville and Darrieussecq, Nobel prize-winner Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio had already proclaimed his fascination with Conrad, whom he read at an early age while growing up in Mauritius. His very Anglophile upbringing there, his consciousness of belonging to a family of colonizers, who may have included slave masters, certainly contributed, he declared in a 2008 interview, to a sense of like-mindedness with Conrad: Conrad very well expressed what I feel, through the character of Marlow in Heart of Darkness. Marlow is a troubled character, the product of British colonization, animated by self-criticism, fascinated by and drawn to the instinctive nature of African peoples, but incapable of completely adhering to it. I am like that, undeniably Western, but distrustful towards everything that is too intellectual, too rational, attracted by magic, by the supernatural, by places where past and present mysteriously and naturally cohabit.68

65

‘Angkor est érigé sur le cœur noir de l’œuvre de Conrad.’ Marie Darrieussecq’s title draws from Marguerite Duras’s statement that ‘you have to be very fond of men. Very fond, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they’re simply unbearable.’ 67 ‘L’Afrique est une fiction d’ethnologue.’ 68 ‘Conrad a très bien exprimé ce que je ressens, à travers le personnage de Marlow, dans Au Cœur des ténèbres. Marlow est un personnage trouble, issu de la colonisation britannique, animé par un esprit autocritique, fasciné et attiré par le caractère instinctif des peuples d’Afrique, mais incapable d’y adhérer totalement. Je suis comme ça, occidental indéniablement, mais méfiant vis-à-vis de tout ce qui est trop intellectuel, trop rationnel, attiré par la magie, le surnaturel, les endroits où le présent et le passé cohabitent mystérieusement et naturellement.’ telerama.fr/livre/ entretien-avec-jmg-le-clezio-la-litterature-c-est-du-bruit-ce-ne-sont-pas-des-idees,34562.php. 66

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For Le Clézio, then, Conrad is not ‘one of us’, in the French reappropriation of the term initiated by H.-D. Davray, but a very English author to be apprehended from the British tradition of the novel of adventure and the novel of apprenticeship, as he stated in this 1991 interview: It is Joseph Conrad who best combined travelling, memory and the idea of initiation. You find this in Golding’s Rites of Passage, in Stevenson’s Kidnapped! or in Richard H. Dana’s Two Years Before the Mast. It is very Anglo-Saxon and even very English, this idea that the adolescent must suffer and be tested to become a man. This also testifies to a distrust of the psychological approach to the individual, and a desire to show how the transformations of his character are imposed upon him by experience. No doubt, this is the antithesis of French introspection. Assouline 2000, 878–969 In 2014, Le Clézio published a volume of ‘two novellas’ with the very Conradian title of Tempête (Tempest). The back cover of the book gave the French reader, who might not be very familiar with this literary form, a definition (‘a long short-story uniting places, action and tone’), and specified that ‘the perfect example of it would be Conrad’ (Le Clézio 2014).70 For Olivier Weber too, Conrad is a model. In 2011 he published Joseph Conrad, Le Voyageur de l’inquiétude (Conrad: The Traveller of Unrest), which he defines as a literary ‘promenade’ written to ‘pay homage but above all to pay his debt to the illustrious traveller’ (Weber 2011, 13).71 The debt in question is what a ‘grand reporter’, war correspondent, travel writer, novelist and diplomat72 feels he owes to the British writer whom he views as a ‘traveller of the inside’ (Weber 2011, 15),73 for whom the displacement induced by travelling was both a source of unrest and a consolation. Weber draws the portrait of a ‘painter of the human condition’ who, in the Malay Archipelago, ‘discovers another universe that he will make his own’: ‘Not that of landscapes but a portolan chart of emotions crystallized in these geographical and human settings. Fear, awe, fault, guilt, unrest’ (Weber 2011, 71).74 In its exploration of ‘the fringes of progress – or these outposts, as he will denigrate them in his story’, Conrad’s literature is ‘an

69 ‘Joseph Conrad est celui qui a le mieux marié le voyage et la mémoire, dans l’idée d’une initiation. On trouve cela dans Rites de passage de William Golding, dans Enlevé! de Stevenson ou dans Deux ans sur le gaillard d’avant de Richard Dana. C’est très anglo-saxon, et même très anglais, cette idée que l’adolescent doit souffrir et être éprouvé pour être un homme. Cela traduit également une certaine méfiance vis-à-vis de toute une approche psychologique de l’individu, et la volonté de montrer comment les transformations de son caractère lui sont imposées par l’expérience. On s’en doute, c’est là une tradition aux antipodes de l’introspection française.’ 70 ‘En anglais, on appelle “novella” une longue nouvelle qui unit les lieux, l’action et le ton. Le modèle parfait serait Joseph Conrad.’ 71 ‘Ce livre n’est pas une nouvelle biographie mais une simple promenade littéraire en sa compagnie, pour lui rendre hommage, et surtout pour payer ma dette envers l’illustre voyageur.’ 72 Olivier Weber was a war correspondent in Africa and the Middle East, and wrote for the Guardian, the Sunday Times, Le Point and Libération. He was the recipient of numerous prizes, including the Albert Londres in 1992 and the Joseph Kessel prize in 1998. In addition to this book on Conrad, his long list of publications includes books on Jack London and Kessel. 73 ‘Conrad est d’abord un peintre du dedans.’ 74 ‘Dans les villes et escales malaises, Conrad découvre un autre univers, qu’il fera sien. Non pas celui des paysages mais un portulan d’émotions cristallisées dans ces décors géographiques et humains. La peur, l’effroi, la faute, la culpabilité, l’inquiétude. [. . .] La période malaise est une porte qui ouvre sur une nouvelle existence de Conrad, celle du peintre de la condition humaine.’

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open-air theatre which transforms the simplest human beings into universal heroes’ (Weber 2011, 69),75 and in his fiction, Weber concludes, unrest, ‘this great Conradian malady’ (Weber 2011, 76), is ‘a remedy against darkness’ (Weber 2011, 129).76 Darkness and ‘the fringes of progress’ also feature in one of Mathias Enard’s novels, Rue des voleurs (2012) (Street of Thieves, in Charlotte Mandell’s 2014 translation).77 Conrad is not the only literary reference in this novel in which the circulation of texts, and of goods, is pitted against the limits put to the circulation of peoples and the logic of confrontation that opposes religious, cultural and ideological groups. Street of Thieves opens with an epigraph taken from Heart of Darkness, quoting the Russian Harlequin: ‘ “But when one is young one must see things, gather experience, ideas; enlarge the mind.” “Here!” I interrupted. “You can never tell! Here I met Mr. Kurtz” ’ (Y, 124). Enard’s choice of this epigraph has, of course, a programmatic function: it places the novel under the literary sign of Conradian influence and invites comparison with Heart of Darkness. Enard’s central character, Lakhdar, a Moroccan living in Tangier, is, like Conrad’s Harlequin, a figure of youth. Yet, for a young man growing up in Tangier – ‘Tangier was a black dead end, a corridor blocked by the sea; the Strait of Gibraltar a fissure, an abyss that barred our dreams’ (Enard 2014, 33)78 – youth is a condition that does not leave much to dream of. Lakhdar feels neither any sense of belonging nor any desire to cross over to the other side of the Strait of Gibraltar. History, however, erupts into his life when he is approached by the Group for the Propagation of Koranic Thought. Gradually suspecting that they might be terrorists, Lakhdar escapes and starts a journey from Tangier to Barcelona. Enard’s novel thus inverts the direction of Marlow’s journey and takes Lakhdar from Africa to Europe. Yet it is a journey which, like Marlow’s, takes him from detachment to engagement, to a ‘choice of nightmares’. In the course of his bitter initiation, he encounters a Mr Cruz. This version of Kurtz runs a ‘flourishing business’: [F]or years, he was the one who gathered, stored, and repatriated all the bodies of the illegal immigrants in the Strait. [. . .] Lately, the crisis and better radar at sea had obviously put a slight dent in his business, so he was mostly repatriating workers who had died entirely legally in Spain’. Enard 2014, 154–579 75 ‘[C]es franges du progrès – ces avant-postes, comme il le dénigrera dans sa nouvelle. [. . .] la littérature est un théâtre à ciel ouvert qui permet de transformer les êtres les plus simples en héros universels.’ 76 ‘L’inquiétude, toujours, cette grande maladie conradienne.’ ‘Son œuvre ressemble à un remède aux ténèbres.’ 77 In an interview published in 2015 (Enard 2015, 8), Enard said that ‘Conrad had opened up two worlds’ for him: what is commonly called ‘the world at large’ but also ‘the world of writing’. Noting that Conrad was born the very year Les Fleurs du Mal was first published, Enard associates Conrad with Baudelaire’s traveller who desired to plunge ‘au fond de l’Inconnu pour trouver du nouveau’/‘into the depth of the unknown to find the new’. Conrad is thus our contemporary, he continues, precisely because the perspective that he brought to bear on the unknown was a disenchanted one, subverting any initial apprehension of what the ‘unknown’ had to offer, and confronting the hearts of darkness. Conrad, he concludes, was ‘one of the first to perceive the challenge the “horror” throws to language’ (‘Conrad est l’un des premiers à voir le défi que “l’horreur” jette à la langue’). 78 ‘Tanger était une impasse sombre, un corridor bloqué par la mer; le détroit de Gibraltar une fente, un abîme qui barrait nos songes’ (Enard 2012, 42–3). 79 ‘Le business de Marcello Cruz avait été florissant; pendant des années, c’était lui qui avait ramassé, stocké et rapatrié tous les corps des clandestins du Détroit. [. . .] Evidemment, les derniers temps, la crise et des radars plus performants en mer avaient mis un peu à mal les affaires, alors il rapatriait surtout des travailleurs décédés tout à fait légalement en Espagne’ (Enard 2012, 205–6)

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Unlike Kurtz who ‘had something to say’ and who ‘said it’ (Y, 151), Cruz, who ‘always seemed to be hovering on the verge of speech’ (Enard 2014, 168),80 has no voice; he is not a voice, only eyes, sitting for hours in front of his computer watching videos of violent deaths, ‘beheadings in Afghanistan, hangings in the Second World War, all kinds of car accidents, bodies incinerated by a bomb’.81 His ‘monstrous passions’ are ‘gratified’ (Y, 144) by his scopophilic compulsion to watch images of ‘unspeakable rites’ (Y, 118) committed by others. He, too, ‘has cut himself loose of the earth’ (Y, 144). In his case, he has been ‘engulfed by the image’ (Enard 2014, 168),82 by this de-realized cyber-reality which enables him to keep the very material bodies lying next door at a distance. Escaping once again, Lakhdar ends up in Barcelona’s street of thieves, ‘with a heart of sadness, in the Western darkness’ (Enard 2012, 152).83 There, living among migrants of various origins, Lakhdar shares the lives of those for whom globalization has not enlarged the world but has constricted it and caused it to rest on a logic of confrontation. Eventually, suspecting that his friend Bassam, a member of the Group for the Propagation of Koranic Thought, is preparing a terrorist attack, Lakhdar kills him. Writing his story from his prison cell, Lakhdar declares: I am what I read, I am what I have seen, I have as much Arabic in me as Spanish and French, I have been multiplied in those mirrors until I have been lost or rebuilt, fragile image, image in motion. Enard 2012, 24984 No wonder, then, that Conrad is not the only literature referenced in this complex novel that reads like a homage to literature and to reading. Yet it rests on the very Conradian vision of a world that does not exist and has never existed, a truly cosmopolitan world that would allow people to enjoy mobile identities, embrace various influences and circulate freely through them. ‘A Conrad every year, what bliss!’ Marguerite Duras once exclaimed (Duras 1987, 119).85 At the close of this survey of the French reception of Conrad, which has taken us from the 1930s to the present, it appears that her prayer was almost answered. It is commonly assumed that Conrad is a writer’s writer, but the sheer quantity of paperback editions of his works available testifies to the existence of a substantial readership, and the regularity with which theatrical performances, concerts, readings, literary, film or graphic novel adaptations emerge gives the impression that he occupies a prominent position, not only in ‘French letters’, as the generation of H.-D. Davray would have said, but also in French culture. Conrad, it would appear, is truly ‘one of us’.

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‘Cruz semblait toujours vaciller ainsi au bord de la parole’ (Enard 2012, 223). ‘[D]es égorgements en Afghanistan, des pendaisons datant de la Seconde Guerre mondiale, des accidents de voiture en tout genre, des corps brûlés par un bombardement’ (Enard 2012, 214). 82 ‘[A]valé par l’image’ (Enard 2012, 224). 83 ‘[A]u cœur de la tristesse, dans la ténèbre occidentale’ (Enard 2012, 201). 84 ‘[J]e suis ce que j’ai lu, je suis ce que j’ai vu, j’ai en moi autant d’arabe que d’espagnol et de français, je me suis multiplié dans ces miroirs jusqu’à me perdre ou me construire, image fragile, image en mouvement’ (Enard 2012, 328). 85 ‘Un Conrad tous les ans, quel bonheur!’ 81

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CHAPTER 6 PUBLISHING UNDER PRESSURE: CONRAD’S RECEPTION IN GERMANY 19001945  AND AFTER Anthony Fothergill

Only in the last few years have scholars begun to investigate the crowded issues that shelter beneath the umbrella phrase, ‘Conrad and Germany’. A few studies exist on the links between Conrad and German literature, as, for example, those of Conrad and Nietzsche, Conrad and Schopenhauer, and Heart of Darkness and the Faust myth.1 But my own research has shown that the story of Conrad’s reception in German begins with the first appearance of his works not only in English-language editions but, more importantly, in translations appearing in the late 1920s and 1930s (Fothergill 2006). As we will see, the availability of Conrad’s works in German leads eventually to his presence in the work of such writers as Thomas Mann, Gottfried Benn, Jakob Wassermann, Kurt Tucholsky and, with a new generation of Conrad readers from the 1960s onwards, such great post-war German writers as Alfred Andersch, Christa Wolf and Lothar-Günther Buchheim. The latter, author of the novel and screenplay Das Boot (The Boat), about a U-boat fighting against the Allies in the Battle of the Atlantic in the Second World War, tells of how he, a war artist/correspondent, along with his U-boat captain read Conrad for moral inspiration and support. The work of more recent filmmakers like Werner Herzog cannot, I think, be understood without acknowledging, as Herzog himself does, the imaginative legacy that Conrad’s works provide, in a relationship perhaps better termed ‘elective affinities’ than explicit ‘influence’. My own research has focused on Conrad’s works in the context of the political and cultural life of twentieth-century Germany, particularly during the Weimar Republic (1920–33) and the Third Reich (1933–45). Looking at Conrad from this historical perspective makes clear the importance of considering what I call ‘cultural translation’. In this chapter, I shall attempt to flesh out that phrase, using Conrad as my example. But as a starting point, I mean by ‘cultural translation’ not solely the literary translation of texts, but more widely the ways in which different cultures understand or read one another according to the assumptions governed by their own cultural, historical and political contexts. Conrad came comparatively late to Germany. True, Tauchnitz Verlag, Leipzig, the controversial entrepreneurial publisher responsible for the pirating of many English-language novels, brought out several Conrad novels in English in their paperback series Collection of British and American Authors from the late 1890s.2 Tauchnitz English editions began with An Outcast of the Islands (1896). Tales of Unrest followed in 1898, and later The Secret Agent, A Set

1

More recently, two fuller studies have appeared: Gőbel, Seeber and Windisch (2007), and Lorenz (2017). Conrad’s relations with Tauchnitz Verlag were by no means always happy, mainly because Tauchnitz’s reading of copyright laws and their subsequent publication of English-language works did not always result in adequate payment of authors’ royalties. But the publishing house was an important medium for the dissemination of European works, some of which suffered legal censorship in their home countries.

2

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of Six, Under Western Eyes, Chance, Almayer’s Folly, The Rover and other works. But serious translations of the complete works of Conrad were not undertaken until after his death, although ‘Typhoon’ and ‘Amy Foster’ had come out in 1908 (published by Engelhorn Verlag), followed by ‘The Duel’, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and Under Western Eyes (1912–14). Early critical enthusiasm for Conrad in Germany did occur before the First World War and important literary figures were discussing Conrad in letters and diaries, usually referring to English editions. One such figure was Harry Graf Kessler, whose republican, internationalist and socialist sympathies led him to be called the ‘Red Count’ and who, after the First World War, was briefly German Ambassador in Warsaw and wrote a biography of Piłsudski. A Berliner who also shared his time between London, Paris and Weimar, Kessler represented a different sort of Germany from that caricatured by Conrad in some of his fiction. The boorish Teutonic Schomberg in Victory, Hermann in ‘Falk’ and perhaps the GermanJewish hide-trader Hirsch in Nostromo – these are Conrad’s most prominent negative images of the German. A more complicated figure is Kurtz in Heart of Darkness – ‘All of Europe [contributed to his] making’, and his name suggests that Germany had some part in this. Certainly, Stein in Lord Jim represents a thoroughly other Germany, the Germany of the humane tradition of liberal republican Romanticism, the Germany of Goethe and Novalis, of Heine and the early Marx. Stein is in exile from precisely the sort of Germany that the words ‘Teutonic’ and ‘Prussia’ evoked for Conrad. Kessler was of this ilk. Cosmopolitan, Europeanwide in his interests and tastes, politically and culturally a formidably well-informed and wellconnected bon vivant, he was friends with Shaw and Wells, with Edward Gordon Craig, with Gide, Diaghilev and Nijinsky, with Rilke, with Harold Nicholson and Virginia and Leonard Woolf. In 1908, Kessler wrote enthusiastically (and perhaps rather cheekily) from London to one of the most famous dramatists and librettists of the day, Hugo von Hofmannstahl, sending him a copy of The Secret Agent. Kessler recommended the novel as a fine example of excellent writing from which a dramatist such as von Hofmannstahl might learn a lot: In many respects I find it technically peculiarly interesting, how it portrays London without actually portraying it, just through the psyches of his characters . . . for a dramatist [Hofmannstahl!] interested in trying to capture modern life, it cannot be recommended too highly.3 There is more of this kind of early German reception to Conrad, but it is largely restricted to the letters or diary entries of Anglophile German readers. If, in the Anglophone world, Conrad won popular success relatively late (with Chance in 1914), it is perhaps no surprise that he had to wait another dozen years for a similar success in Germany. Part of this delay, this lag, is explained by the First World War, when translated publications were suspended. After that, there was further trouble, as Ernst Freissler, an important early translator of and advocate for Conrad, explains in his 1929 essay, ‘Joseph Conrad und Deutschland’ (Freissler 1929). Although there were pre-war German translation rights for Conrad’s works, they were distributed among a number of German, Danish and indeed English

3 Letter of 30 January 1908 (written from Hotel Cecil, The Strand, London) in Briefwechsel Hugo von Hofmannstahl, Harry Graf Kessler, 1898–1927, trans. by Hilde Burger (Frankfurt a.M: Insel Verlag, 1963).

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publishers, who sat on them. More important is the fact that, under a paragraph in the Versailles Treaty (1919), all German publishing rights to authors of the victorious Allies were suspended. Furthermore, the disastrous German hyperinflation of 1923 radically affected the economics of publishing in general, not least in relation to the cost of paper. So it was only in 1926 that a complete edition of Conrad in translation began to appear in individual volumes, after S. Fischer Verlag secured the German rights for all of Conrad’s works except ‘Typhoon’. It is impossible to understand the cultural and political context of Conrad’s readership without recognizing the importance of Fischer Verlag in post-First World War Germany. It was Fischer Verlag that from 1926 to the late 1930s brought out Conrad’s works in translation. These often first appeared in serialized form in the journal Die Neue Rundschau, which also, from the mid-1920s onwards, published influential articles about Conrad that appeared almost as ‘tasters’ prior to the full publication of the book. Fischer Verlag and Die Neue Rundschau played a vital role in the creation of a liberal democratic interwar cosmopolitan culture in Germany. The nature and breadth of Conrad’s German reception is largely due the fact that he was introduced, albeit posthumously, into this particular cultural context. (To complete the story of Fischer Verlag: after forced exile during the Nazi regime, the publisher returned to its dominant position in the late 1940s and 1950s.) My interviews with Germans now in their seventies and eighties, some of them former academics, have revealed the existence of an early and enthusiastic readership for Conrad. Indeed, one might say that there seems to have been a sort of Conrad cult-following from the late 1920s onwards. From 1926, the individual editions of Conrad’s novels clearly created a growing, knowledgeable public. Until the 1980s, the strongly modernist covers of the editions, designed by Heinrich Hussmann, featured blue and red print against a yellow background, with the familiar Muirhead Bone illustration. Many years later, this visually striking ‘marketing trademark’ was still being mentioned by Conrad’s early German readers. But to return to the reading of Conrad in what Brecht later called ‘These Dark Times’: the writers published by Fischer Verlag, in the original or in translation, offered a roll-call of modern European culture. With the possible exception of Penguin Books in Britain, there is no British or American publishing equivalent to Fischer’s vital cultural role (from its foundation in 1886 to the present day) in offering to the public a broad spectrum of political and artistic works. Fischer’s German list includes the complete works of Thomas Mann, Kafka, Hauptmann, Hesse and Sigmund Freud, and works by Nietzsche, Rilke, Hofmannstahl and Zweig. It was a truly cosmopolitan enterprise from the outset, when from its earliest years it brought to the German reading public translations of Tolstoy, Chekhov and Ibsen, Dostoevsky, Trotsky, Maupassant and Zola, Gide and D’Annunzio. From Anglophone literature it introduced, among others, the Brownings (Robert and Elizabeth Barrett), Oscar Wilde, John Galsworthy, John Millington Synge and Upton Sinclair. It published the complete works of G. B. Shaw, Virginia Woolf, John Dos Passos and Eugene O’Neill, and, later, Ernest Hemingway and Samuel Beckett. In the volume of Die Neue Rundschau (1926) in which Joseph Conrad’s ‘Youth’ first appears, there are essays by G. B. Shaw (not uncharacteristically on himself) and Paul Valéry as well as extracts from the diaries of Tolstoy. Walter Benjamin’s and T. W. Adorno’s early essays also appeared here. Conrad shared a primary place in Fischer’s international list. Tangential evidence for this, perhaps ironic in its own way, comes in a letter from Samuel Fischer to Leon Trotsky in 1929.4 4

Letter of 27 March 1929 in Samuel Fischer and Herdwig Fischer, Briefwechsel mit Autoren, ed. Dieter Rodewald and Corinna Fiedler (Frankfurt a.M: S. Fischer Verlag, 1989).

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Trotsky (living in exile from Stalin’s Soviet Union) is discussing whether his autobiography should really appear with Fischer, who is bringing out his collected works. Fischer is keen on the publication and replies that they have a strong list in autobiographies and in particular have just published Conrad’s A Personal Record. Indeed, the Conrad complete edition took pride of place in Fischer’s interwar list of international authors. The Shadow-Line, Chance and Youth appeared in 1926, followed by The Secret Agent, Lord Jim, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, Nostromo and Victory in 1927. Interest in Conrad’s personality had grown so considerably by that time that in 1928 A Personal Record was the next translation. Over subsequent years other volumes appeared, until by 1939 the publication of the complete works, twenty-two volumes, was finished, by far the longest and fullest publishing enterprise undertaken by Fischer Verlag. By that date the company (like many of its Jewish and nonJewish authors) had partially moved from Berlin into exile to escape Nazi persecution. First going to Austria, then to Holland, Fischer Verlag finally went to Sweden, to return to Germany only in 1947.‘Partially’ is appropriate, because a subsidiary Fischer Verlag remained in Germany after 1933. It existed as almost the only large publishing house able to defy and to an extent combat Nazi book-banning and book-burning, the ‘Aryanization’ of Jewish-owned firms and the danger of being placed under full Nazi control. Samuel Fischer died in 1934, and afterwards another hero of Conrad’s German story, Peter Suhrkamp (an ‘Aryan’ in Nazi terminology) took over the German wing of the company when it was threatened with a Nazi take-over. He negotiated the continuance of publishing rights for some foreign and German authors after 1936 and managed to maintain the publishing policy and spirit of Fischer in Germany when its new owner (Gottfried Bermann-Fischer) had to flee into exile in 1936. The history of Fischer Verlag during the period up to 1945 is a politically fraught one. In pursuing it in detailed relation to Conrad, I have studied the many lists of Nazi ‘Banned and Undesirable Books’ issued for Germany and for Poland, as well as the Reich’s Propaganda Ministry records. The story of Nazi book-banning and the more local one of the English-Polish writer Joseph Conrad’s position in it is very complicated, which I will not now elaborate. One aspect of it, though, is important to this chapter. Joseph Goebbels, by 1936 the Minister of Propaganda, controlled not just the publication and selling of books, but also the language of criticism. Indeed, seeking to control the dispersal of information about books and those who perpetrated this dispersal, he ‘banned’ the word ‘Kritik’ (‘criticism’, as in ‘literary criticism’ or ‘art criticism’) in favour of ‘literary/art appreciation’; reviews were permitted to be written only by those reviewers licensed by the ministry. The implication of this linguistic prohibition was that there should be no grounds for any (intellectual notion of) criticism. Fischer Verlag and the broader public were being made to accept alternative ways of understanding culture. It would be an exaggeration to argue that Conrad was a major political fish in this poisoned pond, although he did feature in Nazi anti-Jewish propaganda (as a supposed Jewish writer). Perhaps it was because he was not seen as a big fish by the Nazi authorities that his novels could continue to be read. Thanks to Peter Suhrkamp’s energy and political acumen at manoeuvring around the Nazi laws, Conrad continued to survive in print. Indeed, 1939 saw the completion of the collected works, and Conrad’s works came to represent a beacon of sanity for many Germans in those dark times. As a somewhat ironic footnote to this barbarian period of literary politics, I find it indicative of a less-than-efficient Nazi literary machine that on the Polish List of Banned and Undesirable Books for 1941, the single banned book cited as written by the English-Pole Korzeniowski was Sieg (Victory). Perhaps the censors only read the title. At the 110

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same time the Polish translation of The Rover could be found in the concentration camp library at Stutthof, near Gdansk (Danzig). Interest in Conrad’s works survived Nazi propaganda and control during the war, forming a kind of clandestine, camouflaged resistance to the authoritarian fascist mentality. Nor did interest in his works wane after the Nazi period. In 1961, for example, following Suhrkamp’s decision to undertake a whole new translation of the complete works, Tales of Hearsay appeared with a publication run of 51,000, slightly more than Kafka’s Short Stories, slightly fewer than Mann’s Lotte in Weimar. Other than Ernst Freissler, who was Conrad’s main translator and a major advocate for Conrad in the 1920s, two figures played a crucial role in the Fischer Verlag and German reception of Conrad: Thomas Mann and Jakob Wassermann. Both were major Fischer authors. I have discussed elsewhere what I call the ‘elective affinities’ between Mann and Conrad, suggesting why Conrad was so important to Mann in his own political/historical position during the Weimar period and after (Fothergill 2007, 66ff ). Jakob Wassermann was, in his own right, one of the most widely-read international authors of his day. Perhaps best known today for his novel on that enigmatic outsider figure Caspar Hauser, he is also of interest to Conradians for Bula Matari, his 1932 work on Henry Morton Stanley, in which he refers to Heart of Darkness. In 1926, Samuel Fischer asked Thomas Mann and Jakob Wassermann to write introductory essays to the forthcoming editions of The Secret Agent and The Shadow-Line, the latter of which ran to four further reprint runs between 1926 and 1937. These introductory essays by the two foremost writers of the day proved formative for the contexts within which Conrad was then understood in Germany. Samuel Fischer was a very shrewd publicist and businessman. Even before the First World War he was well aware of the endangering encroachments of other media, and with his essay of 1926 on the ‘Book Crisis’ he identified cinema, radio and sport as particularly ‘distracting’ industrial entertainments, which were challenging the book trade (Fischer 1926, 1–2). So, coincident with the appearance of Conrad in 1926, and also encouraged by new German laws which permitted writers to get royalties for radio readings of their works, Fischer encouraged his authors to use the brand-new format of radio talks to publicize their (that is his) new books.5 On 20 October 1926, Thomas Mann, by this time the great contemporary German writer and about to become Nobel prize-winner for Literature, did his first-ever radio broadcast. He used it to read not from his most recent work, Der Zauberberg (The Magic Mountain), but from his unpublished essay on Joseph Conrad. Mann subsequently toured the country, publicizing ‘Fischer’s German editions’ and lecturing on Conrad as part of his efforts to promote Fischer’s books (and his own). I suspect that, given his own publicity enterprises in America, Conrad would have enjoyed the irony that he was one of the first German examples of publishers’ promotional tours. The stature of (and the endorsement by) Thomas Mann had a lot to do with it. But for Mann himself, moving politically as he was in the mid-1920s from his earlier pro-First World War nationalist ‘right wing’ position to one supportive of the more socialist Weimar Republic, Conrad provided a sympathetic political ‘ironic voice’ and critical perspective on political change as seen from a conservative point of view, sceptical of demagogic movements of both the extreme right and left. 5

Fischer’s acuteness in registering the changes in mass forms of technological reproduction and publicity is measured by the fact that only in October 1923 was a German (Berlin) public radio station established for the first time and only in 1926 was a German national broadcasting station on the air.

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Certainly, Conrad remained a crucial figure for Mann. His volumes of Joseph Conrad were among the few books Mann took with him to the USA and which, he records, were always by his bedside. In letters from 1946 and 1947 he continually refers to his reading of Conrad’s novels and urges others to see their importance. In an interview with an American journalist he scoffs at the idea, when ‘Death in Venice’ and ‘Tonio Kroger’ are cited, that he, Mann, was the first great modern European writer of short stories. That prize, he says, goes assuredly to Joseph Conrad. He adds that he is ‘enormously impressed and as a German somehow embarrassed by a manly, adventurous and linguistically-elevated, psychologically and morally deep, art of narration, which for us [the Germans] is not simply rare, but is completely lacking’.6 What imaginative role did Conrad’s works play for those who read him in German translations from the 1920s onwards? Why were translations of him somehow ‘necessary’ and why did they find such resonance at a critical political and cultural moment in German and European life? The active participants in his early reception whom I have already mentioned offer us clues. A whole body of other German reviewers, essayists and thinkers in the late 1920s and 1930s who use Conrad as a touchstone would complicate but, I think, not contradict his early reception. Both Maryla Mazurkiewicz Reifenberg, reviewing ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ in the Frankfurter Zeitung in June 1929, and Paul Wohlfahrt, writing on ‘Youth’ in the main Jewish newspaper, Central-Verein Zeitung, in 1936 talk explicitly about the ideas of exile and banishment in Conrad’s early life and recognize him as the most important English writer of his age. Expanding upon these ideas, they highlight his fictional themes of loss but also of endurance under stress. Reifenberg was herself Polish, emigrating to Germany to become editor of the ‘Women’s Section’ of the Frankfurter Zeitung, of which her husband Benno Reifenberg was the co-editor. Both journalists, like the newspaper itself, represented strong liberal anti-fascist views. While writing on fashion, she also wrote several times on Conrad and other novelists in the Feuilleton literary review section, including some writing under the Nazis. Her first Conrad review, of 30 June 1929, concentrated on the Freya story. Unlike the English reception of the tale, where it was ignored by contemporary reviewers, it was one of the most popular of Conrad’s works in Germany, going into a large second edition. The review was written in what was becoming a very difficult period with the political and economic chaos in late Weimar Germany. Reifenberg’s account of the conclusion of the work can be read, I think, as a cryptic description of contemporary suffering: And then, when things are at their worst, when human beings are expected to endure the most inhuman suffering, Conrad with a simple gesture of wonderful compassion, lets the story glide out of his hands. The finale of the story is reported in the pitiful voice of one of those also affected by the suffering [Freya’s father]. Through the sound of the broken human voice those whose frightful fate has snatched them away have been called back into the community of humankind. But they do not have any home there anymore. They slide inexorably over into another unnameable community. Like a bitter tear into the ocean’s waters.7

6

Cited in Mendelssohn 1970, 1059 (my translation). This, like most of her (otherwise unpublished) newspaper articles, can be found alongside other source material in the (Benno) Reifenberg-Nachlass housed in the Deutsche Literaturarchiv in Marbach am Neckar. Two boxes are devoted to Maryla Reifenberg’s papers. Prosa Sammlung, boxes 1 and 2 (my translation).

7

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In the longest Conrad review she wrote (10 October 1934), on An Outcast of the Islands, entitled ‘Polarstern’ (‘Pole Star’, with a pun, as a fellow Pole), Reifenberg clearly recognizes in her homage to Conrad a voice which could speak to the beleaguered humane people who were threatened in her day: This independence in Conrad is legitimized by way of an unconditional feeling of responsibility, by the strongest sense of conscience. Conrad’s conscience, independence, compassion and courage are as inexhaustible as the sea. And how unremitting he was towards himself in this! How strong is his resistance against accepting something which he cannot answer to in his own heart. Reifenberg 1934 Reading Conrad’s works critically and to an extent metaphorically allowed Reifenberg to articulate a moral and political form of resistance in Germany ‘in camouflage’, when explicit opposition to the regime was well-nigh impossible. Other writers adopted similar camouflage tactics. Paul Wohlfahrt wrote several pieces on Conrad over a number of years, perhaps the most interesting of which was his review of Youth in the newspaper Central-Verein Zeitung, the main organ of the Central Union of Jewish Belief, active in asserting the Germanness of German Jews and still publishing even after the anti-Jewish Nuremberg Laws of 1935. In the review he briefly summarizes Conrad’s biography, stressing his family’s banishment to Russia from Warsaw following his father’s leadership of an unsuccessful political uprising in Warsaw in 1861. The word ‘Verbannung’ (banishment) cannot be heard in the Germany of 1936 without immediate contemporary political resonance, and Wohlfahrt amplifies the echo. He asks, ‘What does he mean directly to us Jews, beside our experience of reading the finest writing in English?’ He mentions positive Jewish characters in Conrad, but more deeply he draws an allegorical picture of Jews from the kinds of tragedies Conrad’s characters confront: They are all lonely, and even the dregs of the street avoid them, as if they knew they were doom-laden. [. . .] this doom hangs literally or metaphorically like a cloud over them all. [. . .] And yet, and this is what raises the lonely characters above the level of ordinary characters in novels, they have a unique sense of duty and faithfulness, which gives them the strength to look fate in the eyes with raised head, to stand resolutely at their posts to the very end. Wohlfarth 1936b, 1 The ship in ‘Youth’ provides ‘the emblem of this resolution and faithfulness’, with its motto ‘Do or Die’. It is wracked by storm, then a ship’s collision and finally by an explosion and fire at sea. But, Wohlfarth concludes, ‘it nevertheless pursues its prescribed course according to some law it has accepted. The name of the ship is Judea.’ The essay was written almost three years before Kristallnacht, at a time when it was still possible to read allegories into stories and even to believe in them. In Conrad’s fictional tale the crew has to abandon the burning ship, but they survive. That is the problem with allegories. In their different vernaculars, answering partially to their own preoccupations, Thomas Mann, Jakob Wassermann and Ernst Freissler identify something in Conrad which became an

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important leitmotif characterizing the way he was critically and culturally positioned in interwar and Nazi Germany. It was their version of him which made him such a challenging, abidingly powerful and impressive figure through the war years and into postwar Germany. Theirs is a motif which can still speak to us today, in our present and urgent attempts to define what it means to be ‘European’ in terms of, or against, a national/nationalistic culture. If, for brevity, I have concentrated on these prominent advocates of Conrad, I should say that I have found many other writers and readers who record in diaries, letters and interview their discovery in Conrad’s works of the same qualities of sentiment; the same kinds of strengths (and weaknesses); depictions of the same geographies of human trial, failure and endeavour. These writers include Arthur Schnitzler (the dramatist), Kurt Tucholsky (the satirical writer and journalist) and Joseph Roth (the Austrian novelist). Two lesser known but representatively acute readers of Conrad were Gerhard Nebel and Hermann Stresau. Nebel records in his journals how, from a position as chief translator to the German High Command in Paris in 1941, he was demoted to a private and sent to Brittany and then into semi-exile in the (occupied) Channel Islands overseeing the building of Nazi defences and a concentration camp, all because of a satirical anti-Nazi essay he wrote in Die Neue Rundschau. Taking with him his works of Conrad, alongside Baudelaire, Hugo and Stendhal, Nebel in his journals offers a strong sense of engagement with Conrad in a Brittany geography that had been familiar to Conrad some forty or more years earlier. Hermann Stresau was thrown out of his librarian’s job in the Prussian State Library in Berlin in 1936 for alleged socialist-communist sympathies. Without a professional post, he took up again his writing of the first German academic monograph on Conrad, which was published in 1937. Stresau’s book laid the groundwork for German Conradian scholarship for at least the next thirty years. Stresau alighted on a lecture given in 1936 by Dr Wilhelm Stapel, which was subsequently published as a widely distributed pamphlet, The Literary Domination of the Jews in Germany 1918–1933, with an enthusiastic endorsement from Dr Walter Frank, the director of the Reichsinstitut for the History of the New Germany. The subject of the lecture was the condemnation of the ‘cosmopolitan’ cultural links of Germany and France, which was another way of saying the ‘world Jewish-Bolshevik conspiracy’. Stapel argues that European Jewry had infiltrated German culture and under the cover of assimilation had come to assert its influence over all significant areas of literary life. It dominated not only publishing and bookselling, but also the writing of poetry and novels, literary criticism and reviews. To make his case, Stapel found in Joseph Conrad a major example of such undesirable writers. He was a foreigner using German-Jewish publishers, including S. Fischer Verlag, and one of the most popular writers in translation (when translation was seen by Nazis as a form of foreign cultural infiltration): the ‘Polish Jew, Josef [sic] Conrad, who writes in English, achieves a widespread readership and fame in Germany too, while these journals remain silent about his Jewishness’. Dr Walter Frank’s foreword praises Stapel’s paper as an example of ‘objective scholarly truth’ and ‘methodological rigour’ in its account and exposure of the insidious presence and assimilation of Jews in Germany, particularly Jewish writers and publishers. The ‘objectivity’ and ‘rigour’ of Stapel’s argument, which was influential at the time in demonstrating the domination of Jews in all areas of German literary culture, contains the following passage which was subsequently seized on by Stresau and other anti-Nazis to fight, as it were, a rearguard action against Nazi cultural and political oppression: 114

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Just as the French Jews in Paris elevated those coming to them from Berlin, so did the German Jews in Berlin celebrate those [Jewish] envoys from Paris. It was in this way that Jewish writers were made into something like foreign policy currency, made into moral stocks and shares. The German-Jewish newspapers on their part also picked up the literary radio signals of the Jews in Paris and London etc. It has been in this way that the Polish Jew Josef [sic] Conrad, for example, who writes in English, was made into a famed and widely-read writer in Germany, and even today he is promoted in certain German literary journals while they keep completely silent about his Jewishness. Still today Jewish writers who have emigrated and their émigré literary proselytizers behave as if they were the true German literature and civilization, which they have never been.8 Stapel admitted later that he had never read any Conrad, but his propaganda interests had already been served. Within days of his lecture, Joseph Goebbels, Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, declared (as noted above) that henceforth the term ‘Kritik’ (literary or art criticism) was banned from use in the press. As a freelance writer, Stresau had written articles and reviews on English and American authors and had been working on a monograph about Conrad, Der Tragiker des Westerns (The Tragic Writer of the West). He took note of this lecture and thought he could use it to demolish Stapel’s ‘argument’ about Conrad and its broader political agenda and to publish anti-Nazi essays in Die Neue Rundschau more effectively. An entry in Stresau’s diary for 1 March 1937 suggests his deep disquiet at Stapel’s attack on Conrad but also his excitement about the opportunity it offers. Paradoxically, Stapel’s very public contribution to the Aryanization of German culture by attacking ‘Conrad the Jew’ provided, in an unintended and extraordinary way, a ‘legitimate’ avenue for a liberal anti-Nazi counter-attack. Stapel’s offensive, in short, is at least partially responsible for motivating Stresau’s articles in Die Neue Rundschau and afterwards the publication of his Joseph Conrad. Der Tragiker des Westens (Stresau 1937). Stresau’s essays shed crucial light on the ways in which Conrad and his work were mobilized in the name and spirit of those opposed to the regime. Because of his already established international status, Conrad came to stand for an ethics and Weltanschauung quite alien to the dominant, narrowly nationalist Nazi ideology. There were many in Germany who still hungered for such an orientation. Conrad provided a voice for this almost voiceless opposition. To summarize their attitudes does not do full justice to the complex views of Conrad’s German readers in the interwar years. But it would be fair to say that they generally perceived in Conrad what I would call a contestation of nationalisms and the need for cultural translation and understanding. There is a sense in which Conrad’s own complexity, his resistance to be categorized in any simple terms, facilitated the richness of his reception. It is to these ideas that I now turn.

8

‘Genau so wie die französischen Juden in Paris die Abgesandten aus Berlin erhöhten, erhöhten die deutschen Juden in Berlin die Abgesandten aus Paris. Auf diese Weise machte man jüdische Literaten gewissermassen zu aussenpolitischen Werten, zu moralischen Devisen. Die deutsch-jüdischen Zeitungen fingen auch ihrerseits die literarischen Signale der Juden von Paris, London usw. auf. Der englisch schreibende polnische Jude Josef [sic] Conrad z.B. wurde auf diese Weise auch in Deutschland zu einer vielgelesenen Berühmtheit, und noch heute wird er in bestimmten Literaturblättern Deutschlands unter Verschweigung seines Judentums propagiert. Noch heute tun sich die emigrierten jüdischen Schriftsteller und ihre literarischen Proselyten in der Emigration als die wahre deutsche Literatur und Zivilisation hervor, die sie – nie gewesen sind’ (Stapel, 36).

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In their introductions to The Secret Agent and The Shadow-Line respectively, both Thomas Mann and Jakob Wassermann evoke Chamisso, the late eighteenth-century French nobleman turned German lyric-poet, as the only writer they think compares to Conrad for his multilingualism. For Mann and Wassermann, this term indicates internationalism and cosmopolitanism. Mann talks of how he first got to hear of Conrad from John Galsworthy, who was lecturing in Den Haag on Conrad and Tolstoy in 1923. Who was this Conrad who was being compared to the great Tolstoy? More astonishing, who was this man for whom – and Mann constantly repeats the anecdote – André Gide decided to learn English, in order to read him in the original? How could one explain such cultural boundary-crossings? Where does Conrad’s cosmopolitan quality come from? (Mann claims by contrast that he himself lacks it and bewails his deficiency in foreign languages.) In his essay of 1929, ‘Joseph Conrad in Deutschland’ (in Die Neue Rundschau 40, no. 1), Ernst Freissler, who by this time had become commissioning editor of foreign language works for Fischer Verlag, makes a similar point. Comparing the literary achievements of Stevenson, Kipling and Jack London, all writers who were living more or less in exile from their homelands, Freissler rates Conrad’s literary merit above these other writers, better known to German readers. Freissler offers what amounts to a sort of negative definition of Conrad. It is what Conrad is not that attracts him: Conrad does not fit into categories. He offers alternatives and contradictions, not uniformity. Freissler adds a significant (political) gloss, pointedly directed to his German readers. While the other writers are more accessible to, and less demanding of, German readers, Conrad’s virtue lies precisely in his being somehow ‘unGerman’, in that neither the man nor his writing conforms to categorical expectations. It is this, paradoxically, which finds such strong resonance among his German readers, Freissler argues: [T]he grounds [for his greatness] lie less in Conrad’s than in our [German] characteristics, characteristics which can grow to become a burden: the German, oh so German, desire to categorize, to stamp; to register. And to this addiction Conrad offers no easy palliative. Freissler 1929, 127–8 Mann and Wassermann also stress the uncategorizability of Conrad. Mann insists, in his reading of The Secret Agent, on Conrad’s anti-bourgeois ironies. But he also distances him from any sentimental siding with a socialist artistic avant-garde supporting a proletarian revolutionary movement. Of course, into this configuring we need to read Mann’s own position as an active voice within a volatile Weimar Germany (and recall his own scepticism towards an artistic political avant-garde which was soon to be seen suffering as much under Stalinism as it had under former absolutist regimes).9 Jakob Wassermann’s introduction to The Shadow-Line stresses, rather more, the existential isolation of the individual. The common feature of these essays and the early reviews is a perception of Conrad’s refusal to be aligned. Read within a German cultural politics of the late 1920s, which was daily insisting on the need to belong (to party, to state, to race) or to be damned, this virtue can be seen as offering in its ‘untimeliness’

9 For excellent anthologies of essays on the cultural politics of the period, see Kaes 1983 and Kaes, Jay and Dimendberg 1994.

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a political integrity and intellectual succour for those many German readers who sought a different path from the competing totalitarianisms on offer.10 Another, perhaps even more intriguing, reading of Conrad occurred in the war and on a U-boat. It is a lightly fictionalized account, based on his war notebooks, by the (subsequently) famous novelist Lothar-Günther Buchheim of his experience as a lieutenant when posted as war artist-photographer and correspondent on the submarine U-96 in 1941–2. His novel Das Boot (1970) was later made into a film, directed by Wolfgang Petersen (1981), about the Battle of the Atlantic. Through his fictional and documentary works an important channel of Conrad’s cultural reception in Germany, during the Third Reich but also after it, can be traced. Conrad had no fondness for submarines; indeed, the only serious action he witnessed in wartime was during the First World War, in November 1916, as an honoured visitor and observer on board the British gunship HMS Ready. Renamed the Freya at Conrad’s request, and disguised as a merchant ship, its assignment was to act as a decoy to attract German U-boats in the North Sea. Conrad had been recommended to Buchheim by Peter Suhrkamp, who was publishing Buchheim’s first autobiographical work about sailing alone down the Danube. Before his warposting to work in Admiral Dönitz’s naval forces in the Atlantic, Suhrkamp gave him Youth and The Mirror of the Sea, with the invaluable advice, ‘Buchheim, you must read Conrad!’ These works, his constant quotation of them and his own writing reflect his lifelong admiration for Conrad, expressed in a long autobiographical Afterword to a substantial volume of Conrad’s works published by S. Fischer Verlag, Das Joseph Conrad Buch (1982). Perhaps the irony of The Mirror of the Sea being read by Lehmann-Willenbrock, captain of the U-96, in the middle of a massive storm in November 1941 might not have been lost on Conrad. This is recorded by Buchheim in Das Boot and accords with conversations I had with him much later. Retreating to the officer’s mess from observations on the conning tower, Lehmann-Willenbrock read out a description of a storm from the ‘Rulers of East and West’ chapter. Many more references to Conrad are embedded in Buchheim’s memoires and later ‘autobiofictions’: Der Luxusliner (1980) and Der Abschied (2000). Even in his photo-documentary writings, which use his stunning wartime photos, Jäger im Weltmeer (The Hunter in the Ocean, 1943, 1996) and U-Boot Krieg (1976), Conrad is frequently cited. Buchheim’s recourse to Conrad was at its greatest when the war was going badly. In his Afterword to Das Joseph Conrad Buch, he quotes at length a passage from ‘Youth’, a passage describing the storm-wracked Judea, through which something close to identification occurs, a youthful identification with Conrad: Just as for Conrad, for me too the world was above all the sea and above it the heavens. It was wartime, and I was going in [fighting] ‘agin Engelland’, first of all on destroyers, then on Raumbooten, speed-boats and mine-sweepers, and finally on U-boats. It was on U-boats that I felt closest to Conrad. When the seas ran high and the fore and stern was overwhelmed by seething waters, the bridge was nothing more than a tiny island in a cauldron of sea. [. . .] When things were going particularly badly for me in the war

10 I allude to ‘untimeliness’ as the word used by Thomas Mann to entitle and characterize his cultural essays, but he is borrowing it from a work of Nietzsche. My argument is that Conrad’s belated untimeliness is at this point his strength.

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I would get out my small volume of Conrad with the story of the Judea in it [Youth] and, stretched out on my bunk, would secretly read from it for my consolation. ‘Nachwort’, Buchheim 1982, 427 Buchheim’s very reading of Conrad, secretly, but with the ‘Old Man’ Lehmann-Willenbrock’s endorsement, constitutes a cultural-political gesture at the time. When I asked Buchheim in personal interviews (at his home in August 2001) which books were on board U-96, he said he had Youth and The Mirror of the Sea (in German, Der Spiegel der See). But it’s difficult to remember. I think Lehmann-Willenbrock had Der Spiegel der See. That was certainly the most important book [for him] and me. That is a most unusual book. It is a book for seamen. Only seamen can properly understand it. Know what it means. But there were not a lot who read it. We could not easily talk about things. It might seem extraordinary now but then it was like living in the twilight [Zwielicht]. It was a twilight world and time. Things were not open, you know. Some top commanders were sometimes reported on by their juniors. They could be arrested and tried and even executed for what they said. [‘You could not really trust others around you?’ A. F.] Even between parents and children that could happen. He added that books by foreign authors were hardly being read by the general public or among the younger crew. Curiously, on the publication of Das Boot in 1970, some surviving commanders of Dönitz’s U-boat forces accused Buchheim of betraying the U-boat command’s loyalty to the Reich in his depictions of his and Lehmann-Willenbrock’s conversations about their increasing awareness of the madness of Hitler’s (and Dönitz’s) war and their part in it. Ironically and conversely, at about the same time, the next generation of ‘68ers’, many left-wing students and academics, criticized their own parents for fighting as loyal Nazis in the war. For them, Buchheim’s works embodied hypocritical revisionism. Buchheim, always one to embrace rather than avoid argument and controversy, offered his reading of Conrad as a foundation for his understanding of his experiences and values, citing his accounts of facing a storm as allegory for the need to stay stalwart in the face of overwhelming forces. The Commander totters his way through to the Officers’ Mess and settles himself firmly in his corner at the narrow end of the table. [. . .] All three of us keep our heads bent over our books. After a while he looks up. ‘Just read this! It’s a perfect description!’ I find the paragraph he’s pointing to. ‘The caprice of the winds, like the wilfulness of men, is fraught with the disastrous consequences of self-indulgence. Long anger, the sense of his uncontrolled power, spoils the frank and generous nature of the West Wind. It is as if his heart were corrupted by a malevolent and brooding rancour. He devastates his own kingdom in the wantonness of his force. South-west is the quarter of the heavens where he presents his darkened brow. He breathes his rage in terrific squalls and overwhelms his realm with an inexhaustible welter of clouds. He strews the seeds of anxiety upon the decks of scudding 118

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ships, makes the foam-stripped ocean look old, and sprinkles with grey hairs the heads of ship-masters in the homeward-bound ships running for the Channel. The Westerly Wind asserting his sway from the south-west quarter is often like a monarch gone mad, driving forth with wild imprecations the most faithful of his courtiers to shipwreck, disaster, and death.’ MoS, 83, in Buchheim 1970, 235–6 Buchheim’s immersion in Conrad’s writing is perhaps evident in his epigraph to U-Boat Krieg, in what I read as Buchheim’s evocation of Conrad in a critique of warfare and the rhetoric of its politics: From a long and miserable experience of suffering, injustice, disgrace and aggression the nations of the earth are mostly swayed by fear – fear of the sort that a little cheap oratory turns easily to rage, hate, and violence. Innocent, guileless fear has been the cause of many wars. Not, of course, the fear of war itself, which, in the evolution of sentiments and ideas, has come to be regarded at last as a half-mystic and glorious ceremony with certain fashionable rites and preliminary incantations, wherein the conception of its true nature hast been lost. MoS, 149–50 But such ‘immersion’ has quite different meanings for different seamen. Conrad’s dislike of submarines might have been due to his regarding them as being somehow ‘unfair’, without honour. For all his great admiration for Conrad as a writer and sailor, Buchheim recognizes this. In the opening to U-Boot Krieg, he writes: The moment of sinking is every sailor’s lifelong nightmare, because it means the death of the ship and crew. But for men aboard a submarine, sinking is part of normal seamanship. [. . .] For a normal surface vessel the slightest contact with the seabed is a constant terror. Joseph Conrad is the port of all the humiliations of this predicament. [. . .] But for a submarine, touching bottom is a practised routine. Buchheim 1976, 1 So, despite all their ‘sharing’ of violent Atlantic storms – and Buchheim again cites ‘The Rulers of East and West’ (MoS), implicitly endorsing his admiration for Conrad – their shared experience as sailors and the potential political, allegorical reading he perceives, Buchheim nevertheless recognizes paradoxes. If Conrad is an abiding moral and experiential touchstone for him, he is also a measure by which analogy may move into difference. Many more German writers (and filmmakers) have written on, or ‘used’, Conrad. In their post-1945 works, Christa Wolf, Brigitte Kronauer, W. G. Sebald, Hans Christoph Buch, the Swiss-German writer Urs Widmer and filmmaker Werner Herzog offer examples: all testify to his constant cultural presence and strength as an abiding focal point, even when, or perhaps because, he is subject to revised readings and reimaginings. I will now turn briefly to the larger questions of translation and translatability. What might it mean to ‘translate Conrad’? At the linguistic level the question is problematic enough. Conrad 119

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is not easy to translate. I have had long interviews with the chief translator of the second complete edition of Conrad which Fischer Verlag initiated in the late 1950s, Günther Danehl. When I interviewed him he was in his eighties, but he was some ten years old when introduced to the works of Conrad by his father, who was taking up the Conradian enthusiasms of a friend, the great satirical journalist Kurt Tucholsky, whom one might think of as a sort of German George Orwell. Danehl thus grew up with Conrad’s novels, although, unlike Buchheim, he does not claim an immediate and lifelong infatuation. On the contrary, he has spoken to me of the exasperating vagueness of much of Conrad’s prose. But I should add that translations of an original text focus the mind on what may be the very unclear linguistic texture in the original. Some of what Danehl says has to do with questions of symbol and abstraction, a defying of the concrete, which English and German understand differently. For the translator it is something which may coincide with what Leavis in The Great Tradition (1948) famously called Conrad’s ‘adjectival insistence’. Some problems arise with the novels’ titles. How do we translate, for example, Under Western Eyes? Should it be, as it tends to be, with ‘Mit’ [With] or ‘Unter’ [more literally, Under]? This choice offers quite different, potentially profoundly different, meanings. The same might be said of translating ‘Heart of Darkness’. The English has a dominant connotation, which has almost become a ubiquitous cliché referring to a political chaos, usually in Africa. But the English, with ‘of ’, leaves ambiguous whether ‘Darkness’ is a noun or adjective. Does ‘darkness’ refer to some sort of geopolitical place and culture, or to an internal, moral or psychological quality, as with ‘heart of gold’. German has to resolve this and in German editions it is always with the definite article, thus Herz der Finsternis (which comes closer to the common English meaning). German would probably have to use ‘aus’ for the second meaning, implying quality (i.e., ‘Herz aus Finsternis’, a ‘heart made out of darkness’). So the rich ambiguity of Conrad’s English is compromised to some extent. But as important as this ‘linguistic’ problem is – which could be elaborated upon across different languages – there are also what we may call the cultural and epistemological problems of ‘cultural translation’. It is an even greater issue for us today. My earlier accounts of Conrad’s reception in Germany indicate how he was being ‘read’ politically in Germany’s own troubled times, as a form of what I call ‘camouflaged resistance’. But it goes even deeper. Its forms go to the roots of Conrad’s own concerns, as an outsider in all the cultures he inhabited. The idea of translating experience is quintessentially a Conradian problem. We think of the Marlow of Lord Jim and Heart of Darkness, who acts as a kind of translator of his own, only partially understood, experience of Jim or Kurtz. But translation risks traduction. Marlow prefaces his traduction of the experience of Africa with the disclaimer that ‘we live, as we dream, alone’; that is, an ‘ideal’ translation may be better dreamt of than achieved. We recall the linguistic and epistemological conflations of the problem of translation and edition in Under Western Eyes, with the figures of Razumov and the teacher of languages. So, with German translations of Conrad, what we may be talking about as a linguistic problem at one level is, at another level, a question of transmission: of the possibility and needs of translation. The problem is at least twofold, and the participating agencies are entwined in mutually influencing, dialectical ways. Thus, we need to understand the word ‘translation’ not merely in its linguistic but also in its broadest cultural and epistemological forms. How does a writer understand another culture? And how is another culture reading him? As we all know, Conrad is quintessentially a figure representing translatability, the hope of crossing-over from one language or cultural vernacular to another. This may mean moving from Polish to French to English, or from seaman to 120

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landlubber-writer, or from exiled aristocrat son to impoverished immigrant. Who can count the price of these translations? Even when literal translations are available, and we have them all in German, the question of translatability is a larger, philosophical one. Walter Benjamin, in his aphoristically resonant essay on ‘The Task of the Translator’, talks of the (un)translatability of works. He fears that it could mean that a work might never find an adequate translator in history, amongst men. In which case, rather like Borges’s infinitely knowledgeable librarian or Berkeley’s God, who sees everything and thus guarantees its existence in the absence of men’s sight, for Benjamin a work of art may be translated, fulfilled, only as God’s remembrance (Benjamin 1973, 70). Conrad’s translators were not gods, anticipating all. Even simple-sounding titles produced interesting cross-cultural issues. Take Lord Jim, for example. English publications have editorial notes translating English (sailors’ terminology and jargon) into English, not to mention the different languages (for example, German and French) used in the novel. The novel itself is concerned with translating certain kinds of ideas: honour, habit, bravery. But the novel’s title and that of the ‘hero’ Jim, the would-be outsider saviour, signals mixed cultures and cultural hierarchies. Jim’s Patusan name, ‘Tuan Jim’, is an honorific title meaning ‘sir’ or ‘mister’, but translated back into English, ‘tuan’ becomes ‘Lord’. Jim’s own naming becomes a metaphor for the cultural perception of his own transforming fate. Another interesting, more contemporary, cultural political problem emerges with The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’. The first German translation was in 1912 (Albert Langen publishers) by Ernst Wolfgang Günter, and it was later reissued by Fischer Verlag in 1926 with the same translation (although Günter changed, or translated, his own name, to become Ernst Freissler) and entitled Der Nigger vom ‘Narzissus’. This version is virtually repeated in a postwar translation (by Ernst Wagner, 1971) and bears the same German spelling of the ship’s name, but with a switch of its gender from male to female (from ‘vom’ to ‘von der’). The title of the novel had already raised a question for Conrad with its simultaneous printing in 1897 of the American edition, The Children of the Sea. This was not, as might be thought, to avoid ‘Nigger’ as a potentially insulting racist slur, but rather, as it was explained to a puzzled Conrad, because otherwise it may put off American readers who would not want to read about ‘niggers’ (which of course amounts to second-level racism). In short, it was a marketing decision aimed at a potentially racist white readership. The Wolfgang Krege translation of 1994 (Haffmans Verlag) has it as Der Bimbo von der ‘Narcissus’. Krege offers a very interesting account of the difficulties of translating Conrad in the Afterword to his translation, highlighting various historical, ideological, ‘politically correct’ implications. While ‘Bimbo’ may sound very odd to English speakers, with derogatory femalegendered connotations, in German ‘Bimbo’ originated as a slur referring ostensibly to Black GIs in Germany during and after the Second World War, though more recently it has been used as slang among German youth. The problem is fraught. But we may remind ourselves that because language and its meanings and connotations are constantly changing, particularly with the liveliness of colloquial words – think of the reappropriation of ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga’ among some American-African youth, or the long history of ‘gay’ and ‘queer’ – so we may question but must also be aware of such cultural-political histories. (Even the word ‘bimbo’ is now being ironically reappropriated by some women in the US to undercut its derogatory connotations.) Such interpretive fascinations do not obscure what was the historical need for his transmission, as measured in the echo produced at a certain moment in German history. 121

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Translations are not always easy and language usually carries cultural implications that native speakers within any culture may well not be conscious of in another language. What Danehl, the main translator of Fischer’s (Suhrkamp’s) postwar new complete edition of Conrad (which repeated the memorable cover style of the first edition), did confirm was the role of Conrad’s writing for a German liberal culture, a role which in its way embraced and breached a very important, probably the most important, political moment of the century. I would suggest that one of the crucial features of Conrad’s writing and life was that at a crisis moment – and Conrad’s works are full of those – he could represent to others the cultural, intellectual and humane space between nations. I mean this in all senses. His works offer the possibility not of naively avoiding ideologies and nationalities but rather of thinking through them. Thus Conrad, coming late to Germany, arrived at a momentous time. His reception extended beyond the moment when many of those who read him and lived with him were forced into exile or prison by totalitarian fascism. Even the arguable failures of translation mark limits which reveal new possibilities of understanding. That Conrad was able to survive as a voice in translation, moving across geographical and ideological boundaries, meant not loss (which is so often the model for talking about the failure of translation) but rather a form of self-articulation for those readers who stayed behind in those shadowed times. The forms of that readership are only gradually becoming clear as I try to trace the figure of Conrad in the lives of his German readers, in exile, abandonment or shelter. Many had to buy him under the counter, as a banned but not-banned book.11 A bookseller might be brave enough to stock them, a reader, to ask for them. These were readers who discovered like-minded people, neighbours, friends, perhaps fellow-soldiers or sailors who knew of him. Bearing in mind the context of The Secret Agent and other sorts of surreptitious purchases and shop-front appearances which Verloc entertains, this political conjuncture of politics and the cultural consumption of Conrad offers for me an odd reflection on forms of forbidden practices.12 In 1945, Peter Suhrkamp was the first German publisher permitted by the Allied forces (more specifically, the British authorities) to publish German works. In Suhrkamp’s proposal to the Allies, Joseph Conrad was named in the first list of those he wished to bring out. As a resurgence of interest and a newly-translated, complete edition of Conrad (1950s through to the 1980s) witnesses, his challenge to contemporary readers has not waned. But even in the 1920s and 1930s, Conrad’s own rejection of limits and defiance of nationalisms, the Conrad who was taken as the symbolic and literal exile, became a sane forewarning, but also an aid, to those whose lives were warmed by his example. In his case, I think it is not just the Germans who benefitted, and continue to benefit, from his translation. English-speaking readers of Conrad, too, can learn from problems of his translatability. For surely, Conrad, of all people, is a perfect example of a writer for whom cultural exchange – in its most literal meaning, the changing of one culture for another – was

11

Diary entries in the late 1930s talk of Conrad, among others, not being available in bookshops. The Nazi lists of banned books did not function quite as a Vatican (or British Museum) Index of Censored Books might function. That is, as much as brute terror was the censorious language of coercion, the Nazi regime hoped to assume complicity and fear among publishers and booksellers to make some works ‘unavailable’. So, into the 1930s a quietly defiant bookseller and reader could still find one another. But diary recordings deplore the unavailability of, among others, the novels of Conrad. Among other publishers, Fischer Verlag resolutely defied the spirit of new Nazi laws in order to make liberal writers still available, if only under plain covers. 12

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not only a ‘language problem’ but a life’s work. Translatability in its broadest sense, crosscultural understanding or its failure, questions of strangeness and hostility, absorption and integration, mutual recognition and adaption, miscegenation or exclusion, thinking to presume you know who you are talking to in this language – all these form central moments of Conrad’s work. So far as Conrad and Germany were concerned, at a time when (to misquote Karl Marx) the spectre of nationalism was haunting Europe, when rampant nationalisms were distorting a sense of cultural identity up to the point of threatened extermination, Conrad could become a metaphor. He would have been too sceptical to claim the role. But maybe the gods of translating knew better. Conrad could stand for and be a displaced way of discussing a different and more humane European trans-national culture. A Pole turned Englishman, he was, improbably, seen to articulate and test alternative forms of cultural identity. He could be spiritually mobilized in the name of values which were under extreme threat. Sometimes German criticism of Conrad in the late 1920s through to the Second World War took the form of review articles on recent translations. These tended to resort to what we might now think of as sentimental, untheorized dependence on biographical readings, stressing the isolated existential trials of Conrad the seaman, as reflected in his fiction. Leaving aside the fact that English critics were doing much the same, this should not blind us to two other aspects of his German reception. First, the critical emphasis on Conrad’s exile and isolation could act as a life-enhancing metaphor, could give a voice to those facing or experiencing the same condition of exclusion. Secondly, Conrad, through his works, was able to stand, even into the 1940s, as a representative for all those who knew of Secret Sharers and thought them worth sharing. He knew of boundaries, and ShadowLines, and thought them worth crossing.

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CHAPTER 7 THE GERMAN DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC: CONRAD’S RECEPTION UNDER SOCIALIST EYES Frank Förster

Introduction The reception of Conrad’s fiction in the German Democratic Republic (GDR) can be divided into three parts in relation to its publication and translation history: first, the period from 1949 to 1954, when there were no new Conrad publications;1 second, the period from 1955 to 1973, when translations by S. Fischer Verlag, West Germany, were adopted; third, the period from 1974 to 1990, when there were a number of totally new translations (after Conrad’s works came out of copyright in the GDR). From the political-ideological perspective, the reception of Conrad’s works in the GDR can also be divided into three parts: first, the period up to the early 1960s, which was marked by a total official rejection of his work because of its alleged anarchistic contents; second, the period up to the mid-1970s, when Conrad was rediscovered as a result of academic research in the Soviet Union and through Arnold Kettle’s Marxist approach; third, the development of an independent branch of research in the GDR with a literary, political, philosophical and ideological approach based on Marxist-Leninist philosophy from the mid1970s onwards.2 In total, thirty-six different single-book editions of Conrad’s works were published in the GDR during its existence. The total number of printed copies of Conrad’s works amounted to about 1.5 million. Conrad’s complete works would probably have been published over the next few years, if the GDR had not come to an end through reunification with West Germany. Only a small number of his novels or short stories were considered unsuitable for publication.3 The decision not to republish these particular works seems to have been based on literary judgement and not solely on political-ideological grounds.4 Over the years, Conrad was acknowledged in the GDR as an important cultural legacy, as a great novelist of world literature and partly (and perhaps surprisingly) as an engaging author for young readers.5 1

Several West German and Swiss publishing houses started to produce reprints of German translations in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Given these reprints and on the basis of a very small number of sources and recollections, it is safe to assume that Conrad was actually read during that period in the GDR. 2 The influence of critics who offered overviews of English literature based on Marxist-Leninist theories needs further research. Two prominent examples from Great Britain are Ralph Fox’s The Novel and the People (1937) and Arnold Kettle’s An Introduction to the English Novel (1953). Although less well known in Britain than Kettle, Ralph Fox, a founder member of the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB), was judged to have made ‘a decisive contribution to the development of a Marxist-Leninist novel theory in England’ (‘einen entscheidenden Beitrag zur Herausbildung einer marxistisch-leninistischen Romantheorie in England’; Seehase 1977b, 537). The Soviet academic research that was influential in the GDR also needs further investigation (e.g. Animisov 1958). 3 The Arrow of Gold, ‘The Planter of Malata’ and ‘The Tale’ were deemed unsuitable. 4 See Förster 2005, 35. The conclusions drawn there were speculative, but have been confirmed by subsequent archival researches in Berlin (State Library, Federal State Archive, Academy of Arts) in August–September 2018. 5 The sources for this chapter are: (1) literary encyclopaedia, (2) afterwords, (3) archival sources from publishing houses and state authorities, and (4) scholarly articles.

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Early years: Conrad and anarchism Shortly after the end of the Second World War, Conrad was reissued and read widely in West Germany. The earlier translations of the first complete edition were not only republished by Suhrkamp-Verlag, but other publishers also offered editions in order to disseminate Conrad’s works. As a result, Conrad’s work was quite widely known through reviews in various newspapers and magazines. In contrast to the enormous efforts made to promote Conrad in West Germany, however, the reception in the Soviet occupation zone (1945–9) and subsequently in the GDR was quite insignificant during this period. A German translation of ‘Youth’ was published by Insel-Verlag in the well-respected ‘Inselbücherei’ (Insel Library) series with subsequent print runs alternately in West and East Germany: it was launched in Leipzig in 1937; the second print run followed in Leipzig in 1947; the third print run was issued in the western part of Germany in Wiesbaden in 1950; and the fourth print run came out again in Leipzig in 1955. The East German weekly newspaper Sonntag published an extract from this translation of ‘Youth’ in 1947. The non-publication of Conrad’s fiction and the lack of critical acclaim in East Germany until the mid-1950s bears similarities to the situation in other communist countries of that time.6 Two main reasons can be adduced to explain why Conrad was treated with such caution (or even refused attention altogether) in the early years of the GDR: first, there was the problem of his depiction of anarchism (especially in The Secret Agent, Under Western Eyes, ‘The Informer’ and ‘An Anarchist’) and, second, there was his alleged ignorance of wider societal connections and relations. The most controversial aspect of Conrad’s work in the 1950s and early 1960s was the question of his relationship to anarchism. In 1955, a critical essay was published by Horst Bien (1920– 93), written while working on his doctoral thesis on Norwegian literature, a research field in which he later became an expert of high renown. Bien’s criticism advanced an explicitly MarxistLeninist line throughout his career.7 His polemical paper on Conrad and anarchism accordingly defends and glorifies socialism, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, condemns capitalism and everything connected with it (including the false consciousness of those living under capitalism). From this position, Bien argues that imperialism was an ‘impenetrable mystery’ for Conrad; although Conrad had ‘honestly described, what he had seen and experienced’, he claimed, ‘the moment he tries to analyse the misanthropic nature of society under the prevailing circumstances, he loses himself in the darkness of mysticism and irrationalism’.8 The same

6 Beran, for example, has shown the enormous influence of the Soviet Union on Conrad’s reception in Czechoslovakia: ‘Conrad, a seemingly apolitical poet of the sea, was not acceptable to the Stalinists of the early 1950s’ (Beran 2010, 436). Voitkovka (2011, 144ff.) discusses the ban on Conrad’s political novels in the Soviet Union. Omelan (2013, 391ff.) offers similar reasons for Conrad’s absence from Ukrainian criticism and the Ukrainian book market. As for Poland, Wąsik remarks, ‘After World War II, the reception of Joseph Conrad’s works in Poland was closely connected with the country’s political situation. The communist authorities soon branded Conrad as a particularly dangerous author, partly because his books had been very popular with members of the wartime Polish Resistance [. . .]’ (Wąsik 2014, 90). In Bulgaria a similar silence fell over Conrad during the 1940s and 1950s (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 50ff.). 7 https://ifs.uni-greifswald.de/institut/information/geschichte-des-instituts/. 8 ‘[. . .] ehrlich beschrieb, was er gesehen und erlebt hatte [. . .] In dem Augenblick jedoch, in dem Conrad versucht, die menschenfeindlichen Erscheinungsformen der gegebenen Gesellschaft zu analysieren, verliert er sich in das Dunkel des Mystizismus und Irrationalismus’ (Bien 1955, 447ff.).

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proves true, Bien argues, in describing the proletariat (or ‘what Conrad considers to be the proletariat’) in his anarchistic novels and short stories.9 The main charge against Conrad relates to these ‘anarchistic novels and short stories’. Bien compares the atrocities brought about by imperialism with the effects of the addiction to maximum profit in a capitalist society. Those who rebelled against this profit-seeking culture, he argues, could act only on their own and never within organized structures. They remained revolutionaries from the petty bourgeoisie: ‘Anarchism is a petty-bourgeois and reactionary socio-political current that is hostile to proletarian socialism.’10 They act out of bottomless hatred, individual eagerness for power, or a criminal disposition (Bien 1955, 448). As a result, these lone terrorists and fanatics demoralize the working class and thereby inflict great damage on the real revolutionary proletariat. Bien concludes that the readership of Conrad’s works would hardly be able to differentiate between an anarchist and a true revolutionist (Bien 1955, 458). Bien is obviously thinking of an East German readership when labelling Conrad as impossible for publication in the GDR. He is highly critical of what he sees as Conrad’s supposed philosophy of life: he argues that Conrad’s experiences are no more than manifestations of an anarchic, anarchistic and chaotic world; and he suggests that the roots of his pessimism, fatalism, agnosticism and philosophic anarchism might be found in the circumstances of his departure from Poland in 1874 (Bien 1955, 460). ‘The international labour movement under the leadership of Marxism-Leninism had developed to an important revolutionary force in the meantime; and Conrad, the conservative citizen, would never run the risk of being identified with it.’11 He concludes, ‘The great realists of world literature had denounced the actual misery of mankind and thereby helped to improve things – that is, they encouraged people to undertake liberating actions. Conrad’s works do not do that.’12 Bien’s essay had a most detrimental effect on the reception of Conrad in the 1950s and early 1960s. His accusations were directly or indirectly cited in various sources.13 Eventually, however, Bien’s response to Conrad was rendered obsolete because of the intensive engagement by Aufbau-Verlag in publishing his work from 1957 onwards and through its scholars and external experts writing reviews that challenged this view of Conrad and positioned him within the Marxist-Leninist worldview in a radical, but appropriate and acceptable way from the mid1970s: ‘His whole view of life, which is anything but anarchistic, as he is so often accused of being, rejects anarchic behaviour that endangers the solidarity of mankind.’14 To cite one example, an encyclopaedia of literature, published in 1962, traced Conrad’s alleged ‘anarchistic’ worldview back to his childhood and his father’s activities: ‘C[onrad]’s 9

‘. . . oder besser: das, was Conrad für das Proletariat hält’ (Bien 1955, 448). ‘Der Anarchismus ist eine kleinbürgerliche und reaktionäre gesellschaftspolitische Strömung, die dem proletarischen Sozialismus feindlich gegenübersteht’ (Bien 1955, 457). 11 ‘Inzwischen hatte sich nämlich die internationale Arbeiterbewegung unter der Führung des Marxismus-Leninismus zu einer bedeutenden revolutionären Kraft entwickelt. Conrad, der konservative Bürger, wollte auf keinen Fall Gefahr laufen, damit identifiziert zu werden’ (Bien 1955, 461). 12 ‘Die großen Realisten der Weltliteratur haben das tatsächliche Elend der Menschheit angeprangert und dadurch geholfen, die Dinge zu verbessern bzw. die Menschen zu befreiender Tat zu ermutigen. Conrads Werke tun das nicht’ (Bien 1955, 470). 13 For example, Günther Klotz (3 December 1956), BArch, DR1/3959; Steiner 1963, 146. 14 ‘Seine ganze Lebenssicht, die alles andere als anarchistisch ist, wie ihm so häufig vorgeworfen wird, lehnt gerade anarchisches, den Zusammenhalt der Gattung gefährdendes Verhalten energisch ab’ (Walch 1980c, 425). 10

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anarchistic Weltanschauung – he had to go into exile with his parents because of his father’s national revolutionary activities – was shaped to a great extent by his youthful experiences. [. . .] C.’s anarchistic novels The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes are influenced by his unclear ideas of spies and secret agents received at his parents’ house so that he was able to create only pseudo-revolutionaries’ (Steiner 1963, 146). It can be observed that, while the interest in the way Conrad treats anarchism is still an issue, the reluctance to publish stories or novels depicting scenes of anarchistic activity is diminishing and being put into perspective over the years. A subsequent revised and expanded edition of the same encyclopaedia of literature further weakens the argument against Conrad. It is reduced to the statement that Conrad does not succeed in making social contradictions clearly visible in both novels but does not trace this fault back to any parental education (Seehase 1977a, 364). As this demonstrates, over the years, the argument about Conrad’s works was accommodated to the prevailing modes of interpretation. At the same time, Conrad’s depiction of anarchists and anarchism (and his own attitude towards revolution) remained a concern, but now from a different perspective: ‘[In] bourgeois criticism, it is the norm to identify Conrad’s clear rejection of anarchism with his attitude towards social revolution. It is true that among Conrad’s statements, even of a private nature, one would seek in vain for those that could prove that he recognized the significance of the October Revolution. This is clearly not the case.’15 The bias against some of his fiction was a problem for Conrad’s reception in the GDR. But this was only a problem for people who were politically and ideologically blinded. Those involved in the cultural sector, in particular editors and readers from publishing houses and authors of some account, were very much interested in publishing Conrad’s works in the GDR. And one major obstacle had already been overcome: a (nearly) complete edition in German had already been published during the years 1926–39 by S. Fischer Verlag. This meant that most of Conrad’s works were available in German by this time, and they were available in libraries.16 What’s more, as Fothergill observes in the previous chapter, Conrad was read and appreciated by many important and influential authors and intellectuals such as Anna Seghers, Johannes Bobrowski, Willi Bredel, Thomas Mann and Jakob Wassermann and, later on, Christa Wolf, Rolf Haufs, Helmut Heißenbüttel, Franz Hammer, Brigitte Kronauer, W. G. Sebald and Urs Widmer.17 However, this was not so much a matter of a national cultural legacy, but rather a world literature legacy. Nevertheless, it took a long time for the four anarchistic narratives to be published. In the late 1980s there were plans to publish a German translation of The Secret Agent (by AufbauVerlag) as well as of Under Western Eyes (by Dieterich),18 but these plans were not carried out. Translations of both ‘The Informer’ and ‘An Anarchist’ were eventually published together within a German edition of A Set of Six in 1988. Indeed, ‘The Informer’ was actually published

15 ‘[In] der bürgerlichen Kritik ist es die Norm, Conrads deutliche Ablehnung des Anarchismus mit seiner Einstellung zur sozialen Revolution zu identifizieren. Es trifft zu, daß unter Conrads Äußerungen auch privater Art vergeblich nach solchen gesucht werden wird, die belegen könnten, daß er die Bedeutung der Oktoberrevolution erkannt hätte. Das ist eindeutig nicht der Fall’ (Günter Walch (21 August 1979), BArch, DR1/2139a, 377). 16 For example, the university libraries of Leipzig and Berlin and the National Library in Leipzig held copies of the first complete edition. 17 Krehayn 1976, 114–16; Schenkel 2010; and findings in the archive of the Academy of Arts, Berlin. 18 Friedrich Baedke: Aktennotiz (May 13, 1986), SBB, Nachl. 553, 4r.

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twice: the first attempt was designed to try out a new translator and was included in an anthology of crime stories in 1981.19 A political thaw had begun in the 1980s, and a new cultural openness was made possible by glasnost and perestroika. Even though the readers and reviewers weighed their words carefully in their reviews and reports by fully adopting the language of the system,20 the evaluation process on the whole had become less strict and fiction was deemed suitable for publication which might have been rejected some years before. However, neither The Secret Agent nor Under Western Eyes was ever published in the GDR, although they were mentioned in biographical sketches and in afterwords.21 Indeed, although both novels were marginalized in literary reference works in the 1950s and 1960s,22 they were later cited as important and relevant. In addition, there were other novels and short stories by Conrad which were not deemed suitable or recommended for potential publication in the GDR. Some of them were considered for future publication (in the late 1960s), or designated unofficially for publication (in the 1970s), or even officially prepared for publication (in the 1980s). However, as noted earlier, the end of the GDR and the reunification of Germany prevented publishers from pursuing further plans for a complete edition in the GDR. During its existence, due to the state-controlled publication practice in the GDR, the people and institutions involved (publishers, editors, lectors) were carefully calculating which pieces of fiction (likewise which novel, poetry or drama) could possibly be published and which not. These deliberations and discussions with other state authorities could last years. This state-controlled publication practice had been fully established at the beginning of the 1960s (see Westdickenberg 2004).

1957–73: The adoption of West-German translations The years 1957–73 saw the publication of nine books by the publisher Aufbau-Verlag and at least two short stories within an anthology from another publisher.23 All eleven fictional works were published under license from S. Fischer Verlag, West Germany: Nostromo (1957), ‘Heart of Darkness’ (1958), ‘The Black Mate’ (1958), ‘The Secret Sharer’ (1958), Lord Jim (1962), ‘Typhoon’ (1965), Almayer’s Folly (1966), The Shadow-Line (1967), An Outcast of the Islands (1968), ‘Youth’ (1969) and Victory (1970). These imprints carry the notice, ‘Issued for the GDR. With the approval of Fischer Verlag, Frankfurt a. M. Sales in the Federal Republic of Germany, in West Berlin and abroad is not allowed.’

19 Joseph Conrad, ‘Der Spitzel, eine ironische Erzählung’, in Ursula Krause (ed.), Der geheimnisvolle Reisende : Kriminalerzählungen (Berlin: Verlag Neues Leben, 1981), 289–313. 20 ‘The publisher’s and external reports could thus be significantly influenced by their intended effect and did not necessarily reflect the actual opinion of their authors.’ ‘Die Verlags- und die Außengutachten konnten insofern erheblich durch ihre Wirkungsintention geprägt sein und gaben nicht unbedingt die tatsächliche Meinung ihrer Verfasser wieder’ (Westdickenberg 2004, 63). 21 Steiner 1963, 146; Seehase 1977a, 364; Krehayn 1977, 229; Walch 1979, 415; Walch 1988, 287. 22 The same happened, for example, in Czechoslovakia (Beran 2010, 436). 23 Joseph Conrad, ‘Jugend’ (‘Youth’), in Kurt Böttcher and Paul Günter Krohn (eds), Schiff vor dem Wind: See-Erzählungen des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts (A ship downwind: sea stories from the 19th and 20th century) (Berlin: Verlag Neues Leben, 1969), 284–320; Joseph Conrad, ‘Taifun’ (‘Typhoon’), in Günther Cwojdrak and Hilga Cwojdrak (eds), Anker auf! Abenteuer auf sieben Meeren (Anchor up! Adventures on the seven seas) (abridged version) (Berlin: Kinderbuchverlag, 1970), 216–31.

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The publication of what looks like the beginnings of a collected edition can be traced back to the ambitious activities of editors and readers at Aufbau-Verlag and the influence of its major authors. These ambitions had to operate within the constraints then in place. Although censorship was officially abolished, another system of control had replaced it.24 Zipser describes four types of censorship: self-censorship, editorial censorship, state ideological censorship and party censorship (Zipser 1990, 111ff.). In the case of Conrad, state ideological censorship had the biggest impact initially, but it competed with and was replaced by the tacit tactics of editorial censorship in later years. The Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in February 1956, at which the First Secretary, Nikita Khrushchev, delivered his ‘Secret Speech’ denouncing Stalin, marked a significant turning point: it initiated a new stage of development for the whole socialist ideology and for the GDR as well. In July 1958, Walter Ulbricht, at that time First Secretary of the Socialist Unity Party of Germany (Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands, SED), summarized the obligations of socialists at the fifth party conference of the SED: these were the so-called ‘Ten Commandments of Socialist Morality and Ethics’ (also known as the ‘Ten Commandments for the New Socialist Man’). These commandments were propagated within the party but did not play a major role in public life in the GDR. However, the programme for the victory of socialism was given substance through a couple of conferences involving the Ministry of Culture, publishing houses and state officials engaged in the cultural sector. The Hauptverwaltung Verlage und Buchhandel (HVG, Central Administration of Publishing and Bookselling, founded in 1963) and the Büro für Urheberrechte (Bureau of Copyright, founded in 1966) – both part of the Ministry of Culture – were responsible for licensing and coordinating the activities of publishers.25 In the late 1950s and early 1960s, guidelines were prepared which explained in detail how publishers, external reviewers and state cultural sovereignty had to interact with the objective of controlling the whole system of literature production, translation and publication. In the first instance, the publication plans of a publisher had to be submitted to the Ministry of Culture, often five years in advance, to be approved. Several authorities and people were involved in the process of getting books published in the GDR, and each one could interfere at any stage. Westdickenberg lists a total of more than twenty authorities and persons that could be involved (2004, 278). The number of publishers in the GDR was also restricted, with each one determined in terms of ideological direction and target audience. Interest in publishing Conrad had already started in the early 1950s. Gerhart Pohl, the reader for Aufbau-Verlag in the early years, left the publisher because of political-ideological conflicts in 1950 and found a new home in West Germany. He wrote an appreciative appraisal of The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes on the occasion of the thirtieth anniversary of Conrad’s death in 1954.26 In October of the same year, according to an internal report, dated 24

The Soviet Military Administration had organized censorship in East Germany in 1945. A list of banned books (Liste der auszusondernden Literatur) was published in 1946, 1947 and 1948. 25 The first task for the HVG was the reorganization of the publishers in the GDR. The central state institutions responsible for publicly owned enterprises, the VVB (Vereinigung Volkseigener Betriebe); for printing, the DVK (Druckerei- und Verlagskontor); and for distribution and bookselling, the LKG (Leipziger Kommissions- und Großbuchhandelsgesellschaft) were integrated in the HVG. The general aim was the ‘ideological consolidation’ of the publishers and especially of the readers (Westdickenberg 2004, 23ff.). 26 Gerhart Pohl (1954), ‘Mit den Augen des Westens. Zu Joseph Conrads 30. Todestag (3.8.)’ (Under Western Eyes. For the thirtieth anniversary of Joseph Conrad’s death (3 August)) (AdK, Pohl 203). It is not clear why or for whom the appraisal was written, nor whether it had ever been published.

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25 October 1954, the publisher Paul List had become interested in Lord Jim: the novel is listed together with ‘Youth’ in a five-year plan for the years 1956–60 (BArch, DR 1/1974). It is also listed in Aufbau-Verlag’s prospective plans for the following years on 24 March 1954, on 21 June 1954, and again on 1 July 1955. (The prospective plans had to be regularly submitted to the HVG.) One year later, on 27 April 1956, the prospective plan includes ‘Heart of Darkness’, Chance and Lord Jim. However, these plans were only a first notice of intent: they could result in no further action or – as the next step – the request for a preliminary evaluation of the author and/or narrative. But things did not always work efficiently: if the preliminary report on a book came in after the due date, the relevant evaluation process could be cut short, and those books could pass through without further or deeper assessment (Westdickenberg 2004). This might have happened with Nostromo. Alongside the fourth print run of ‘Youth’ in the ‘Insel-Bücherei’ series in 1955, this short story was also included in two different anthologies of seafarer stories in 1955 and 1957.27 Both anthologies were aimed primarily at an adolescent readership. The assumption was that the stories in these anthologies would contribute to the adventure literature of recent times, which, with its diversity of plots and characters, would be of interest to younger readers. A handwritten memo on a review, dated 17 May 1955, mentions some problem with Conrad and ‘Youth’, but it does not specify exactly what the problem was (BArch, DR1/5113, 223). The editor might have chosen to ignore this memo or might have resolved the problem orally. However, as noted above, the most important early efforts to publish Conrad’s works were undertaken by the publisher Aufbau-Verlag of Berlin. Aufbau-Verlag, which was founded in 1945, was allowed great latitude in publishing works by authors from capitalist countries, and several West German authors, for example, were very interested in publication by AufbauVerlag in order to be published in the eastern part of Germany. Aufbau-Verlag was particularly attractive to them because it was the main publisher for fictional literature in the GDR. Thus, for example, against the will of GDR state officials, Aufbau-Verlag published an edition of the complete works of Thomas Mann. The works of Anna Seghers, the most important author in the GDR by that time, were also published by Aufbau-Verlag, as were the works of Willi Bredel. Interestingly, in 1937, Bredel (under his pen name Storman) had answered a polemic pamphlet by a Nazi collaborator, who had asked whether Conrad might have been of Jewish origin (Förster 2005, 28ff.). Aufbau-Verlag was founded as the publisher for the mass organization Kulturbund zur demokratischen Erneuerung (The Cultural Association for Democratic Regeneration).28 Its original authors were mainly German writers and intellectuals who had come back at the end of the war from exile, emigration or work in the resistance.29 During its participation in the Frankfurt Book Fair in 1954, it was noticed that Aufbau-Verlag had a significant deficit in their publishing programme in relation to work by West European and American authors. The editors, Max Schroeder and Walter Janka, expanded the programme to close that gap. Joseph Conrad was one of the beneficiaries of this expanded programme.

27

The anthologies have the enthusiastic titles Schiff am Horizont (Ship on the horizon) (1955) and Meer ohne Grenzen (Ocean without borders) (1957). Both were published by Verlag Neues Leben, Berlin. 28 From 1949 onwards, ‘Kulturbund der DDR’ (Cultural Association of GDR). 29 For a more detailed history of Aufbau-Verlag, see Wurm 1995.

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The editors concluded contracts with publishers from West Germany – in this case, with S. Fischer Verlag, which had the translation rights for most of Conrad’s works. Shortly after Lord Jim, ‘Heart of Darkness’ and Chance were mentioned in their prospective plan in April 1956, an external expert report was written by Günther Klotz, at that time postdoctoral fellow at the Academy of Sciences in Berlin, in May 1956. He adopted the argument expressed by Bien regarding the four narratives with anarchistic content. Klotz then focused on Nostromo, which was meant to be published soon afterwards. He added two new sources of information and aids to orientation, namely An Introduction to the English Novel by Arnold Kettle (1953), a Marxist literary critic and member of the Communist Party of Great Britain,30 and a Soviet encyclopaedia on English literature.31 In opposition to the negative judgement of Bien, Klotz strongly recommended the publication of Conrad’s works with the exception of the four anarchistic narratives on the grounds that: In the four works in question, the heroes try to achieve liberation from capitalist slavery through the conspiracy and terrorism of a selected, non-proletarian minority, from a psychologically-based criminal desire, schwärmerei or selfish addiction to celebrity. [. . .] Since the four works mentioned represent traits of anarchism in a positive light, their publication is not recommended.32 The request for an imprimatur for Nostromo is dated 15 September 1956. The typescript was sent to the printing office one month later. There could have been a number of reasons for choosing Nostromo as the first book publication by Conrad in the GDR. The main reason might well have been the discussion of Nostromo within Kettle’s An Introduction to the English Novel, which devoted a whole chapter to the novel. Kettle begins Part II of his book with the statement, ‘With Conrad we are in the twentieth century’ (Kettle 1953, 59), and he then describes the world of Nostromo as a ‘world of modern imperialism, of war and violence and concentration camps, of displaced persons and neurosis, all on a scale and of a kind radically different from previous human experiment’ (Kettle 1953, 59). He interprets the novel from a consistently Marxist point of view: Nostromo ‘is a political novel in the widest sense, the sense in which Aristotle and Marx use the word politics’ (Kettle 1953, 65), and the ‘process which Engels describes in terms of science is precisely the total effect of Nostromo, achieved in terms of art – nothing less than the presentation [. . .] of society in motion, history in the making’ (Kettle 1953, 69ff.). Nostromo, he asserts, ‘succeeds most wonderfully in capturing the truth of

30 According to Kettle, Conrad produced, with ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘perhaps the most horrifying description of the effects of imperialism ever written’ (Kettle 1953, 69). 31 Conrad’s fiction is summarized as follows: ‘A battleground of egoistic individuals in which the attempts to escape from reality does not save people. In Conrad’s stories everything is permeated by the feeling of fear, the awareness of social disorder and the contradiction of life. Man is lonely and helpless. He cannot count on the support of others. Fatal forces depress him and he must not break their power. In addition, he is forced to encounter the misunderstandings of other people at every turn, not only people of other races and nations, but also relatives and friends. The theme is the loneliness of man in modern life [. . .]’ (Animisov 1953, 76ff.). 32 ‘In den vier genannten Werken versuchen die Helden aus einem psychologisch begründeten verbrecherischen Wunsche, aus Schwärmerei oder egoistischer Sucht nach Berühmtheit ihre Befreiung aus der kapitalistischen Sklaverei durch die Verschwörung und den Terror einer ausgewählten, nichtproletarischen Minderheit zu erreichen. [. . .] Da die vier genannten Werke Züge des Anarchismus im positiven Lichte darstellen, ist von ihrer Veröffentlichung abzuraten’ (Günther Klotz (3 December 1956), BArch, DR1/3959: 174ff.)

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social movement’ (Kettle 1953, 67). These are ideas and arguments which later Germanspeaking commentators also readily referred to. Another reason for the decision to publish Nostromo might be traced back to recommendations from some of the most influential persons engaged in the cultural sector: the authors Thomas Mann and Anna Seghers.33 On 6 December 1956, the editor-in-chief of Aufbau-Verlag, Walter Janka, was arrested (with others) on a charge of counter-revolutionary conspiracy; he was subsequently held in prison for several years (Klotz 1969). After this, Aufbau-Verlag experienced a turbulent period of change: the new editor-in-chief (until 1966) was Klaus Gysi (1912–99), later Minister of Culture. However, the next Conrad book, ‘Heart of Darkness’, was already in progress and was approved with ‘no concerns’ on 14 June 1957 on the basis of an expert report by Krehayn, written on 12 June 1957. Alongside Aufbau-Verlag’s edition of ‘Heart of Darkness’, Union-Verlag also prepared a volume of ‘Heart of Darkness’ (plus three short stories) in 1957: ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘The Partner’ were subsumed under the title Wege ohne Heimkehr (Ways without return home). The book was ready in time for Conrad’s centenary in December 1957. This book is the only one which was translated from Polish: the relevant Polish edition was probably Opowieści wybrane (Selected Stories, Warsaw: Pax, 1952). A review states that big libraries should buy at least one of these editions (‘Heart of Darkness’ or Wege ohne Heimkehr), but they should lend Conrad’s works only after careful consideration, because these books would be suitable only for critical and ‘ideologically clear’ readers.34 Publishers and state officials were apparently surprised by the publication of ‘Youth’, Nostromo and ‘Heart of Darkness’. There were no further Conrad publications for the next five years. At the beginning of the 1960s, new institutional regulations were established by the Ministry of Culture for its subordinate authorities. The normal procedure for publishing a book in the GDR was clearly spelt out.35 The first authority to consider publication was the publisher itself. The editor should commission an expert report for a proposed book by an external academic. The external academic could either approve the book for publication, recommend postponement of the publication or even disapprove the publication. In the case of rejection, the publisher would make no further attempts (or, at least, would postpone such attempts for later years). In the case of a positive report, a reader from the publishing house would write a short review concerning the projected publication. Both the external expert report and the internal review were to be given to the Hauptverwaltung Verlage und Buchhandel (HVG, Central Administration of Publishing and Bookselling) together with a standardized form, the typescript of the book and (if there were one) the typescript of an afterword. This was the formal request for imprimatur without which nothing could ever be printed in the GDR. The HVG could also order a new

33 Anna Seghers owned a few works by Conrad in German translation: Chance (published 1926), Typhoon (1927), Nostromo (1927), Freya of the Seven Isles (1929), Lord Jim (1947) and Almayer’s Folly (1971). Seghers might well have read Nostromo while she worked on her novel Aufstand der Fischer von St. Barbara (The Revolt of the Fishermen of Santa Barbara) and Lord Jim while she worked on Das Argonautenschiff (The Ship of the Argonauts) (Fehervary 2001, 216). 34 ‘Große Bibliotheken sollten einen dieser Bände in ihren Bestand aufnehmen, im übrigen aber alle Bücher Conrads mit der erforderlichen Überlegung ausleihen. Sie sind ausschließlich für kritische und ideologisch klare Leser geeignet.’ Johanna Waligora-Rittinghaus, review in Der Bibliothekar 7 (1958): 768. See also Erich Fetter (26 June 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 42r–43r. Der Bibliothekar was a professional journal for librarians, especially for public libraries. 35 For a graphic representation, see Westdickenberg 2004, 286; for a description, see Westdickenberg 2004, 59ff.

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expert report (even solely on the afterword) in order to assess the external expert’s conformity with state attitudes. The Stasi could interfere at any point in the procedure, even without any scientific or literary knowledge. On the one hand, the view of Conrad was clearly transformed from that current in Bien’s time. Perhaps following Kettle’s lead, it was more and more elaborated according to socialist and Marxist ideas. On the other hand, the adventure-story nature of much of his fiction (the seafaring, the exotic landscapes and the lonely characters outside of society) was also emphasized. In this case, there was no special need to pursue deeper inquiries. The topic of anarchism, which had dominated the response to Conrad in the 1950s, was more and more neglected. It also became common practice to argue that Conrad’s fiction should be placed within its time of origin: that is, the phase of imperialism in its transition to mono-capitalism and just before the beginning of the victory of socialism. The distance between Conrad and modern times was stressed. Thus, we find the following report from a Stasi collaborator as late as 1980: The book, ‘Chance’, was published in 1913. Conrad’s works are characterized by his basic notion that life in bourgeois society is a heroic but hopeless struggle of individuals with the powers of chance. In this context, he revealed anarchist tendencies. [. . .] Although works of Conrad may be interpreted as hostile from today’s point of view, a politicaloperational or criminal relevance is not given but only in consideration of the time of their creation. Checks at the PZF [Post Customs Inspection] and Customs Administration confirmed that [book and author] have not yet been attacked or objected to.36 As this suggests, literary production was tightly controlled in the GDR. Nevertheless, a number of Conrad’s works were accepted for publication. The high point was reached when it was argued that the reader of Conrad’s fiction was confronted with problems relevant to a socialist society: the dubiousness of colonialism, the monopolist as existential threat and the tragic isolation of outsiders within bourgeois prosperity (Anselm Schlösser (20 June 1980), BArch, DR1/3482, 326). It also became possible to print (or designate for printing) even those works formerly branded ‘anarchistic’ narratives. Conrad was thus put on an equal footing with (or at least found comparable to) Robert Louis Stevenson, Herman Melville (both due to the seafaring subject), Rudyard Kipling (due to the colonialist setting), Henry James, Henrik Ibsen, Gustave Flaubert, Guy de Maupassant, Heinrich von Kleist and F. M. Dostoevsky. Conrad was declared part of the humanistic legacy of world culture and world literature.37

36

‘Das Buch “Spiel des Zufalls” erschien 1913. Conrads Werke sind von seiner Grundauffassung geprägt, daß das Leben in der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft einen heroischen, aber aussichtslosen Kampf der Individuen mit den Mächten des Zufalls darstelle. In diesem Zusammenhang ließ er anarchistische Tendenzen erkennen. Werke Conrads wurden auch in der DDR verlegt. (Bei “Spiel des Zufalls” nicht bekannt.) Obwohl Werke Conrads aus heutiger Sicht möglicherweise feindlich interpretierbar sind, ist allein unter Beachtung der Zeit ihrer Entstehung eine politisch-operative oder straf-rechtliche Relevanz nicht gegeben. Überprüfungen bei der PZF [Postzollfahndung] und Zollverwaltung bestätigten, daß [Buch und Autor] bisher nicht angefallen bzw. beanstandet wurden’ (cited by Walther 1996, 310ff.). 37 ‘In the developed socialistic society of the German Democratic Republic, he becomes alive on the higher level of real humanism and in the sense of Lenin’s concept of legacy.’ ‘In der entwickelten sozialistischen Gesellschaft der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik wird er ästhetisch auf der höheren Stufe des realen Humanismus und im Sinne des Leninschen Erbebegriffs lebendig’ (Krehayn 1977: 231ff.).

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Joachim Krehayn, Aufbau-Verlag and other publishers During this period, the government of the GDR became eager to allow its people wider access to cultural and social life. The objective was the production of sophisticated, internationally oriented, peace-loving, socialist citizens. The intellectual formation of a socialist people, contributing to the development of a socialist national culture, was seen by state officials as the principal cultural responsibility. There was a particular interest in educating children and young people to become such socialist beings. The Ministry of Culture planned to raise this socialist culture to its highest level by providing what they thought was necessary, but at the same time by regulating every cultural activity, especially book publications, theatre performances and film production. The programme of ‘Socialist Realism’ was designed to promote the creation of socialist ideas in the heads of East German citizens. The objective was to raise consciousness and create awareness of the world heritage in terms of literature and arts. In 1960, the officials at Aufbau-Verlag began to look for external experts in the GDR who could interpret Conrad on the basis of Marxist ideology. Accordingly, the publisher engaged an academic from the University of Greifswald, Joachim Krehayn (1927–), for the purpose of evaluating Conrad for the GDR readership. Krehayn seemed to be qualified as an expert because of the 100-page history of English literature he had recently published (Krehayn 1960).38 However, Conrad is mentioned in the preface as one of the authors that will not be discussed in the booklet. The book may have attracted the attention of Aufbau-Verlag – perhaps through its reader Sigrid Klotz.39 She wrote a letter to Krehayn in order to hire him to introduce Conrad to the GDR readership (Joachim Krehayn (6 November 1962), SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 78r–79r). Klotz admitted that Aufbau-Verlag had neither a clear conception of Conrad, nor a detailed synopsis of Conrad’s life and works. She suggested that the reason might be because no one was engaged with Conrad at the time (neither in publishing nor at a university), and no one seemed to be willing to read through all of Conrad’s works. The aim of Aufbau-Verlag was to examine the most important works and to publish them in succession every two years. Krehayn later recalled that the Conrad edition for the GDR had to be synchronized with the publication plans for the new West German complete edition (Krehayn 1976, 93ff.). The first complete edition by Fischer was published in 1926–39; the second complete edition started publication in 1962 and was completed in 1984.40 The chaotic order of publication was as follows: ●

Lord Jim (published in 1962 by S. Fischer/published in 1963 by Aufbau-Verlag);

●

Victory (1962/1970);

38

In 1951, Krehayn had written his PhD on Henry James. He later wrote his thesis for the postdoctoral lecturer qualification on the reception of fiction from Great Britain and the USA in the GDR (Krehayn 1976). The book is a slightly revised version of a lecture he gave in August 1955. 39 Sigrid Klotz was possibly the wife of Günther Klotz, who had been the author of the first expert report in 1956. 40 The publication order of the new complete edition by S. Fischer changed due to the need to find new translators (the pre-war translations were deemed unsatisfactory) and due to complications with translation rights. (S. Fischer did not hold the rights for Typhoon and other stories, A Set of Six, Tales of Unrest and ’Twixt Land and Sea when planning the complete edition in 1959/60.) The schedule was also affected by the decreasing demand as reflected in sales figures on the one hand and the increasing lobbying of Conrad aficionados by letter on the other hand.

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The Secret Agent (1963/under scrutiny, but then postponed);

●

An Outcast of the Island + Almayer’s Folly (one volume: 1964/separately: 1968 and 1966);

●

The Rescue (1965/deemed not suitable);

●

The Arrow of Gold (1966/deemed not suitable);

●

Under Western Eyes (1967/under scrutiny, but then postponed);

●

Nostromo (1967/already published 1957 with the ‘old’ translation (1927));

●

The Rover (1969/deemed not suitable);

●

The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ + The Shadow-Line (one volume: 1971/separately: the former later with a new translation; The Shadow-Line in 1967 with the old translation (1926)).

Krehayn cites Bien’s approach as something which has to be superseded (when dealing with American and British authors from the twentieth century) by a new approach that used the methods of Marxism-Leninism to further the development of a socialistic national literature in the GDR (Krehayn 1976, 117). He produced an external expert report on Lord Jim (Joachim Krehayn (5 September 1962), BArch DR1/3959, 161–5), with his source of information and aid to orientation a Soviet encyclopaedia on English literature (Animisov 1958). Krehayn translated the relevant passages and sent a copy to Aufbau-Verlag as well (SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 23r–28r.). Günther Klotz wrote an external two-page review (Günther Klotz (13 September 1962), BArch DR1/3959, 106ff.). Both Krehayn’s and Klotz’s reviews were sent to the Ministry of Culture. As a result, the ministry seems to have approved the ‘restart’ of the Conrad complete edition. Lord Jim was finally issued in late 1963. The last paragraph of the first official afterword (by Krehayn) shows the way in which Conrad’s work has been reinterpreted for this new context: Conrad’s work was bourgeois-international. Because in him the individual reflects the social, the social abolishes the individual, his work is great. To leave it to the people of yesterday would be unforgivable. It is rather a question of appropriating its qualities for the treasury of world socialist culture so that this legacy may announce the overcoming of imperialist misery through art that gave Joseph Conrad’s romantic life’s work force and meaning as the adventurous struggle towards the self-assertion of a nation.41 Krehayn wrote afterwords for all the novels which were published by Aufbau-Verlag until the late 1970s: Almayer’s Folly (1966), An Outcast of the Islands (1968), Victory (1970) and The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1977).42 Through these afterwords, he developed a reading of Conrad

41

‘Conrads Werk war bürgerlich-international. Weil in ihm das Individuelle das Soziale widerspiegelt, das Soziale das Individuelle aufhebt, ist sein Werk groß. Es den Gestrigen zu überlassen wäre unverzeihlich. Es gilt vielmehr, seine Qualitäten für die Schatzkammer der sozialistischen Weltkultur kritisch anzueignen, damit dieses Erbe von der Überwindung der imperialistischen Misere durch die Kunst künde, die Joseph Conrads romantischem Lebenswerk als abenteuerlichem Bemühen um die Selbstbehauptung einer Nation Kraft und Sinn verlieh’ (Krehayn 1963, 416). 42 Krehayn 1966; Krehayn 1968; Krehayn 1970; Krehayn 1977.

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that profoundly shaped the GDR view of his work. For example, in ideological terms, he argued that Conrad wrote about ‘the failure of the citizen who, in his moral integrity, is powerlessly paralyzed by imperialist morality, since bourgeois education did not provide him with the means to fight or oppose this morality and its corresponding social phenomena’. As a result, ‘Conrad reveals the whole brutality of the antagonists rooted in imperialism, which is stronger than the individual’.43 The only option for the bourgeois citizen was to escape from society and from the real world into an exotic setting, embedded in naturalistic impressions. Other possibilities for the bourgeois citizen would not open up until the October Revolution in 1917 provided the chance to engage with the working class. But Conrad, he argued, could not evaluate those developments and turned his interest in the direction of anarchism. He had no power to develop a progressive Weltanschauung (philosophy of life); he merely criticized the individual (Krehayn 1963, 413). The bourgeois tradition had given its people a solid economic and cultural sovereignty for over 200 years; this elitist status was broken up with the beginning of capitalism and imperialism, the development of class conflict, the lust for power, ‘material interests’, and the ‘destruction of humanity by possessive thinking’ and the inhuman principles of trading companies (Krehayn 1968, 351, 356; Erich Fetter (16 August 1964), BArch, DR1/2091, 302, 305). ‘Typhoon’ was pledged to another publisher, who later became the second main publisher of Conrad: Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung (in short, Dieterich). The first and second editions were published under licence from S. Fischer Verlag without an afterword in 1965 and 1967. The third edition was published in 1975; it contained a new translation of the novella by Barbara Cramer-Neuhaus and an afterword by Günter Walch. ‘The Shadow-Line’ was released by yet another publisher: Reclam. Klaus-Udo Szudra, a member of the expert commission for English at the State Secretariat for Higher Education,44 wrote the afterword for the edition. Szudra links The Shadow-Line closely to Conrad’s life and discusses it in terms of a ‘prototypical borderline situation, the expression of Conrad’s belief in fate and, finally, the sombre atmosphere of solitude and isolation’.45 He also discusses Conrad’s values such as fidelity, emphasizing that, in spite of the ‘surrender of one’s own existence’,46 the individual still expresses ‘the private ethos of a noble, philanthropic conviction’47 within the objective reality of late-bourgeois England. According to Szudra, the main problem which Conrad addresses in this work is the preservation of self-esteem rather than the compulsion to self-assertion. Conrad’s publishers in the GDR can be divided into a number of categories. There are, first of all, publishers of fiction who focused on exile, anti-fascism and world literature (Aufbau-

43

‘[. . .] Scheitern des Bürgers, der in seiner sittlichen Lauterkeit der imperialistischen Moral machtlos gelähmt gegenübersteht, da ihm die bürgerliche Erziehung nicht das Rüstzeug mitgab, diese Moral und die ihr entsprechenden gesellschaftlichen Erscheinungen zu bekämpfen oder zu besiegen. [. . .] Conrad enthüllt die ganze Brutalität der im Imperialismus wurzelnden Gegenspieler, die stärker ist als der einzelne’ (Günther Klotz (13 September 1962), BArch, DR1/3959, 166ff.). 44 Fachkommission für Englisch beim Staatssekretariat für das Hoch- und Fachschulwesen. Szudra had written his PhD on Elizabeth Inchbald (1963) and the thesis for his postdoctoral lecturer qualification on the English novel in the nineteenth century (1974). He had also written a biography of W. M. Thackeray (Leipzig: Reclam, 1968). 45 ‘prototypische Grenzsituation, die Ausprägung des Conradschen Schicksalsglaubens und schließlich die düstere, von Einsamkeit und Vereinzelung kündende Stimmung’ (Szudra 1967, 139). 46 ‘Preisgabe der eigenen Existenz’ (Szudra 1967, 145). 47 ‘dem privaten Ethos einer edelmütigen, menschenfreundlichen Gesinnung’ (Szudra 1967, 145).

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Verlag, Berlin and Weimar) or those whose list centred on classics and world literature (Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, Leipzig; Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag, Leipzig and Weimar). Then there are publishers who had a good reputation because of a well-known book series (Insel-Verlag Anton Kippenberg, Leipzig; Verlag Philipp Reclam jun., Leipzig) or belonged to a political party (Union Verlag, Berlin). But there were also two publishers who specialized in children’s and young adult literature (Verlag Neues Leben, Berlin; Der Kinderbuchverlag, Berlin). They released a couple of Conrad’s narratives in anthologies. In the GDR, anthologies were a way of combining literary with programmatic and societalpolitical intentions and also a means of governmental control through propaganda and cultural political ideas, though they could also have an experimental or subversive character on the part of the publisher or editor (Häntzschel 2005, ix). Anthologies were ideally adapted to introducing young readers to literature within particular thematic frames. Thus, Conrad’s short fiction was included in anthologies of seafaring stories (‘Youth’, ‘The Black Mate’), adventure stories (‘The Black Mate’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘The Partner’) and also murder mysteries (‘The Informer’). Again, despite the framework of external reviewing, publishers’ decision-making and state officials’ approval, it could happen that a single short story was ‘accidentally’ published and distributed in the GDR. In one case, for example, the external reviewer disliked the inclusion of ‘The Informer’,48 but the editor overruled him.

1974–89: Günter Walch and new translations The GDR’s Intellectual Property Law initiated the next phase of Conrad’s reception in the GDR. From 1974 onwards, fifty years after the death of the author, Conrad was out of copyright.49 This opened up the chance for state officials to publish Conrad’s works with totally new translations, even where these books had been published years before with translations provided by S. Fischer Verlag.50 The works in question were ‘Typhoon’ (1975), The Shadow-Line

48

‘[. . .] “The Informer” by Conrad, a psychologically revealing sketch that does not fit into the collection because it deals with the problem of anarchism, not criminal crime (and even then from a now quite questionable position).’ ‘[. . .] wie auch “Der Spitzel” von Conrad, eine psychologisch sicherlich aufschlußreiche Skizze, die deshalb nicht in die Sammlung paßt, weil sie das Problem des Anarchismus, nicht des kriminellen Verbrechens behandelt (und dazu noch von einem heute recht fragwürdig gewordenen Standpunkt aus)’ (Karl Heinz Berger (4 December 1979), BArch, DR1/3555, 50). The publisher responded, ‘Here, we think Conrad has done nothing but use an historical phenomenon, anarchism, as a background and pretext for a psychologically very well-founded criminal case. And Conrad was important enough for us to be included in this collection.’ ‘Hier, meinen wir, hat Conrad nichts anderes getan, als eine Zeiterscheinung, eben den Anarchismus, als Hintergrund und Vorwand für einen psychologisch sehr gut fundierten Kriminalfall zu verwenden. Und Conrad war uns wichtig genug, in diese Sammlung aufgenommen zu werden’ (Manfred Hoffmann (1980), BArch, DR1/3555, 44). 49 ‘The protection of the rights of the author ends 50 years after his death (retention period). The 50-year period begins at the end of the calendar year in which the author died.’ ‘Der Schutz der Befugnisse des Urhebers endet 50 Jahre nach seinem Tode (Schutzfrist). Die 50-Jahr-Frist beginnt mit dem Ablauf des Kalenderjahres, in dem der Urheber verstorben ist.’ §33 Abs.1 URG [Urheberrechtsgesetz, Copyright Law]. 50 On 17 April 1974, Hans-Jürgen Schmitt (1938–), reader at S. Fischer Verlag in the early 1970s, asked in a letter to Fritz-Georg Voigt (1925–95), at that time editor-in-chief at Aufbau-Verlag and unofficial collaborator with the Stasi (Westdickenberg 2004, 42, 88), ‘Is it really worthwhile for you to translate the whole of Conrad anew?’ ‘Lohnt es sich den wirklich für Sie, den ganzen Conrad neu zu übersetzen?’ (SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 36r).

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(1980), Lord Jim (1981), Almayer’s Folly (1982), Nostromo (1983) and Victory (1985). One of the reviewers endorsed the new Lord Jim publication by making a specific contrast to the first release eighteen years earlier: ‘This novel will be submitted for the first time in an own translation for the GDR’ (Anselm Schlösser (1980), BArch, DR1/3476, 115a). Two novels were published for the first time in the GDR in totally new translations: Chance (1974) and The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1977, 1979). A translation of A Personal Record appeared in 1979 at Kiepenheuer Verlag. The GDR could not only adopt Conrad for its own purposes in terms of both political-ideological setting and the surrounding academic research, but also (officially) in terms of the language by creating new translations. In the first phase, the number of copies released at Aufbau-Verlag had usually been 10,000; in the second phase, the print run was increased to 15,000. The selection of each text was justified individually in a long-lasting process of expert evaluation. After Krehayn’s disappearance, a new external expert was acquired by Aufbau-Verlag: Günter Walch (1933–). Walch started to shape the picture of Conrad in the GDR anew. He had been Professor of English Literature at Humboldt University in Berlin and had produced his ‘Dissertation B’51 on English narration between 1880 and the First World War (Walch 1975).52 Walch developed a Marxist interpretation of Conrad’s works that claimed that the author had anticipated the new phase of development several years in advance, by which he meant that Conrad had anticipated Lenin’s fundamental analysis of imperialism (Walch 1979, 424). Walch wrote several external reviews and above all a whole series of afterwords, and his importance for Conradian studies in the GDR is often emphasized.53 He must have had access to up-todate literature from West Germany, because in a passage in his review on Nostromo (published in 1983) he quotes extensively the sources of the novel from the latest biography (by Frederick R. Karl), which was published in a German translation in Hamburg in the same year. In the case of the newly translated novels and the volumes of short stories conceived for a general adult readership, it becomes obvious from the corresponding afterwords and archival reports that the reviewers detected in Conrad’s works a dichotomy between elements that conformed to GDR requirements and elements that did not. This was expressed in relation to ideas about humanity and imperialism. Humanity was related to terms like loyalty, selfdiscipline, solidarity, daringness and the fulfilment of obligations. Following Lenin, imperialism was seen as the historic development after the phases of capitalism and later colonialism. Imperialism is related to the idea of possession and acquisition, eagerness for power, selfish thinking and a loss of humanity, all of which were condemned in GDR propaganda and communist thinking. The reviewers and translators of the 1970s and 1980s (as far as can be ascertained) either revealed close linkages to anti-fascism and socialist ideas or strong connections to the cultural sector. The translator Lore Krüger (1914–2009), for example, had been a German-Jewish resistance fighter against National Socialism, as well as a translator and photographer. She was

51

The ‘Dissertation B’ was a special type of academic qualification in the GDR to achieve the title of a Dr sc. Other scientific articles examining this topic are Walch 1970; Walch 1981b; Walch 1984; and Walch 1990. 53 ‘Overall, with this afterword Dr. Walch succeeded in making a weighty contribution to Conrad research in the GDR.’ ‘Insgesamt gesehen, ist Dr. Walch mit diesem Nachwort ein gewichtiger, neue Erkenntnisse einbringender Beitrag zur Conrad-Forschung der DDR gelungen’ (N.N. [publisher’s review] (1979), BArch, DR1/3476, 96). 52

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responsible for the translation of three novels: Chance, Nostromo and The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’. Günter Löffler (1921–) had been a foreign language teacher in Russian and English at the Philantropinum in Dessau, a progressive school based on the ideas of philanthropism. He was the translator of nine short stories: ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘The Black Mate’, ‘The Warrior’s Soul’, ‘Karain’, ‘The Lagoon’, ‘Prince Roman’, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ and ‘The Partner’. Barbara Cramer-Nauhaus (1927–2001), a freelance translator, was responsible for one short story: ‘Typhoon’. Carmen Janetzki (1956–), who became a teacher of English in adult education, translated the six short stories from A Set of Six. Irmgard Nickel (1919–), who also translated the works of Anatole France and Emile Zola from French, was responsible for three short stories: ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Falk’ and ‘Amy Foster’. Elli Berger, who had been the reader for Aufbau-Verlag and had supervised the publication of earlier Conrad editions, translated Lord Jim, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, A Personal Record, ‘Youth’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’. It is striking how many of these translators were women. The decision to publish new translations of Conrad’s works as soon as they were out of copyright might have been simply a financial consideration – a license to Fischer Verlag was more expensive than payment to a translator. In addition, however, their own translation could better serve the political-ideological interests of the GDR. On the one hand, the new translations could build on Conrad’s status as a writer of adventure and especially seafaring stories, but with precise nautical language. On the other hand, an attempt was made to set the fiction clearly within its time of origin – to make the reader aware of the distance between his/her reality in the GDR and the reality of the fictional work, which was normally set in the time of imperialism. Thus, in the translation of An Outpost of Progress, for example, ‘trading station’ is translated with the archaic word ‘Faktorei’ as well as its modern equivalent ‘Handelsniederlassung’. (It is ‘Handelsvertretung’ in the West-German translation.) Similarly, the translator uses the antiquated term ‘Agent’ instead of ‘Beamter der Handelsgesellschaft’ (officer of the trading station), ‘Vertreter einer Firma’ (representative of a firm) or ‘Handelsbeauftragter’ (delegate for trading) (Joachim Krehayn (12 June 1957), BArch DR1/3959, 125ff.). An example of a more precise use of nautical language can be found by comparing the different translations of ‘Typhoon’. The first and second edition had been published under licence from S. Fischer Verlag; the third imprint of the edition came up with a new GDR translation. The most obvious change in language can be seen in the translation of the following sentence: ‘The lamp wriggled in its gimbals’. This had been translated in the West German version in quite a loose manner: ‘Die Lampe wurde kräftig hin und her geworfen’ (The lamp was thrown back and forth vigorously). The GDR translation translated the sentence word-for-word using the correct nautical terminology: ‘Die Lampe schwang unruhig in ihren Kardanringen.’ Ernst Wagner, Conrad aficionado and sea captain, had denounced the West German translations as ‘mistreated and mutilated’ in a newspaper article in 1965 (cited in Förster 2005).54 The comparison of the eight translations of ‘Heart of Darkness’ and the three translations of Lord Jim confirm that Berger’s translation made in the GDR (1979) rendered the story very closely, preserving the impressionist style and perceptions of Marlow, thus emphasizing his experiences and feelings rather than just the story he is telling. Earlier translations (like both the S. Fischer Verlag 54

It is quite interesting to see that S. Fischer Verlag published a new edition of Lord Jim with a revised translation of the 1962 edition in 1986. In the imprint it is said that on this occasion the original translator Fritz Lorch (i.e. John Stickforth) was helped by the above mentioned Captain Ernst Wagner.

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translations) were guided by older conventions of narration using antiquated methods of stylistic arrangements. This method led to an estrangement of the original story (Czennia 1995a; Czennia 1995b; Czennia 2007; Lorenz 2017, 141–7).

1974–90: Conrad’s adolescent readership During the years 1974–90, the publisher Verlag Neues Leben started to publish translations of Conrad’s short stories as single volumes or within volumes containing a collection of stories. In this way, the dissemination of Conrad’s works amongst adolescents or juvenile readers was intensified. The publication of Conrad as a writer of adventure or seafaring stories for younger readers had already begun in the 1950s with the inclusion of a single short story by Conrad in a volume of stories by other authors.55 In his chapter in the current volume (and elsewhere), Beran recognizes a similar pattern as part of the Czechoslovakian reception of Conrad. He argues that this was part of a deliberate policy designed to reduce the status of Conrad to an author of juvenile fiction of adventure and exotic places in order to lessen his political influence. In the GDR, the Verlag Neues Leben specialized in books aimed at a juvenile readership. They accounted for their publication of Conrad as follows: ‘With this selection we want to introduce the young reader to Joseph Conrad and believe that these narratives are well suited due to their humanistic content and their exciting, psychologically profound arrangement.’56 The Verlag Neues Leben published five stories by Conrad in its series Das neue Abenteuer (The new adventure).57 The circulation of each twenty-eight-page volume amounted to an astonishing 155,000 copies! All the booklets had black-and-white illustrations (Förster 2013; Förster 2018, 97) and, as the series title suggests, the overall thematic framing is as adventure stories. Other foreign authors in the series were Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Allan Poe, Jules Verne, Mikhail Sholokhov, Jack London, James Aldridge, Leo Tolstoy, Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, Prosper Merimée, Robert Louis Stevenson, Stephen Crane, Wilkie Collins and Émile Zola. If there was an intention to reduce the status of Conrad to that of an author of adventure stories, there was also an aim to increase the standard of education of young people. Education was one of the key strands of GDR policy. Kindergarten and school were compulsory and free of charge; libraries, museums, theatres and other cultural resources to educate young people were promoted (and of course controlled). Adolescents were the future and only well-educated citizens could support the ideology of the state. Each and every author of distinction, and each

55 Joseph Conrad, ‘Jugend’ (‘Youth’), in Franz Fabian (ed.): Der Atem des Meeres: Seefahrergeschichten (The breath of the sea: mariner stories) (Weimar: Kiepenheuer, 1955), 235–79. 56 ‘Wir wollen mit dieser Auswahl Joseph Conrad dem jungen Leser vorstellen und glauben, daß sich diese Erzählungen durch ihren humanistischen Gehalt und der spannungsreichen, psychologisch tiefgründigen Gestaltungsweise gut dafür eignen’ (Renate Pape (6 February 1981), BArch, DR1/3557, 220). The same argument was used by the external expert Wolfgang Wicht, an academic teaching English at the University of Potsdam: ‘Due to their humanistic content and their exciting arrangement, the selected narratives appear to be very well suited as literature of high-quality for young people.’ ‘Die ausgewählten Erzählungen erscheinen durch ihren humanistischen Gehalt und durch ihre spannungsreiche Gestaltung sehr gut geeignet al seine hohen Ansprüchen genügende Literatur für Jugendliche’ (Wolfgang Wicht (22 October 1978), BArch, DR1/3556, 164). 57 ‘The Partner’ (1976), ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (1980), ‘The Black Mate’ (1982), ‘The Warrior’s Soul’ (1988) and ‘Amy Foster’ (1989).

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and every piece of world literature, was published by GDR publishing houses that specialized in a juvenile readership.

Never published in the GDR In July 1964, Erich Fetter wrote an expert report on The Rescue for Aufbau-Verlag (SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 12r–18r). He advised them against publishing the novel because rather than being an adventure story, the narrative was overwhelmed by the love story of Lingard and Mrs Travers, and their conversations remained on a level of constant ethical idealism. In addition, Fetter also criticized what he saw as Conrad’s use of imprecise terms and complained that too many irrelevant facts masked the essential things. Nevertheless, he felt that Conrad succeeded in making the character of Mr Travers accessible to the reader as a vain and snobbish white gentleman. But that did not change his overall impression of what he saw as a somewhat tedious story. Over a decade later, in June 1978, Fetter returned to Conrad, writing a review of three books containing German translations of some of Conrad’s short stories (Erich Fetter (26 June 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 42r–46r). In this review, he suggested that ‘To-morrow’ was ‘usable’. The next day, he wrote an expert report on ‘A Smile of Fortune’, recommending it for publication (Erich Fetter (27 June 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642: 47r–50r.).58 Shortly after that, he wrote a review of a selection of short stories published by S. Fischer Verlag in 1963: Geschichten der Unrast und 6 Erzählungen (containing Tales of Unrest and A Set of Six) (Erich Fetter (30 June 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, 51r–56r). Fetter suggested that ‘The Idiots’ could ‘possibly’ be published: ‘Hard-heartedness of a supposedly deep believer. The social background worked out well. However, very tormenting. Good character depictions.’59 He also recommended ‘The Return’ but with some reservations: In the self-centred monologues of the man and in the dialogues of the spouses it rises to the level of a super Strindberg, to an anticipation of Albee. [. . .] A psychologically accented novel with strong sociological outlines. Some reasons for moral deformity and this kind of gender struggle would be visible. Linguistically of a noticeably Jugendstillike ornamentation. This reduces the effect.60 Fetter also wrote a review of the first edition of a volume of short stories published by S. Fischer Verlag in 1959, its title borrowed from one of Conrad’s volumes of short stories: Geschichten vom Hörensagen (Tales of Hearsay). This edition had been released as a foretaste of the collected

58

There is no evidence it was ever published in the GDR. ‘Hartherzigkeit einer angeblich tief Gläubigen. Der soziale Hintergrund gut herausgearbeitet. Allerdings sehr quälend. Gute Charakteristik’ (Erich Fetter (30 June 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, 51r–56r; here: 52r). 60 ‘In den ichbezogenen Monologen des Mannes und in den Dialogen der Eheleute steigert es sich zu einem SuperStrindberg, zu einem vorweggenommenen Albee. [. . .] Eine psychologisch akzentuierte Novelle mit starken soziologischen Aufrissen. Einige Gründe für die sittliche Deformierung und diese Art von Geschlechterkampf warden sichtbar. Sprachlich von einer spürbar jugendstilhafen Ornamentik. Das mindert die Wirkung’ (Erich Fetter (30 June 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, 51r–56r; here: 52r–53r). 59

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edition that Fischer Verlag started publishing in 1962. To this end, the book contained a variety of short stories taken from different volumes. The review by Fetter is dated 4 July 1978 and marks Aufbau-Verlag’s interest in publishing its own volume of collected short stories. Fetter proposes several possibilities for a compilation at the end of his review (Erich Fetter (4 July 1978), SBB, Nachl. 553, 57r–68r): he recommends ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ for publication, most likely together with ‘A Smile of Fortune’. ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ seems ‘possible’, and ‘Because of the Dollars’ is strongly recommended. But Fetter rejects ‘The Planter of Malata’ and ‘The Tale’, which he feels were not well constructed. None of these stories, however, was published in the GDR, and Fetter’s different proposals for a collection of short stories within one volume were not realized by Aufbau-Verlag. Instead, a different compilation of short stories was chosen by Verlag Neues Leben and released for an adolescent readership.61 In the late 1970s, Aufbau-Verlag increased its efforts to publish Conrad’s works. A letter to a Mr Hoffmann at HVG reveals the ambitious, long-term plans: With the recent publication of eight novels or longer stories by Joseph Conrad, we [. . .] have acquired a right to continue maintaining the works of this author in our programme. The prospective planning of the heritage until 1985 has shown that several publishers want to devote more attention to this author. It should be remembered that all works of Conrad have to be translated anew by us, the fifty-year copyright term expired in 1974.62 Several expert reports and note files reveal more definite plans to publish works by Conrad. For example, there was a plan to release a collection of short stories (‘A Smile of Fortune’, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Because of the Dollars’) and possibly a second collection of short stories (‘Typhoon’, ‘The Lagoon’, ‘Karain’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘The Black Mate’, ‘The Brute’, ‘Falk’). These plans were never realized. Most probably AufbauVerlag abandoned the plan because Dieterich published two volumes of Conrad short stories in 1979 and 1980.63 Aufbau-Verlag was also considering the possibility of publishing The Secret Agent, The Arrow of Gold and The Rover. Günter Walch wrote an expert report on The Secret Agent in summer 1979,64 but might have suggested that the publication should be postponed to a later point in time, as the novel was listed as a future publication in the 1979 letter, but was still on a file note in 1986 (see below). Walch also wrote an expert report on The Arrow of Gold, recommending that it should not be published, noting the novel’s low critical reputation.65 He 61 Joseph Conrad, Der schwarze Steuermann und andere Erzählungen [The Black Mate and other stories] (Berlin: Verlag Neues Leben, 1981). 62 ‘Mit der bisherigen Veröffentlichung von acht Romanen oder längeren Erzählungen Joseph Conrads haben wir uns [. . .] ein Anrecht erworben, die Werke dieses Autors weiterhin in unserem Programm zu pflegen. Die PerspektivPlanung des Erbes bis 1985 hat gezeigt, dass verschiedene Verlage sich diesem Autor verstärkt zuwenden wollen. Dabei ist zu bedenken, daß alle Werke Conrads von uns neu übersetzt werden müssen, denn die fünfzigjährige Schutzfrist der Autorenrechte war 1974 abgelaufen’ (Helga Wendler, Aufbau-Verlag, in a letter to Mr Hoffmann, HVG (23 March 1979), SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 31r–32r; here: 31r). 63 The first volume contained translations of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘Youth’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’. The second volume brought together ‘The End of the Tether’, ‘The Secret Sharer’ and The Shadow-Line. As this suggests, the emphasis was on Conrad as a writer of the sea. 64 Unfortunately, the expert report could not be found in any archive. 65 ‘The “Arrow of Gold” is considered by many critics as Conrad’s weakest novel yet.’ ‘[D]er “Goldene Pfeil” wird von vielen Kritikern noch dazu als Conrads schwächster Roman angesehen’ (Walch 1975, 169).

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also suggested that M. Georges and Conrad were too close and that the relationship between M. Georges and Dona Rita lacked substance. The main character would have no political interest, and the novel was without inner tension. ‘The result is a novel in which personal problem solving, precisely because of its low success, can hardly be turned into communicable generalizations.’66 Walch also wrote an expert report on The Rover, dated 8 August 1979 (SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 69r–73r). Although he regarded this novel as of high quality, Walch recommended that its publication should be postponed and considered after the publication of other works by Conrad. A file note of 1986 listed the novel as being prepared for publication by Aufbau-Verlag within the next few years. However, once again, the reunification of Germany prevented this plan being carried out. Interestingly, Walch argues that the character of Scevola is problematic for a GDR readership: he suggests that Conrad transfers his understanding of anarchism and revolutionaries, derived from the 1880s in England, to the characters involved in the French Revolution. As a result, he observes, Scevola and other characters are depicted quite negatively. The important question, then, is whether readers can distinguish the differences between the revolution of 1789 (as part of the novel) and the revolution of 1917 and later. A notice of intention in 1986 shows that Aufbau-Verlag had plans to publish new translations of An Outcast of the Islands, The Secret Agent, Within the Tides (one short story would have come from Verlag Neues Leben) and, sometime later, The Rover. Other publishers also had plans to release work by Conrad. Under Western Eyes and Tales of Hearsay would have been published by Dieterich. The publisher Kiepenheuer-Verlag, who had published a translation of A Personal Record in 1979, planned – according to the file note from May 1986 – to ‘examine other autobiographical writings’ (SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 4r), which presumably meant The Mirror of the Sea (because ‘Weihe’ had already been published in West Germany) or, possibly, Notes on Life and Letters, which had been mentioned in an afterword. With the reunification of Germany, none of these plans were pursued and the story of the reception of Conrad on the GDR came to an end.

66

‘Im Ergebnis entsteht ein Roman, bei dem persönliche Problembewältigung gerade wegen ihres geringen Erfolgs zu wenig umschlägt in mitteilungswürdige Verallgemeinerung’ (Erich Fetter (25 August1979), SBB, Nachl. 553, A0642, 76r).

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CHAPTER 8 CONRAD TRANSLATIONS IN AUSTRIA AND SWITZERLAND Frank Förster

In 1929, a strange rumour was circulating in Swiss newspapers: it suggested that Joseph Conrad, the British seaman who became a world-famous novelist, was actually Swiss. The Neue Zürcher Zeitung reported this news with the astonishing description of him as ‘a Swiss who was Polish and became English’.1 There are some small points of contact between Conrad and Switzerland, but – all things considered – they remain minor biographical details. The details of the journey made by the fifteen-year-old Conrad with his tutor Adam Pulman from Poland via Vienna, Munich, Konstanz, Schaffhausen, Kefikon, Zurich, Lucerne, Furka Pass and Grimsel to Venice has been described by Conrad and repeated several times.2 Later in life, Conrad went to Geneva and its sanatorium at Champel-les-Bains on four occasions. In 1891, he spent almost a month at the Hôtel de la Roseraie, convalescing, undergoing hydrotherapy for the ill-health he was suffering after his experiences in the Congo, and working on chapter 7 of Almayer’s Folly. He returned for a month in 1894 for more hydrotherapy and started work on what became his second novel, An Outcast of the Islands. In 1895, he spent another month at the Hôtel de la Roseraie, seeking relief from ‘attacks of melancholy’ (CL1, 210–11) through hydrotherapy. In 1907, he moved his family from Montpellier to Geneva in search of a better climate for his older son, Borys, who had developed a lung infection. After several days at the Hôtel de la Poste, Conrad moved the whole family to the Hôtel de la Roseraie, where his sons (both of whom were now dangerously ill with whooping cough) could be isolated and Conrad himself could get water treatment for his gout, while revising The Secret Agent. In addition, as Paul Kirschner has shown, it was during this visit that Conrad probably found the name ‘Rasoumoff ’ and acquired the detailed topographical knowledge of Geneva that underlies Under Western Eyes (Kirschner 1992). After so many visits and with such different inputs into his fiction, it might not be so surprising that the Swiss consider Conrad as part of the family. By comparison, in 1868–9, Conrad lived in Lwów, which was the capital of Galicia when it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and in 1914 he travelled via Vienna on his journey to Poland, but there is no evidence (in relation to his publication history there) that either occasion left any permanent impression of an Austrian sense of a relationship to him. Nevertheless, the publication of Conrad’s works in both Austria and Switzerland (and his reception in both countries) reflects the sense of an ‘elective affinity’, to use the Goethean term used by Anthony Fothergill to describe Conrad’s reception in Germany (in his chapter in this volume). Thus, the publication of Conrad’s works was initiated mainly by Austrian and Swiss

1

Cf. Morf 1929. Morf is best known for his study The Polish Heritage of Joseph Conrad (London: 1930). The afterwords to the Swiss Conrad editions (Böhmer 1993) and even some Austrian newspapers (Böhmer 2003) recount these events.

2

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(German or French) aficionados who were full-time English language teachers, scholars, librarians or well-known authors. There was no editorial plan for a complete edition by a publisher in either country, apart from the comparatively recent attempt by Haffmans Verlag Zurich (1992–8), which published just six volumes in the end. But even this project to produce a complete ‘Zurich Edition’ can be subsumed under the heading of a personal interest in Conrad and an individual’s passionate love for his work.3 This truncated complete edition is thus in line with all the other Austrian and Swiss book publications of Conrad’s work, which either ended up as beautifully produced editions for bibliophiles or were issued as part of a series for young readers. A further significant characteristic might be the fact that Swiss publishing houses not only brought out new translations, but also bought licences to publish both West and East German translations. The lack of a complete edition in either Austria or Switzerland may thus be less surprising given that publishing houses from neighbouring countries issued significant complete editions: Austrian and Swiss libraries hold German, French and Italian Conrad translations from large publishing houses in Germany (Fischer Verlag, 1926–39 and 1962–84), France (Gallimard, 1982–92) and Italy (Bompiani, 1949–66). It is also significant that Austrian and Swiss newspapers have regularly printed reviews of those editions.4 A steady exchange involving French, German and Italian publishers also took place at book fairs. Thus, a distinct national reception history could hardly develop in either Austria or Switzerland. Indeed, when all the Conrad translations published in book form are added up, the result is rather sobering: there was only one book publication from Austria, while the nine publishing houses in Switzerland managed only twenty-three German translations and a handful of French book publications. The fact that there is only one Conrad translation published in book form in Austria might seem to testify against the idea of an ‘elective affinity’ for the author. Fritz Stockmann, a retired teacher of Latin, initiated a bilingual German–English/French series (Die doppelte Bibliothek, The Double Library) to be published by his own newly-founded publishing house. For his edition, he chose, as the first volume of his series, Amy Foster oder Der Schiffbrüchige: 4 Erzählungen (Amy Foster or The Castaway: 4 Tales) (Bad Vöslau, 2002), including a representative sample of short stories: ‘Amy Foster’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Youth’, and ‘Il Conde’. Stockmann himself was not only the editor, but also the translator of the published stories. This certainly suggests a strong personal interest in Conrad. The two main Swiss publishers (Manesse and Diogenes) each included Conrad’s works within existing series, and a number of single editions came out before the afore-mentioned attempt was made to produce a new complete edition of German translations with the assistance of distinguished translators from Switzerland and Germany. Manesse was a pioneer in the Swiss publishing of Conrad; Diogenes came to publishing Conrad after a number of other Swiss publishers had already entered the field.

3

‘Ich liebte diesen Autor über alles, und ich liebte diese kleine Geschichte über alles (beide Lieben haben die mehrjährige Zeit der Übersetzung überlebt).’ ‘I loved this author more than anything, and I loved this little story more than anything (both affinities survived the multi-year period of translation)’ (Hansen 1996, 123). 4 The following newspapers launched and celebrated numerous new volumes of the Fischer collected edition: Neue Zürcher Zeitung, Tages-Anzeiger Zürich, Der Landbote Winterthur (all Switzerland), Die Presse Wien, Arbeiter-Zeitung Wien, Salzburger Nachrichten, Wiener Zeitung and Oberösterreichische Nachrichten (all Austria). A vast collection of German-speaking newspaper articles and reviews have been published in Förster 2005.

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The Manesse Library of World Literature (Manesse Bibliothek der Weltliteratur) is a German-language book series produced by Manesse Verlag offering works of world literature. The publishing house was originally located in Zurich, and the series formed its flagship. The volumes were for the most part luxuriously produced with fine linen covers, gold embossing, thin printing paper, thread stitching and bookmarks. The volumes were each provided with an afterword by an author, literary critic or contemporary literary scholar. The series was started in 1944, when the company was first founded, and among the first publications was a volume consisting of a number of Conrad novellas and short stories. The volume was entitled Meistererzählungen (Master Stories, 1947) and was edited (and had new translations) by Fritz Güttinger (1907–92). Güttinger had studied English and German at the University of Zurich, gaining his PhD in 1938. As well as teaching English language in a school in Winterthur, he was a literary critic for the Neue Zürcher Zeitung and other papers. In 1944, he made his name as the translator of the first complete German edition of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. The composition of Meistererzählungen is, perhaps, rather strange: ‘Youth’, ‘Heart of Darkness’, and ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’. This odd assortment of texts, although they present Conrad as a writer of the sea and a writer of exotic locations, might be traced back to the scattered translation rights of Conrad’s titles at that time. The same probably holds true for the second Conrad volume published by Manesse in 1948. This brought together ‘Typhoon’, ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘ToMorrow’ in the translation by Elise Eckert. Although all three originally appeared together in the volume Typhoon and Other Stories, it is probably more important that these three translations had previously been published by Engelhorn (and not by Fischer Verlag). The next Conrad translation appeared in 1949, when Benvenuto Hauptmann (1900–65), the son of Gerhart Hauptmann (who had won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1912), with his second wife, translated and published Almayer’s Folly with Classen Verlag Zurich under the German title Almayers Traum (Almayer’s Dream). This had been the working title for the translation of this novel according to publication announcements in 1927–8 for Fischer’s first complete edition of Conrad’s works. Some years later it was actually published by Fischer Verlag under the title Almayers Wahn (Almayer’s Delusion) (cf. Förster 2005, 23). During the 1950s, three very different works were brought out by Verlag Sauerländer in Aarau, Switzerland. Sauerländer, which was founded in 1807, focused on publishing books for adolescents from the mid-twentieth century onwards and now published three short stories by Conrad in a series for young readers called ‘Juventus-Bücherei’. These were ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ (1951), ‘Youth’ (1955) and ‘Typhoon’ (1956). Richard Mummendey, a library scholar of German origin and later deputy director of the University Library in Bonn (Germany), was the translator for ‘Youth’.5 The choice of texts shows how Conrad could be packaged as an adventure writer for a ‘young adult’ readership. Diogenes Verlag Zurich, founded in 1930, is today one of the biggest book publishing houses in Switzerland. Its focus is on fiction and classics of world literature. In the 1970s, Diogenes published three Conrad books under license from the West German publisher S. Fischer (Lord Jim, The Secret Agent and ‘Heart of Darkness’). Surprisingly, their next Conrad volume, A Set of Six, which was published in 1989, was an East German translation.

5

For biographical details for Richard Mummendey, see https://www.deutsche-biographie.de/sfz67292.html.

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Interestingly, another Swiss publisher, Schibli-Doppler, located near Basel, had already followed this route: in 1986, they published the GDR translation of Victory, which had just been published by Dieterich Leipzig a year earlier in 1985. Schibli-Doppler described itself as an antiquarian and modern second-hand bookstore. Their publishing programme republished the GDR editions in the series ‘Sammlung Dieterich’. The reasons for this arrangement lay in the history of the Dieterich publishing house. This long-established publishing house, which had started in Gotha in 1752, had been split in two shortly after the Second World War into a western branch (first in Wiesbaden and later in Mainz) and an eastern branch in Leipzig. Although initially both branches followed the same publication programme, the West German branch ran into financial difficulties in 1955. As a result, the series and all publication rights of the western branch were sold to Carl Schünemann Verlag Bremen that continued publishing a West German ‘Sammlung Dieterich’ (including, for example, the GDR translation of Nostromo, which appeared in 1988). In the early 1980s, having had a minor publishing success with the series in West Germany, Schünemann Verlag entered into an arrangement with the Swiss antiquarian bookstore Schibli-Doppler to produce low-cost ‘special editions’ (Sonderausgaben): as with Carl Schünemann Verlag’s West German edition of Nostromo, the East German branch provided the translations secured by a license agreement (Links 2016, 232). Gerd Haffmans, who had been a reader at Diogenes Verlag, left the publishing house after a dispute with the editorial office of Diogenes and in 1982 founded his own publishing house: Haffmans Verlag Zurich. The editorial plan was to publish authors who were not found suitable for Diogenes. Another part of the editorial plan was to focus on new editions and new translations of classical authors. In 1992, Haffmans began to publish Conrad with newly translated individual volumes under the series title ‘Zurich Edition’. In order to bring this project to the public effectively, an earlier offer by the well-known Swiss author Urs Widmer (1938–2014) was seized upon. In a review in 1983, he had been very critical of the Fischer/ Diogenes translation of Lord Jim: ‘The book is so horribly badly translated that I offered to translate it again for the publisher; so far without response – I would like to inherit a publisher like Fischer one day. With such a neglected backlist, I would keep him on the go in a way no newly-founded publishing house can ever be persuaded to gallop.’6 A decade later, Widmer was contracted to translate ‘Heart of Darkness’ as the first volume of this new Conrad edition. In addition, the ‘Congo Diary’ and the ‘Up-river Book’ were, for the first time, published with it. (In a similar move, Haffmans’s new translation of Lord Jim was published with the report of the Maritime Court of Inquiry held at Aden into the abandonment of the SS Jeddah, the case that was one of Conrad’s sources, and press reports on the Jeddah case in German translation.) Urs Widmer also wrote a long and informative afterword to accompany his translation. Four years later he published his novel Im Kongo (In the Congo, Zurich, 1996), which has strong echoes of Conrad’s novella (Windisch 2007; Schenkel 2010, 456ff.). In order to make the ‘Zurich Edition’ stand out from earlier Conrad translations, the intention was to produce totally new translations, and these totally new translations are variously explained in the afterwords. Without doubt, the translators had a certain literary

6

‘Das Buch ist so grauenvoll schlecht übersetzt, daß ich dem Verlag angeboten habe, es neu zu übersetzen; bisher ohne Reaktion. – Ich möchte einmal einen Verlag wie Fischer erben. Mit einer so ungenutzten Backlist. Den würde ich auf Trab bringen, so wie man keinem neugegründeten Verlag jemals den Galopp einreden kann’ (Widmer 1983).

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renown and had chosen Conrad as someone close to their hearts; they had then approached the publisher with already finalized translations – an approach very different from that of previous German complete editions. Fischer had made the plans for the edition, had contacted translators where needed (some of whom were already members of the publisher’s staff ) and had then approached famous scholars or authors for further material. In the case of Haffmans, it was the other way round. It was the translators who came up with the idea of translating Conrad. Nikolaus Hansen, translator of Freya of the Seven Isles, gives two reasons for his involvement in the project. In the first place, there was his deep affection for Conrad and especially for this novella; and, secondly, there was what he describes as the uncategorizability of Conrad which has been turned into its opposite by German translators. Previous translations had displayed no doubt about the categories of good and bad, about right and wrong. These ‘old’ translations were not adequate, they were ‘too German’. In contrast, Hansen describes Conrad’s Freya as ‘a little masterpiece of what it means to be human [. . .] including all the uncertainties, all the doubts about our own actions, all our capacity for evil and all the destruction that comes with it when we fail with what we are’.7 In the end, each translator was simply drawn by the idea of getting closer to Conrad. The translators tried to ‘tear a hole, from time to time, in the costume of Victorian language’.8 Conrad had to use the linguistic formulations that were allowed at the time; his characters’ talk was not as ‘padded’ as it might seem. The translators wanted to do justice to this perception and to reproduce the texts in a more everyday German. Widmer’s version of ‘Heart of Darkness’ was reviewed as ‘a linguistic modernization [. . .] which does not avoid the argot’, the reviewer going on to add that ‘a new edition of this novella – according to Coppola – is also an endeavour against the tradition that has made Conrad a carelessly read textbook author’.9 To indicate the intention of modernization (and the renewal of Conrad’s texts in comparison to previous editions by other German publishers), the titles were partly changed: Almayers Wahn became his Luftschloss (Daydream), picking up another implication of the word ‘folly’. The translator sensed not only the meaning of ‘madness’ but also that of ‘a delightful fantasy’. This attempt to add another facet of meaning to the title fails in the case of another book: The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ became the Bimbo, a word with a very different meaning in today’s English. In German it was (and still is) a depreciatory term for people with dark skin (perhaps equivalent to the English ‘darky’), but in the 1990s it was also meant to sound like a colloquial term used by adolescents where, in addition to the basic racist meaning, it also had an inoffensive, flippant teasing element (Krege 1994, 217ff.). The ‘Zurich Edition’ consisted of six volumes: ‘Heart of Darkness’ (1992), Almayer’s Folly (1992), The Secret Agent (1993), The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1994), Freya of the Seven Isles (1996) and Lord Jim (1998) – six of the most important works by Conrad. Unfortunately, Haffmans Verlag had to file for bankruptcy, and the project remained unfinished. Nevertheless, since 1998, there have been a number of reprints of these translations as paperback editions by Piper Verlag Munich.

7

‘ein kleines Meisterwerk des Menschseins [. . .], inklusive aller Ungewißheiten, aller Zweifel am eigenen Tun, aller Fähigkeit zum Bösen und aller Vernichtung, die damit einhergeht, wenn wir mit unserem So-Sein scheitern’ (Hansen 1996, 124). 8 ‘man kommt Conrad näher, wenn man in sein viktorianisches Sprachkostüm ab und zu mal ein Luftloch reißt’ (Krege 1994, 217). 9 ‘eine sprachliche Modernisierung [. . .], die den Argot nicht vermeidet’ (Pfabigan 1993).

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Coda As a footnote to this footnote, it is perhaps worth noting a critical work on Conrad from Switzerland that broke into the international corpus of Conrad criticism. This was Werner Senn’s Conrad’s Narrative Voice, originally written as an ‘Habilitationsschrift’ in 1977. A revised version was published by Franke Verlag (in the series Swiss Studies in English) in 1980. Conrad’s Narrative Voice, which sets out with the aim of examining ‘certain aspects of Conrad’s literary language and style’ (Senn 1980, 7), begins with an analysis of Conrad’s adjectival style and his characteristic use of ‘negative adjectives’ (‘impenetrable’, ‘inconceivable’, ‘incomprehensible’), but, by the fourth chapter it has moved to Marlow’s first-person narration and the issues of perception and cognition. Chapter 5 considers how author, narrators and characters might all be described as physiognomists, actively engaged in the scrutiny of faces, and explores the related topic of the ‘expressive power of eyes and glances’ (Senn 1980, 75). Chapter 6 considers naming; chapter 7 explores Conrad’s use of modal expressions such as ‘as if ’ or ‘it seemed’; and chapter 8 addresses Conrad’s use of free indirect style. Thus, a work which had its roots in linguistic analysis moves into more general critical and narratological areas. It is also significant, in the context of the Swiss interest in Conrad, that the research project was supported by a grant from the Swiss National Science Foundation which enabled Senn to immerse himself for a year ‘in the sea of Conradian studies in the British Museum and elsewhere’ (Senn 1980, 6). This immersion is evidenced in the text and the bibliography that show extensive knowledge of Anglo-American stylistics, theories of fiction, and Conrad criticism. Although there is some reference to German-language scholarship, there is nothing specifically Swiss about the work: rather, it situates itself in (and is orientated towards) an international (Anglo-American) critical tradition.

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CHAPTER 9 THE ITALIAN TRANSLATIONS OF CONRAD Mario Curreli

Joseph Conrad’s name was never widely known in Italy during his lifetime, when his novels went almost completely unnoticed. In the wake of brief obituaries in leading Italian newspapers (one of them by the Calabrian novelist Corrado Alvaro),1 the publication of the first translations of his novels, either en feuilleton or in volume form, coincided with the writer’s death in August 1924. Before the First World War, only one article about him had been published – by the distinguished Florentine critic Carlo Placci (1861–1941). Born in London, and a prominent personality in the Anglo-Italian community of Florence that succeeded the generation of the Landors, the Trollopes and the Brownings, Carlo Placci was a renowned musicologist, a novelist of some note and a great traveller. Placci was introduced to Conrad’s work by Violet Paget (better known under her pseudonym, Vernon Lee) who lent him a first edition of Nostromo – ‘a book so interesting to Italians’, as she remarked in a letter to Conrad of 3 November 1909 (Stape and Knowles 1995, 70). Having long meditated on Conrad’s work, as shown by his manuscript notes in the Marucelliana Library of Florence, on 15 October 1911 Carlo Placci published a long piece in the influential Florentine journal Il Marzocco, where, although praising Conrad as the greatest living English novelist, he expressed reservations about the writer’s complex narrative technique, particularly about his use of time-shifts and multiple narrators. On 26 October 1911, thanking Placci for sending a copy of his article, Conrad added, ‘On the question of form there really is no defence to offer [. . .] What I am looking for is the effect of the living word [. . .] it is in the living word que l’on saisit le mieux la forme du rêve’ (CL4, 494). This was the second appearance of Conrad’s name in print in Italy. It is quite understandable that during the hectic war years the attention of Italian readers, writers and publishers would not have been focused on a contemporary author, still striving to be accepted in his own adoptive country. After the end of the Great War a third article was published, on 29 November 1919, in the Roman daily paper Il Tempo, by a well-known journalist and translator, Eugenio Giovannetti (1883–1951), who, quite enthusiastically, remarked that if Shakespeare were to return to life and write novels, the Bard would give us something similar to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’. Five more years elapsed before another article, the fourth on record, was written, on 19 April 1924, for the Rome right-wing paper L’Idea Nazionale by Henry Furst (born in New York in 1893; died in La Spezia in 1967). In his article, entitled ‘L’arte di Conrad’, Furst praised Lord Jim as one of the finest creations of world literature. To demonstrate this, since no Italian translations were yet available, Furst – an American Italophile of German descent, who had studied at Yale and Oxford, had been Gordon Craig’s secretary, Gabriele D’Annunzio’s political adviser, a

1

Alvaro 1995, 81–2.

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graduate in Belles Lettres from Padua University and a law student at the University of Rome – translated the final episode of Lord Jim into Italian and suggested that either this novel or Victory should be made known to the Italian public as supreme examples of Conrad’s greatness. On 12 August, in the same Rome newspaper, Furst published an obituary note, ‘Il poeta navigatore’, in which he claimed that Conrad’s chief merit had been to rescue narrative art from decadence and inject new life into the sea-novel tradition of Defoe, Smollett, Cooper, Marryat and Stevenson.2 What appears quite singular, in the initial period of Conrad’s reception in Italy, is that, before he died, the author seemed to be known only within the Anglo-Florentine circle of Carlo Placci, Vernon Lee and their friends, or to American exiles and emigrés, including Furst and, most notably, Gordon Craig and Ezra Pound.

The Italian translations of Conrad The first trace of a Conrad translation in Italy was found by Ugo Mursia in an advertisement of the Società Anonima Editoriale del Dr R. Quintieri in Milan. L’Italia che scrive (12 December 1920, 186) did indeed announce the intention to publish L’agente segreto (The Secret Agent) during the following year, but it does not appear that this work was ever published. Furst’s suggestion of making Conrad’s work available to Italian readers was therefore not taken up until a few years later, when La casa sul fiume grande, Lorenzo Gigli’s translation of Almayer’s Folly, began to be serialized, with illustrations by Emilio Sobrero, in the Turin weekly L’Illustrazione del Popolo, from issue 27 of 6 July 1924 to issue 52 of 21 December. Two brief editorial notes had previously appeared in issues 25 and 26, announcing ‘a novel of exotic adventures’ (22 June, 13) and an author ‘whose work in Italy is still almost ignored’ (29 June). It therefore seems likely if, as it seems, the postal services of the time were more efficient than those of today, that Conrad might have managed to see the opening pages of his first novel published in an Italian translation in a magazine that Giorgio Viola, the old Garibaldian from Nostromo, would not have minded leafing through when he was not absorbed in reading his Contraband Bible. This is how the first words of that translation offered to the Italian public ran: – Gaspare, la cena è pronta! Una nota acuta voce risvegliò bruscamente Almayer dal suo magnifico sogno, e lo richiamò alla realtà sgradevole e presente. Anche la voce era molto sgradevole. L’aveva intesa per molti anni quella voce, ed ogni annata gli dispiaceva di più. Non importa; tutto questo stava ormai per finire. Here the question immediately arises whether, in order to translate the ‘Kaspar! Makan!’ of the original, Gigli really knew the Malay language or was drawing on the French translation. In Geneviève Seligmann-Lui’s 1919 translation, La folie-Almayer, the original ‘Kaspar! Makan!’ is translated as ‘Gaspard! le souper est prêt!’

2

These articles on Conrad were collected by Furst’s widow, the writer and translator Orsola Nemi. See Furst 1970.

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The year 1928 was the annus mirabilis in the history of Conrad’s reception in Italy. Another enlarged edition of the Nuovissimo Melzi dedicated two lines to the ‘British prose writer, born in Ukraine, of a Polish family (Korzeniowski), a captain in the British merchant navy’. In the same year two Conrad translations appeared from Corticelli, Fino all’estremo (‘The End of the Tether’), translated by Giovanni Marcellini,3 and Sotto gli occhi dell’Occidente (Under Western Eyes), translated by Aldo Traverso; two more from Sonzogno: Il negro del Narciso (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’), translated by Baldi, and L’agente segreto (The Secret Agent); translated by Gastone Rossi; as well as a reissue, again from Sonzogno, of Cuore di tenebra (Heart of Darkness), translated by Alberto Carlo Rossi.4 Also in early 1928, Edizioni Alpes, a new Milanese publishing house headed by Arnaldo Mussolini, the Duce’s younger brother, not only published the travel book Penisola pentagonale by the already renowned Mario Praz and the novel Gli indifferenti (The Time of Indifference) by the newcomer Alberto Moravia (with a printing contribution of 5,000 lire), but also launched the Anglo-Polish writer in grand style. In the spring, the first titles, four in just a few weeks, of Joseph Conrad’s Opere (Works) came out: handsome octavo volumes in paperback with twocolour illustrations by U. C. Veneziani on the cover and a photographic portrait of the writer on the title page. These were Nostromo, in Vittorio Caselli’s version (the first of ten different Italian translations that have appeared to date) and Domani e altri racconti (‘Tomorrow and other stories’), translated by Lorenzo Gigli (who, as we have seen, had already tried his hand at Almayer’s Folly).5 This was followed by the work written in collaboration with Ford Madox Hueffer, Romanzo (Romance), published on 10 March, also translated by Caselli, and L’agente segreto (the first of eleven Italian translations of this work to date), published on 10 April in the version by Lula Jahn.6 A publicity leaflet announced that these works were being ‘published entirely in translation [sic] literarily and typographically accurate’ and went on to introduce the author, whose ‘Slavic mystical and visionary realism, his adventurous life, his cult of duty, his dignified outlook on life, his vast culture, the English language an admirable tool in his hands, are the constitutive elements of Joseph Conrad’s art’. Angelo Rizzoli and Valentino Bompiani tried to remedy the situation of inaccurate translations, made by translators with insufficient knowledge of the English language, who often translated from French rather than the original English, and the resulting undervaluation of Conrad’s work. The former provided new translations, at very low prices, of half a dozen of Conrad’s most important titles in BUR, that is, in the first austere Italian series of cheap paperbacks, which conquered or even created vast categories of new readers. The latter, after having meritoriously introduced the Italians to new Hungarian, English and American fiction – from Kormendi to Cronin and Steinbeck – willingly agreed to the proposal of the poet and critic Piero Bigongiari, whom he met in Florence in May 1945, to coordinate a group of translators to

3

Marcellini had written to Conrad on 11 June 1924 proposing to translate Almayer’s Folly and some tales from A Set of Six and Within the Tides (Curreli 2015, 11–12). 4 This was first published in 1924 (Milan: Bottega di Poesia), the first Conrad work to appear in Italy in book form. It was reissued with minor revisions to the translation by Sonzogno in 1928. ‘Karain’, translated by Gastone Rossi, was added to this edition without notice on the cover. See Curreli 2009, 189. 5 In 1937, with Oggi si vola (Pylon), Gigli would also be the first translator of Faulkner in Italy. 6 Gastone Rossi’s translation for Sonzongo was published later in the year (15 June 1928); see Curreli 2009, 207.

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work on a worthy and ambitious enterprise: the collection of Conrad’s complete works. This is how the Milanese publisher remembered the young Tuscan intellectual to whom he had entrusted the task of editor: Piero Bigongiari: He has come out of a 16th-century painting. His face is open to the elements. He proposes all the works of Joseph Conrad in exemplary translations, with introductions by the major writers, philologically edited by him. Yes, that was my idea. He also has the right face for the job. Bompiani 1988 The elegant Bompiani edition – in twenty-four volumes, but twenty-two actual tomes, bound in full blue cloth with gilt titles on the spine – which was intended to come out on the occasion of the centenary of the writer’s birth, in 1957, was instead completed over a much longer period of time: from 1949 to 1966. On the one hand, it had the undoubted merit of promoting Conrad, not least ‘visually’, to the rank of a classic, and of offering, as introductions, a large number of essays by European and American writers and critics – from Galsworthy to Gide, from James to Mencken, from Thomas Mann to Virginia Woolf, from Leavis to Cecchi – but, on the other hand, it also had a serious limitation: that of having included, unrevised, many of the pre-war translations that were by then completely unreadable. Published between the end of the 1920s and the beginning of the 1940s, and usually derived from (or distorted by) French versions that were themselves imperfect, these old, unreliable translations, in which the difficulties of interpretation had been tacitly circumvented by means of omissions and macroscopic cuts, appeared alongside new translations, which had frequently been entrusted by Bompiani and Bigongiari to non-specialists of widely varying artistic characters, with their own linguistic tics and particular stylistic features. Furthermore, during the war, with the libraries closed and enormous difficulties with communication, the Bompiani literary editorial staff had been displaced to Fiesole, where about fifty people worked on the Dizionario delle opere e dei personaggi (Dictionary of Works and Personalities), with the only advantage, as the publisher observed, that the intellectuals were all unemployed and available for any work. Some of these would-be translators were actually novelists, critics and poets – all imbued with French rather than English language and culture – who frequented, along with Luzi and Gatto, Parronchi and Montale, Betocchi and Landolfi, Berti and Vittorini, the editorial offices of Solaria and Letteratura, the historic Gabinetto Vieusseux, the welcoming Seeber bookshop, the tables of Caffè Gilli or those of the Giubbe Rosse (with a summer annex by the fourth plane tree of Caffè Roma in Forte dei Marmi), and on Wednesday evenings they would meet up with Rosai, Morandi, Carrà or De Chirico for dinner at the Antico Fattore tavern. Immediately after the war, Dylan Thomas was briefly admitted to that circle ‘of the young intellectuals of Florence, who are rarified and damp: they do not write much but oh how they edit. They live with their mothers, ride motor-scooters, and translate Apollinaire’ (Thomas 1966, 307–16). The translators of this edition – Giovanni Fletzer, Camillo Pellizzi, Francesco Arcangeli, Marcella Bonsanti, Mario Colombi Guidotti and Giorgio Zampa, along with Piero Jahier, Margherita Guidacci and Carlo Emilio Gadda – at best imprinted uneven or excessively personalized stylistic transformations on their translations, which were aimed at a middle-tohighbrow readership. At worst, they infused Conrad’s text with anacoluthic syntax and 154

The Italian Translations of Conrad

Tuscanisms that were weak translations, when not decidedly out of place, coining, for example, the playful augmentative ‘inciampicone’, which, in Luigi Biagi’s poor translation of The Arrow of Gold, is used to translate ‘stumble’. There were also some actual errors, derived from French translations, which, as we have seen, were often just as bad, with excessively marked divergences between source and target languages and with very different stylistic and interpretative results. Gadda himself, well aware of the situation, wrote to his secret collaborator (Lucia Rodocanachi, who also provided other famous authors with ready-made translations) on 10 September 1956, ‘The usual English translations are full of gibberish [. . .] perhaps due to an error in [. . .] the French’ (Gadda 1983). A few years after the death of Ugo Mursia, with whom I collaborated on many Conradian endeavours, the publisher Valentino Bompiani asked me to review some of the old translations of the series directed by Piero Bigongiari, since he intended to reprint them in his Classics series. The agreement was to see whether, in order to republish them thirty or forty years after their first appearance, a simple revision and updating would suffice or whether they would need a more extensive, if not total, overhaul. And so it was that I weeded out the dross from some of those translations, as well as the tenacious encrustation of typos, perpetuated in the various reprints; while other versions, by now absolutely unusable, had instead to be completely redone, to the extent that the name of the old translator had to be removed. Only two so-called ‘author’s versions’ remained practically intact: Carlo Emilio Gadda’s The Secret Agent, published in 1953 and included in 1995 as it was, by the publisher’s decision, in the second volume of Conrad’s Works I edited in the Bompiani Classics; and Margherita Guidacci’s Chance (Destino), which appeared in August 1961, reprinted with editorial bio-bibliographical notes in Tascabili Bompiani in October 1978 and reissued, by me, in Grandi Tascabili Bompiani in March 1993, just nine months after the death of the translator, the Tuscan American teacher and poet. For an overview of this publisher’s decision, let us take some examples from the version of The Secret Agent which appeared under the name of Carlo Emilio Gadda and was published by Bompiani in 1953. Far from showing the characteristic linguistic inventions, the singular mixtures, the heaps of augmentative, diminutive, pejorative suffixes typical of Gadda in his 1957 novel Il Pasticciaccio (That Awful Mess on Via Merulan) and elsewhere, or from offering original stylistic solutions, what stands out is its poor knowledge of English, both on the part of the translator and (if there was one) of the proofreader. For example, when we read in Gadda’s translation that the London coachmen wear ‘i grossi berretti di pelliccia’ (L’agente segreto, 295) (large fur caps), it may not seem a mistranslation; but if we check the original and see that it speaks instead of people ‘sitting motionless under the big fur capes’ (SA, 225), we instantly understand how capes (‘cloaks’) has been mistaken for caps (‘bonnets’) and has produced ‘berretti’. It is evident that we are not dealing here with technical terms or particularly difficult expressions, nor with literary embellishments, but rather with odd misreadings of the original, which always seem to be lying in wait, leading to several instances of misunderstanding. This is what often happens in Gadda’s version, with its typos and subtle oversights which therefore go unnoticed, as when a capital ‘A’ is used instead of Δ to indicate Agent Delta (SA, 27); or a code name becomes Prozov instead of the correct Prozor (SA, 295); or when Mr Vladimir’s lips seem to be made to ‘preferire quei delicati motti di spirito’ (‘prefer those delicate witticisms’; L’agente segreto, 55), instead of ‘proferire’ (‘utter’) (the original actually reads ‘the utterance of those delicate witticisms’ (SA, 24); or ‘scadendo le sillabe’ (L’agente segreto, 262) (expiring the 155

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syllable) for ‘scandendo’ (scanning the syllable); or ‘La poltrona dell’ex-galeotto ricevette indignata una tale asserzione’ (L’agente segreto, 292) (The armchair of the ex-convict received such an assertion with indignation), where, instead of poltrona (armchair), what is meant is ‘patrona’, that is, the ‘patroness of the ex-convict’ (SA, 223), the wealthy lady ‘protector’ of Michaelis. Sylvère Monod has pointed out how Jean-Aubry made a similar mistake when, in his translation of The Arrow of Gold, in the scene of the meeting between M. George and the Marquis de Villarel, he makes the latter make ‘un léger mouvement sur son siège qui en craqua d’impatience’ (La flèche d’or, 270), but in the original text we read that the Marquis ‘made a slight movement in his chair which smacked of impatience’ (251) (Monod 1992). The error (consisting of confusing smacked with cracked) transfers the gesture of impatience from a person to a piece of furniture. Intertextuality poses another problem. Obviously, we do not expect Gadda (or his ghost translator) to know how to recognize certain intertextual references; however, these should not escape the notice of the general editor of the series, nor that of a competent editorial staff. For example, when Mr Verloc greedily pounces on the cold roast prepared for him by his wife, ‘The piece of roast beef, laid out in the likeness of funereal baked meats for Stevie’s obsequies’ (SA, 253), the meaning of the phrase is misunderstood in Gadda’s translation: ‘Il pezzo d’arrosto che era rimasto sulla tavola, quasi un banchetto funebre per l’esequie di Stevie’ (L’agente segreto, 327) (The piece of roast that had been left on the table, like a funeral banquet for Stevie’s obsequies). It is not in fact a ‘piece of roast’ but a whole roast, and not left over but prepared and laid out by Winnie. In addition, the phrase is an echo of the well-known lines ‘The funeral bak’d meats / Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables’ in the second scene of Act 1 of Hamlet (lines 180–1), the sad and sarcastic remark of the pale Prince of Denmark. And that same ‘sharp carving knife’ – with which the secret agent cuts himself ‘thick slices’ – should also have reminded the translator of the sharp knife Tess of the d’Urbervilles made identical use of, for and on the treacherous Alec. But Gadda, who misses certain intertextual references, merely passes on to the editor the material passed on to him by his secret collaborator. In the next paragraph, Gadda (or the person who ‘rinsed his clothes in the Arno’) brings to the secret agent’s ear ‘il rumore dell’impannata che si abbassava lentamente’ (L’agente segreto, 327) (the sound of the impannata slowly lowering), where the impannata was the frame on which, in ancient times, in poorer houses, cloth or paper panels were applied (in Tuscany, even the scuretti (window shutters) were called ‘le impannate’). Here, however, in the upstairs room, where Winnie moved silently, Verloc ‘heard the sash being lowered slowly’ (SA, 253), that is, he heard the typical vertically sliding English window, or guillotine window, of Victorian houses, which were also glazed, being lowered. And how can we fail to smile at the ‘traballon traballoni’ progress of the carriage taking Winnie’s elderly mother to the hospice (L’agente segreto, 213)? Here we pass from the pedestrian re-expressions of idiomatic expressions that we find elsewhere in this translation to excessively free and creative variations, drawn, not without irony, from the spoken language, from the vernacular. Moreover, in the original (‘It rolled, too, however’ (SA, 157)) there is no trace of these odd iterative structures, such as ‘trotterellon trotterelloni’, which are typically Tuscan in their expressiveness. Gadda might have been more at ease if Bigongiari and Bompiani had entrusted him with the translation of some maritime tales. The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, for example, with its 156

The Italian Translations of Conrad

combination of technicalities and a tangle of dialects, would certainly have given him the opportunity to experiment with linguistic pastiches more suited to him. One of the strengths of the Mursia edition – which, compared to the Bompiani edition, came out in a much shorter time span of fifteen years, or even only ten (1967–77) if we consider only the four volumes of the narrative works – was the fact that all the translations, made by a small number of selected collaborators, had been scrupulously revised and standardized by Ugo Mursia himself. His perfect symbiosis with the expressive style of the Anglo-Polish writer and his concern for the greatest possible fidelity to the rhythms of his prose gave for the first time to thousands of translated pages a level of homogeneity, as well as an adherence to the original diction never previously achieved, to say nothing of his absolute competence in maritime terminology. Forty years ago, from the hundreds of different translations listed by Ugo Mursia in his inventory of 1968, one could deduce that the most translated Conrad titles were the following: New translations

Reissued in different series

Total

Typhoon

9

3

12

‘The Secret Sharer’

7

3

10

The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’

6

4+1 plagiarized version

11

‘Youth’

8

1

9

Almayer’s Folly

7

2

9

Lord Jim

6

1+1 condensed version

8

The Shadow-Line

5

3

8

The Secret Agent

5

2

7

‘Tomorrow’

6

0

6

Updating this list to 1982 in Ugo Mursia’s Scritti conradiani, I reported a 50 per cent increase in new translations (not just reprints or new impressions) (Mursia and Currelli 1982). Today, the number of versions of Conradian texts has almost quadrupled and continues to grow, with an average of a dozen different translations (excluding reprints) for each title, almost as if to justify Benjamin’s axiom that the classics must continue to be translated. The most interesting aspect, however, is that in the wake of Mursia’s and Prinzhofer’s highly accurate work, we are also finally seeing editions in which introductions of considerable originality and insight – by specialists such as Marenco and Serpieri, Sertoli and Cianci, Binni, Domenichelli and Pagetti – are accompanied by valuable new translations. Some of them, such as those by Luisa Saraval, Marialuisa Bignami, Flavia Marenco or Dacia Maraini, are of an excellent interpretative level: almost as if to prove that women often translate better, perhaps also because, as they do not usually have to support a family with a poorly paid job, they can linger on the texts, filing them down and refining them with care. As Dacia Maraini observed when introducing her version of ‘The Secret Sharer’: Among other things, the art of translation suits women for historical reasons. It is no coincidence that the majority of the world’s translators are women: people who do their 157

The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe

best, in a motherly way, for a price that is always too low, to transfer their child from one language to another, from one imaginary world to another, as if from one cradle to another, always making sure that the ‘baby’ is well fed, well washed and well covered. And here are the Conradian works that are most popular with us today, most of them by female translators: New translations

Reissued in different series

Total

Typhoon

12

51

63

Heart of Darkness

20

33

53

The Shadow-Line

12

22+1 plagiarized version

35

‘The Secret Sharer’

13

21

34

Lord Jim

14

17+1 condensed version

32

The Secret Agent

11

14

25

Nostromo

11

10–1 condensed version

22

‘The Duel’

7

10

17

10

3

13

Victory

A comparison of the tables confirms the continuing placing of Typhoon in first place, and the stability of the popularity of ‘The Secret Sharer’, Lord Jim and The Shadow-Line; but what stands out, above all, is the rediscovery of Nostromo and the remarkable success of Heart of Darkness. This latter is due not so much to its cinematic associations as to a wide range of multidisciplinary critical approaches that have explored and revealed a multitude of facets of this extraordinary novella. The loss of interest in The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ is, however, more apparent than real, as the novel has been reprinted again and again, albeit in reprints of old, inadequate translations. Looking at these data, one can see the vigorous impulse given to the reception of Conrad in Italy by the Mursia edition, whose volumes were received with unanimous praise by the public, the most prestigious publications and the most authoritative commentators: from Salvatore Rosati to Gabriele Baldini, from Agostino Lombardo to Remo Ceserani, from Sergio Perosa to Italo Calvino. In addition, it is only over the last three or four decades that some Italian translations have been provided with top-quality introductory essays and notes, as in the case of Franco Marenco’s introductions to Mursia’s collected edition – or to his 1993 Einaudi edition of The Shadow-Line – as well as Alessandro Serpieri’s introduction to ‘Falk’ for Marsilio (1994) and Giuseppe Sertoli’s Cuore di tenebra (Heart of Darkness) for Einaudi (1999). However, a discrepancy between the high number of translations and the small number of first-rate critical introductions is quite striking. Other paratextual material often comes under severe strictures, as when, for instance, in Rizzoli’s frequently reprinted translation of Nostromo, the compiler of the glossary of foreign expressions, having mistaken the word ‘pedlar’ for a Spanish term in the phrase ‘pedlar of the campo’, complains of not having been able to find this word in a Spanish dictionary. The glosses of ‘hombre di muchos dientes’, or ‘peine de oro’ and ‘Rubiacita’, are also

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ridiculously inadequate in this as in other cheap editions (not only in Italian, though), giving ample evidence of the compiler’s ignorance of the matters under discussion. On the other hand, Conrad’s impact on contemporary Italian writers, such as Giuseppe Berto, Raffaello Brignetti, Italo Calvino, Ennio Flaiano, Cesare Pavese, Primo Levi and so on is further demonstrated by Alberto Moravia, who wrote a preface to Lord Jim in 1983 and dedicated to Conrad a chapter of his Lettere dal Sahara (1981) as well as one of his 1987 Passeggiate Africane, introduced by Daicia Maraini. The latter, a distinguished novelist herself, in addition to a number of articles on Conrad, in 1996 provided readers with a brilliant translation of ‘The Secret Sharer’ (‘Il compagno segreto’). The keen interest in Conrad of all these novelists is further confirmation of his enduring appeal for contemporary Italian readers.

159

160

CHAPTER 10 ‘THE BATTLE FOR CONRAD’ INSIDE AND OUTSIDE ITALIAN ACADEMIA IN THE YEARS 19241960 Richard Ambrosini

The story of Joseph Conrad’s reception in Italy from the 1920s through to the 1950s is dense with history, local cultural traditions, politics and the upholding of humanistic values – in other words, it is a typically Italian story. Academia played a relatively small part in it: the seminal essay on Conrad written by an Italian predates by ten years the official foundation of English Studies in Italy; the main protagonists in the dissemination of Conrad’s texts were two upscale commercial publishers in Milan and two editors working for a third publisher in Turin; the messages that contributed to shaping Conrad’s image in Italian culture were framed having in mind not university students but an intellectual élite, il pubblico colto, which during this period lived through dictatorship, a war that turned into a terrible civil war and – after the Liberation – the excitement of what was felt to be a political and cultural rebirth. Precisely for this reason, it is possible to view this story as a cultural phenomenon that reveals a number of cultural traits peculiar to Italian literary culture; some of these cultural traits, it will be argued in this chapter, are still relevant to Conrad studies today. It is perhaps impossible to say whether these cultural traits can explain why Italy is the only country in the non-Anglophone world that can boast two collected editions of Conrad’s works, the 1949–66 Bompiani edition, in twenty-four beautifully produced volumes, and the 1967–82 Mursia edition, in five volumes. Ultimately, this protracted effort, which involved commissioning new or revised translations accompanied by critical apparatuses of the highest quality, reflects the entrepreneurial spirit shown by the two publishers, Valentino Bompiani (1898–1992) and Ugo Mursia (1916–82).1 An attempt can be made, however, at setting into an historical perspective the key moment in this story, when Valentino Bompiani in the spring of 1945, with the war barely over, decided to put his money behind the idea that, in the case of Conrad, and of Conrad only, a foreign author’s works had to be brought to the general public not only in their entirety but with what at the time was a self-consciously scholarly edition, in which Chance was introduced by Henry James’s 1914 review of that novel or Conrad’s essays by E. M. Forster’s 1921 review of Notes on Life and Letters. Thanks to articles and reviews which appeared in a number of excellent literary journals and in daily newspapers the Italian pubblico colto – as Bompiani knew, having founded his publishing house in 1929 – were well informed about contemporary British and American authors even without having had a chance to read them other than in bad versions of French

1

The Ugo Mursia edition aimed at improving the philological quality of earlier Italian translations of Conrad, a goal eventually achieved thanks to Mario Curreli, who re-edited for Mursia and, later, Bompiani several Conrad texts which had originally appeared in both collected editions.

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translations. And this for a number of reasons, which had nothing to do with Fascist censorship. Until then, Italian culture had never shown a particular interest in English literature – with the notable exception of two authors: Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott (Praz 1948, 188). Even those few who wished to learn the language were discouraged by the fact that there were almost no English books available in the country: to the point that when, in 1918, the Minister of Public Education, Agostino Berenini, instituted university chairs of English no candidates applied (Cattaneo 2007, 2–3). And certainly in the humanities faculties, where French literature scholars ruled the roost, no one was in a rush to make room for a new discipline. When the professor of English Philology at the University of Rome ‘La Sapienza’, Federico Garlanda,2 died in 1913, the doyen of French Studies there, Cesare De Lollis, gave a public eulogy awash with crocodile tears; alas, he declared, English was relegated ‘to the extreme periphery of university disciplines’, but if this was the case it was because, he explained, unlike, say, French, German or Russian critics, their English colleagues were incapable of recognizing ‘Beauty unless in those cases in which it is also morally uplifting’ (De Lollis 1914, 240–1). No wonder that Garlanda’s chair remained vacant and the Sanskrit professor, Carlo Formichi, was asked to take over his presumably minuscule teaching load. Obviously, the ‘Facoltà di Lettere’ of ‘La Sapienza’ had taken seriously Kipling’s rhetorical question, ‘And what should they know of England who only England know?’ (Kipling 1891). Things started changing when Mussolini came to power in 1922 and his formidable Minister of Public Education, the philosopher Giovanni Gentile, made sure that an anglista3 was among the recipients of the ministerial scholarships assigned to graduates who intended to study abroad. (These were awarded by a committee which included also De Lollis and Formichi.) The winner, and it couldn’t have been otherwise, had recently turned into an anglista only for lack of better opportunities. His name was Mario Praz (1896–1982); he was Florentine and he held a degree (cum lauda) in International Law and another one, without lauda, in Italian literature, on the language of Gabriele D’Annunzio. His professors didn’t dare publish his thesis for fear of offending the great poet – who was just then becoming an icon of the Fascist regime – and his supervisor, having heard that he had befriended a number of English aristocratic ex-pats, suggested that he should try translating some English poems and maybe write an article or two. It was the kiss of death to his academic ambitions, but fortunately for him outside the universities there were signs of a new interest in foreign literature in the journals which started appearing on the literary scene. In particular, he attracted the attention of another Florentine, Emilio Cecchi (1884–1966), a self-educated writer from a working-class background who, perhaps because he couldn’t aspire to a university chair, had chosen to venture into the undiscovered country of English literature, publishing in 1915 a History of 19th-century English Literature – in fact, a study of the romantics. Cecchi was to become one of the foremost Italian men of letters of the first half of the twentieth century, eventually proving that it was possible to write both as ‘the most self-confident prose artist in Italy after D’Annunzio’ (Binni 1951, 205),4

2 After graduating in classical philology at the University of Turin, Federico Garlanda (1857–1913) left for New York where he lived for several years, learning English and eventually writing several books on the English language and American economy and society, which earned him a professorship of English Philology at the University of Rome. He then opted for a parliamentary career. After being defeated by a socialist opponent, Garlanda returned to La Sapienza. 3 This is the Italian term used for English language and literature scholars. 4 On Cecchi, see Cattaneo 2007, 31–4.

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‘The Battle For Conrad’ Inside and Outside Italian Academia in the Years 1924–1960

contributing beautiful essays to the major avant-garde literary journals of the time – such as La Ronda – and as a journalist working, for example, as the London correspondent of La Tribuna in 1918–19 and the Rome correspondent of the Manchester Guardian from 1919 to 1925. Once in London, Praz got down to work on seventeenth-century English poetry and in particular on Richard Crashaw because, as he explained in his first report to the minister, a study of this poet ‘presented numerous advantages for an Italian, since Crashaw was initially inspired by the religious poetry of [Giambattista] Marino’ (Praz 1983, 185). (From the very start, Praz conceived of the discipline he was to found, Anglistica, as an essentially comparative enterprise.) On 18 September 1923, however, he was forced to tear himself away from his beloved seventeenth-century poets when Emilio Cecchi wrote to him asking him ‘[a] small favor’: ‘when you next go to the “British Museum” could you please write down on a sheet of paper a bibliography of all the volumes published on Joseph Conrad?’ (Praz, 1985, 65). The request perhaps did not come as a surprise, since Cecchi must have told Praz that four years earlier he had written to Conrad seeking permission to translate one of his latest short stories or one of his novels for La Ronda, ‘which represents the best of young literature in Italy’, convinced as he was, he explained, that it would be ‘impossible to give a true representation of English prose today without something of yours’. This letter, discovered by Mario Curreli, is of crucial importance in the story of Conrad’s reception, since it documents how Cecchi envisaged the dissemination of Conrad’s works in Italy as an important act of cultural mediation based on the special position assigned to the Anglo-Polish author within contemporary English literature and aimed at a select readership. Conrad later informed his agent, J. B. Pinker, that he had replied to Cecchi suggesting he could translate ‘The Tale’, but nothing must have come of the project ‘since no work of his ever appeared in La Ronda’ (Curreli 2009, 35–7). Three weeks later Cecchi published a feature article on Conrad in La Tribuna and sent a copy to Conrad, who replied, ‘Pray accept my warm thanks for the kind thought of sending me your admirably sympathetic article’ (21 November 1923) (CL8, 227). But for Cecchi a newspaper article wasn’t enough: what he had to say about Conrad required a full-length essay to be published in a literary journal. So he got down to work again, investing time and effort on a project that required his rereading Conrad’s entire opus, as Curreli concluded after comparing the original article and the essay he eventually wrote. An episode that occurred at the time gives us an insight into the value judgement implicit in such an investment. Earlier in 1923, Cecchi had published an article in La Tribuna on Joyce’s Ulysses, and the Irish author had written to thank him for the article and especially for the essay the Italian critic had announced he would write on his masterpiece for the prestigious Milanese journal Il Convegno. That essay never saw the light of day, because Cecchi was too busy writing the one on Conrad, which eventually appeared in the August 1924 issue of Il Convegno (Curreli 2009, 43) – before Conrad’s death that month and the brief renewal of critical interest that followed. The essay was abstracted in the ‘review of reviews’ section of the special issue brought out in December by the Nouvelle Revue Française, Hommage à Joseph Conrad, which contained mostly biographical articles on Conrad the man. In a letter to Praz, Cecchi commented, ‘it seems to me in fact that the articles in it do not, as criticism, add much to what I have already said’ (Praz 1985, 92). And he was right: Cecchi was the first European critic to analyze Conrad’s opus in its entirety. In Italian culture, he fixed forever our perception of Conrad as an artist firmly at the heart of European literature and unique in his ability to synthesize the lessons of a Flaubert and a Dostoyevsky in narrative forms relevant to a new generation of writers and readers. 163

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Asked for an opinion on the essay, Praz declined to reply. The answer would come years later, after he had returned to Rome in 1934 as the first Professor of English Language and Literature at ‘La Sapienza’ – the event that marks the official birth of English Studies in Italy. He had by then acquired a European reputation thanks to his most important work, La carne, la morte e il diavolo nella poesia romantica (1930, in English The Romantic Agony (1933)), ‘a study of Romantic literature (of which the Decadent Movement of the end of the last century is only a development) under one of its most characteristic aspects, that of erotic sensibility’ (Praz 1933, xv). In looking back at the significance of this pioneering masterpiece of European comparative literature, Frank Kermode in 1970 described it as a ‘classic’, in the sense that it is one of those ‘books that have, in the depth of their insights, power to alter a reader’s understanding of the history of his society, and perhaps of his own history’. For example, he adds, an English reader may well have encountered already one of Praz’s fundamental convictions – that life often imitates art – only voiced, by English critics, ‘with much more overbearing moralistic overtones’.5 For a scholar trying to making a contribution to the study of a foreign culture there could be no greater achievement; in Praz’s case, it also meant disproving the stereotypes his Italian colleagues used to liquidate English Studies as a discipline incapable of an aesthetic appreciation of literary works. Such an achievement was loaded with political significance. Cecchi, Praz and others carried out their work of dissemination of English and American literature in the shadow of a Fascist regime determined to impose ‘an idea of literature based on limited and suffocating national boundaries’, insulated within a ‘nationalistically defined space’.6 Those intellectuals and academics who rejected this idea did so by appealing to two deeply felt values: the autonomy of literature from every external pressure – be it political, religious or moralistic – and the belief in a European literature transcending national cultural boundaries. These are the values Praz brought to his most influential evaluations of Conrad, which we find in the Storia della letteratura inglese he published in 1937 and went on editing and reviewing for decades. Appropriately, for a literary history written by a critic who viewed the decadent movement as a development of Romantic poetry, the final chapter of his literary history is titled ‘Romanticism 3. “The Anti-Victorian Reaction” ’, a phenomenon which, in the perspective suggested by Praz, begins with Walter Pater and ends with the subcategory ‘Exoticism’, that most romantic of literary movements. As it were in opposition to the other two ‘exotic’ writers, Stevenson and Kipling, Praz inserted here two pages on Conrad, in which he provided a few biographical facts and cited a handful of his titles; oddly, considering this apparent lack of interest, he then added a final paragraph in which he praised Conrad’s ‘strange and sinister exotic scenery [which] is like a foreshadowing, a symbol of a mysterious interior landscape, [closer] to introspective novelists like Dostoevsky, Henry James, Marcel Proust’ (Praz 1937, 363). At the first opportunity, the newly appointed professor had publicly commented on Emilio Cecchi’s essay, and imported his own critical views into academic criticism.

5

Kermode, 1970 foreword to Praz 1933, v, viii. Macchia 1987, 28–9, cited in Cattaneo 2007, 55.

6

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Many of the more than 2,500 titles in Praz’s bibliography are articles he wrote to introduce hundreds of English and American authors to the Italian pubblico colto in the 1920s, ’30s and ’40s. But there were also other intellectual forces at work in Italy that contributed perhaps even more decisively to the creation of a readership for Bompiani’s collected edition. In the 1930s young anti-Fascist intellectuals were pro-Soviet in politics but pro-American in their dreams, and invested their hopes for a brighter future in an idealized USA. Literati such as Cecchi and Praz ended up, as Arturo Cattaneo notes, being locked in an intergenerational conflict between ‘old Anglicists’ and ‘young Americanists’ such as, for example, Cesare Pavese (1908–50), the novelist and communist intellectual whose splendid Melville translations remain unsurpassed still today. Upscale publishers were quick to realize the market value of this passion for American novelists: the first was Bompiani in 1929 with John Steinbeck, followed in 1933 by a Turin publisher, Giulio Einaudi – with whom Pavese started collaborating as an editor – who brought out Hemingway and Edgar Lee Masters (Cattaneo 2007, 40–1, 29). Among these ‘young Americanists’, only one favourite of the ‘old Anglicists’ à la Cecchi remained significant: Joseph Conrad. A couple of weeks after the liberation of Turin from the Nazi-Fascists, Pavese wrote to a Florentine poet-translator Piero Jahier, who in the past had translated ’Twixt Land and Sea: ‘Einaudi is out of the storm. The editors who had gone missing are coming back and the collaborators are resuscitating. [. . .] Send us the latest news about your city and your affairs and, naturally, about the projects you’re working on: Conrad, Molière, the [Arden] of Feversham, Ben [Jonson], etc. We attach especially great importance to Conrad’ (Pavese 1966, 6). Jahier immediately replied, ‘I also care – most of all – about Conrad’ (Pavese 1966, 16). At Einaudi, Pavese could count on a twenty-three-year-old collaborator who arrived in 1947 after having published a novel based on his experience in the anti-Fascist partisan war and having graduated in English Literature at the University of Turin with a thesis on Joseph Conrad. His name was Italo Calvino (1923–85), and he is the first character in this story with a degree in English Literature or, more specifically, in Conrad studies: a second-year Agricultural Science student when the civil war broke out, he later was allowed, as a veteran, to enrol directly in the third year of another faculty, Letters, and this is how he ended up an English Literature major with a clear idea of what his thesis was going to be about (Calvo Montoro 1997, 112). When a new editor for English and American Literatures arrived at Einaudi, Pavese wrote to a friend, ‘all I can do is try in every possible way to bring him around to Conrad’. But at that point, in June 1949, it was too late anyway, since, as he was forced to admit, ‘Bompiani is preparing the entire Conrad’ (Pavese 1966, 391). Giulio Einaudi may have had the best team of Conrad enthusiasts in the country, but it was Valentino Bompiani’s personality and courage that changed the story of Conrad’s reception in Italy. It happened a few weeks after the end of the war, in May 1945. The publisher was standing among the ruins of his Florentine offices, greeting the famous and not so famous Bompiani authors who came to pay homage or simply to show they were still alive; among them, there was a Florentine hermetic poet, literary critic and translator from French, Piero Bigongiari (1914–97), who had the nerve to make a pitch for a grand project: why not publish a complete edition of Conrad, ‘with exemplary translations, introductions by major authors, and great philological attention on his part’? Bompiani approved, since, he recalled, ‘it was already an idea of mine’. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of the fact that Bigongiari didn’t know English, but, as Curreli has noted, what counted were his looks: the poet reminded him of someone who ‘has 165

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stepped out of a Renaissance painting’, and with a face like that ‘he was suited to such an enterprise’ (Bompiani 1988, 128). Pavese committed suicide in 1950, and Calvino was left to fight on his own what became a personal ‘battle for Conrad’ in the cultural section of l’Unità, the organ of the Italian Communist Party founded by Antonio Gramsci.7 In reading his two 1949 articles, it is obvious that even the idea of a ‘battle’ became conceivable only thanks to the Bompiani edition launched that year. The August 1949 article begins, ‘In Italy, Joseph Conrad is more often discussed than read. The fact is, his readers are not part of the “cultivated public” but are the clients of the second-hand bookstalls who buy his novels in the red Sonzogno volumes, among the adventure stories of Zane Gray or Curwood.’8 Now, thanks to the collected edition, the Italian pubblico colto could discover first-hand that – as Cecchi and Praz had argued all along – in Conrad’s case adventure ‘is only the outer skin’: [Conrad is] a writer of souls equal to Dostoevsky (whom he detested), a felicitous inventor of stories, figures and atmospheres, and one of the principal artificers, along with James and Proust, of the revolution (and crisis) of narrative technique at the end of the past century. Calvino 1995, vol. 1, 811 The crucial word here is ‘revolution’, which Calvino uses to initiate the next step in his ‘battle’: making a reactionary like Conrad palatable to the communist readers of l’Unità. In the final chapter of his thesis, ‘Narrative Form’, he had written that Conrad is ‘an authentic writer’ because he doesn’t ‘become slave to experience, he doesn’t let himself be defined by experience: Conrad has something new to communicate to men. And to express it, he goes in search of symbols among the most marginal experiences of his life.’9 Again, in a letter to Mario Motta (11 July 1950), Calvino wrote, ‘there’s Conrad, with his black vision of the universe and his faith in man, his morality, founded on work, on the practice of a profession, sailing, (and this morality makes of him a rigid conservative, but who nowadays if not revolutionaries can learn from him?)’ (Calvino 2000, 282–3). Calvino was to transcend, eventually, the opposition of reactionary/revolutionary once he came to identify in Conrad’s novelistic practice a form of action informed by a moral vision of the world which could be useful also for those who wish to change the world. In his last essay on Conrad, he declared: Conrad brought into his tales something that is extremely difficult to write about: the sense of an integration into the world which he has achieved through his practical life,

7

Gaetani 1994, 86. Calvino’s first article, ‘Ultime edizioni Einaudi. “La linea d’ombra” di Joseph Conrad’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 15 June 1947, is a press release for an Einaudi translation; the next two – ‘Joseph Conrad scrittore poeta e uomo di mare’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 6 August 1949 and ‘L’opera di Conrad’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 12 November 1949 – are reviews of Bompiani volumes; ‘A trent’anni dalla morte. I capitani di Conrad’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 3 August 1954, was intended as a commemoration of the thirtieth anniversary of Conrad’s death. 8 Both Zane Gray (1872–1939) and James Oliver Curwood (1878–1927) were American authors of adventure stories set in the forests of the Great Northwest or on the American frontier. 9 Cited in McLaughlin and Scicutella 2002, 122.

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the sense of a man who has found self-realization himself through the things he does, through the moral implicit in his work [. . .] This is the lion’s marrow of Conrad’s fiction. Calvino 1995, vol. 1, 815 This is a practical, active ethics which Calvino envisages as shaping the writer’s, not the sea captain’s, work. Calvino’s efforts to find the right words to express what he thought and felt about Conrad’s art would have helped him clarify to himself what literature is all about and what an artist’s position in the world is. The following year he used the expression ‘the lion’s marrow’ as the title of the most important essay of his entire career, ‘Il midollo del leone’ (1955), in which he outlined a personal poetics that would have guided the new kind of fiction he was going to write over the next thirty years. Around that time, in the 1960 edition of his literary history, Mario Praz significantly expanded his section on Conrad, while leaving unchanged those on Stevenson and Kipling. And, interestingly, his new thoughts on Conrad resemble closely those of Calvino’s, even though the two, in postwar Italy, found themselves on the opposite sides of the ideological divide. The main addition Praz makes is a long discussion of the famous passage of the Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ – ‘My task [. . .] is, by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel – it is, before all, to make you see’ – which he interprets using another well-known statement, which we find in a February 1898 letter Conrad wrote to Cunninghame Graham: ‘Man is a vicious animal. His viciousness must be organised. Crime is a necessary condition of organised existence. Society is fundamentally criminal – or it could not exist’ (CL 2: 160). Praz rightly views these words as the most radical expression of Conrad’s ‘fatalistic pessimism’ about the human condition; what is significant, for him, however, is not the pessimism itself, but how Conrad succeeded in keeping it under control, transcending it, through action – the same attitude Calvino had recognized as the foundation of Conrad’s ethics. Praz is thinking of a particular kind of action, ‘that form of action that [consists] in artistic creation: fixing a moment of vision, a look, a sigh, a smile’. It is in this sense that the ‘Preface’, written six months before the letter to Cunninghame Graham, is Conrad’s artistic manifesto. ‘Life,’ Praz goes on to write, ‘is horrible, but making others feel with intensity the flavor of life through art: here is the only positive element in the world. Flaubert would have concurred’ (Praz 1960, 627). There could be no greater compliment for someone with Mario Praz’s cultural background. If Conrad’s art elicited an almost identical response in two critics and intellectuals as different as the reclusive, melancholic art collector Praz would become in the 1960s and the communist public intellectual Calvino still was in 1954, it is because the two shared a common view of literature as a value to be preserved from external pressures. This view is the product of certain traits peculiar to Italian literary culture which, as has been argued in this chapter, contributed to shaping Conrad’s reception in Italy in the past. Today, that view of literature could play a role in the search for a new equilibrium between aesthetics, morality and politics, which is much needed in the study of Conrad’s writings.

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CHAPTER 11 CONRAD’S CRITICAL RECEPTION IN ITALY 19242021 Fausto Ciompi

This chapter addresses Conrad’s reception in Italy from 1924 to the present day. It will focus on literary criticism and not on other forms of reception such as translations, transcodifications into non-literary media and so on. My silence about the international critical bibliography does not mean that the cultural debate on Conrad has been a provincial business in this country. On the contrary, the critics I will discuss have actively interacted with their foreign colleagues. If I restrict my references to Italian criticism, it is because my purpose is to outline the several specifically Italian Conrads that critics have shaped and reshaped in their collective enterprise of interpretation and cultural mediation. As Curreli and Ambrosini have noted in their chapters in the current volume, the first article on Conrad to be published in Italian was by Carlo Placci, a musicologist and writer from Florence. The article appeared in the 15 October 1911 issue of a Florentine magazine, Il Marzocco,1 and contained, besides laudatory remarks, a critique of Conrad’s exceedingly complex narrative technique. After Placci’s groundbreaking piece, there were a few more critical contributions coming almost exclusively from Placci’s Florentine circle, but it was Emilio Cecchi,2 who, in an essay published in August 1924, a few days after Conrad’s death, established him as a master of contemporary fiction for the Italian audience. In this seminal article, published in the magazine Il Convegno,3 Cecchi surveyed Conrad’s whole career and discussed his acclimazione (acclimatization) in the Italian cultural world. Cecchi denied that Conrad was an exotic writer who specialized in sea novels, and regarded him as a modern author who, in terms of style, descended from James and Flaubert and anticipated Proust. In Cecchi’s opinion, Conrad wrote introspective narratives in the manner of Dostoevsky, but at the slower pace and in the resounding, strictly-controlled sentences of Flaubert. Conrad’s interest in thwarted consciences and humiliated existences were the Slavonic and Dostoevskian features of his fiction. But unlike Dostoevsky, Cecchi argued, Conrad believed brotherly love to be ineffectual, and his

1

Placci, 1911. One of the leading figures in twentieth-century Italian literature and criticism, Cecchi was, in 1919, one of the founders of La Ronda, an influential literary journal whose editorial board included a significant part of the cultural elite of the time (Riccardo Bacchelli, Vincenzo Cardarelli, etc.) The Rondisti’s main assumption was that literature should be essentially concerned with stylistic perfection, modelled upon the great examples of the Italian tradition and not involved with ideology. Besides travel books and literary sketches written in a sophisticated and ‘artistic’ prose, Cecchi wrote extensively on Italian, English and American literature as well as on Italian art. From 1965 to 1969, he also edited, with Natalino Sapegno, a History of Italian Literature in nine volumes, which has been a landmark in the field ever since. 3 Cecchi 1924, reprinted in Cecchi 1976, vol. 1, 202–17. This volume collects three more Conradian essays: ‘Indiscrezioni su J. Conrad’ (1924); ‘Ritorno a Conrad?’ (1949); and ‘Personaggi di Conrad’ (1952). 2

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outcasts were consumed by a destructive fever. Conrad’s alleged misogyny, on the other hand, was redeemed only by the compassion he occasionally granted to some of his heroines.4 Cecchi made the original argument that Conrad resorted to exoticism and recollection – which he saw as occasional weak points in his fiction – only when he was tired or confused by the complexity of his narrative constructions or by the profundity of the issues with which he was dealing. An advocate of so-called ‘art prose’ and of formal discipline, Cecchi also criticized Conrad’s melodramatic inclinations, the intricacy of his plots, his Wagnerian excesses of lyricism and symbolism and his obsession with textual liaisons. In what will become a common feature of later Conradian criticism, Cecchi divided Conrad’s career into three main phases: a first phase culminating in Lord Jim, in which epic form, realism and moral investigation are completely fused; a second phase in which epic gives way to psychology, and the exotic scenery is replaced by the Western world as a background (The Secret Agent, Under Western Eyes); and a final phase, in which Conrad’s themes and characters are more evidently set in a historical context as in ‘The Duel’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ and The Rescue. As to Conrad’s ‘acclimatization’ in Italy, Cecchi freely accepted the author’s sad monotony and occasional morbidity as evident defects.5 But he preferred this morbidity to the false sanity, happiness and lightness overvalued by contemporary Italian culture or, to put it more explicitly than Cecchi does, by Benedetto Croce’s aesthetics. Cecchi’s article of 1924 continued to exert a profound influence on Italian criticism for several decades subsequent to this. This is evident, for instance, in Mario Praz’s and Aurelio Zanco’s histories of English literature, first published in 1937 and 1944 respectively.6 It is noteworthy that in his handbook, Praz discussed Conrad in a chapter entitled ‘La reazione antivittoriana’ (The Anti-Victorian Reaction), and reiterated many of Cecchi’s views. For instance, Praz too denied Conrad’s exoticism and stressed, instead, his Slavonism, his interest in solitary souls and his obscure, intricate and sometimes melodramatic style.

4

For later refutations of Conrad’s alleged misogyny, see Chialant 1974–6 and Bignami 1992a, a perceptive study of Conrad’s female characters which groups them under the headings of ‘subjected women’ and ‘femmes fatales’. Bignami regards Henry James’s heroines as models for Conrad’s women, and argues that they are not unsuccessful static portraits but rather effective motors of the plots of which they are part. Agostino Lombardo pushes the antimisogynist argument so far as to call Conrad an anticipator of Virginia Woolf for his clear understanding of women’s conditions; see Lombardo 1992. 5 As evidence of Cecchi’s continuing influence on later critics, many years after Cecchi’s article, the novelist Giorgio Manganelli still emphasized Conrad’s supposed monotony, which he described as a blending of uneasiness and decency. Manganelli discussed Conrad in the very same terms of duplicity previously used by Cecchi. He also found, in Conrad’s fiction, on the one hand, a firm, crafted style (which Cecchi had ascribed to Flaubert’s influence), and on the other, a destructive interior turbulence and hectic passions which were carefully, though only partly, calmed and controlled (seen, loosely, as Conrad’s Dostoevskian aspect); see Manganelli 1981, 78. Conrad was also regarded as homo duplex by Alberto Savinio, writer, painter and brother of Giorgio De Chirico. In Savinio’s view, Conrad’s mistake was indeed his desire to be a different writer from the irrational, Slavonic, indirect and ‘opaque’ author he actually was. As a reaction to such innate ‘opacity’, Conrad appeared to have embraced French models, in particular Maupassant, for their clarity and directness; see Savinio 1950. 6 Praz 1937; Zanco 1947. Among recent publications, see Marucci 2006–11. In this magisterial work, Conrad is presented as a writer who never says the final word on politics or any other issues, a cunning obfuscator, an ante litteram deconstructionist, intimately self-contradictory, undecided for example between the autonomy and heteronomy of art, a decadent in pectore and at the same time an advocate of writing that promotes public values (Marucci 2006, 1076).

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Cecchi’s ideas are also present, if only e contrario, in a 1946 article by the novelist and poet Cesare Pavese.7 In Conrad’s fiction, Pavese recognized his own pessimistic existentialism and some of his own favourite themes: the absurdity of life, the portrayal of unrealized dreams and of passions that stay unfulfilled. Implicitly dissenting from Cecchi and Praz, Pavese strongly denied Conrad’s Slavonism. To Pavese, in fact, Conrad seems to be imbued with English culture. Unlike Cecchi, who had criticized Conrad’s indulgence in recollection, Pavese appreciated what he described as Conrad’s endless discussions on themes of no apparent importance while his characters’ souls are tormented by anguish and anxiety. In fact, what in Conrad’s fiction wins the reader’s admiration, according to Pavese, is the masterly linguistic connections at work within all parts of his narratives. What to Cecchi and to the culture of art prose had seemed intricacies and involutions were regarded as having a connective functionality by a novelist of the new generation. In broad terms, Conrad’s Italian reception in the 1940s and 1950s was situated within the bounds of a vague existentialism or an idealistic humanism. As the novelist Silvio D’Arzo put it in 1950, Conrad was seen as a profound student of the human condition, especially that of the exile, a melancholy voyager, who traverses the seas of life asking no question, giving no answer, opposing trouble with manly dignity. This apparently generic view of Conrad as humane writer or as analyst of la condition humaine was maintained, with different nuances, by such readers as the critics Ferdinando Neri8 and Marco Forti,9 or Piero Jahier, poet, novelist and one of Conrad’s translators.10 The most obvious features of Conrad’s early critical reception in Italy could be summarized as follows: first, whether decadent or existentialist, Slavonic or Anglophile, Conrad was perceived as a gloomy pessimist, a modern writer with strong debts to Romanticism as well as to realism; secondly, the Conrad canon was dominated by Victory and Lord Jim, which were invariably appreciated either individually or as a golden couple by readers like Furst,11 Cecchi, Neri,12 Pavese, D’Arzo, Montale,13 and later on, Manganelli and Moravia. Although Heart of Darkness was the first Conrad piece to be translated in book form in 1924, the novella was not even mentioned by Bardi,14

7

Pavese 1951, 201–4. For an introduction to the Conrad-Pavese relationship, see Giovannelli 2005 in Curreli 2005. Curreli’s volume contains several essays on the Conradian presence in Italian literature: Domenichelli on Flaiano, Paruolo and Ferrari on Dacia Maraini. The Conradian presence in Primo Levi’s work is the subject of Capoferro 2014, Bignami 2015, Mengoni 2017 and Cinelli 2017. The same issue of Anglistica Pisana also includes Mastracci 2017 on Alessandro Baricco and Capoferro 2017 on Bonelli comics. Merope 28, no. 70 (2019) contains further studies of Conrad’s influence on Italian authors: Orlando 2019 on Calvino, Bellini 2019 on Svevo, Capoferro 2019 on Marco Consentino, Domenico Dodaro and Luigi Panella. 8 Neri 1936 concluded by recalling ‘the eternal human motifs of love and pain’ around which Conrad’s fiction typically revolves (341). By contrast, postwar Marxist criticism drew attention to the ‘reduction of the humane’, whose space is threatened by conflicting material interests: see Imbroscio 1974, 200. For a variation on the theme from a neohumanistic viewpoint, see Lagazzi 2002, in which the critic defines Conrad as ‘the most humane of all writers’. 9 Forti 1951, 73–5. 10 Jahier 1953. Jahier (1884–1966), a soldier in the First World War, whose horror he recalled in one of his most famous novels, Con me e con gli alpini (1919), contributed actively to such influential magazines as La Voce and Lacerba, through which he tried to spread his strong ethical and religious beliefs. His other noteworthy novel is Ragazzo (1919), a confessional piece, written in a lyrical and expressionist style. 11 Furst 1924. 12 Neri 1936, 338. 13 See Montale 1942, xxii. 14 Bardi 1933, 210–11. Bardi described Conrad as a sea novelist and adventure novelist in the tradition of Stevenson and Kipling, but the limited reliability of this handbook is shown by the fact that he included in the Conrad canon a phantom collection entitled Tales of the Seas, supposedly published in 1919. For more reliable essays on Conrad’s relationship with the sea, see Di Piazza 2006, Bendelli 2012 and Pontuale 2015.

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Zanco or Praz in their histories of English literature, nor was it appreciated by any critic of note. Third, Conrad’s narrative complexities were initially criticized but were then revalued in a functionalist turn suggested by Pavese and confirmed by his fellow-novelist Tomasi di Lampedusa, the author of the bestselling and highly acclaimed novel Il gattopardo (The Leopard, 1958), who in 1954 praised the indirect, multiple narration of Lord Jim.15 This new interest in Conrad’s technique led, in 1957, to Giuliana Mazzotti’s essay focusing on what she termed Conrad’s ‘inversion method’ (Mazzotti 1957). Cecchi himself, in an article entitled ‘Ritorno a Conrad?’ (Return to Conrad?) (Cecchi 1949), had already slightly but significantly modified his opinion on Conrad’s style. Here Cecchi noted that, in the ten years following Conrad’s death, his books had been widely translated into Italian, sometimes reasonably well, sometimes not so well. Then his popularity had declined largely because Italian authors, publishers and the reading public had turned their attention towards American literature. According to Cecchi, the new interest in Conrad’s narrative shown by Italian culture in the late 1940s was due to his engagement with the sublime. The Conradian sublime seemed to consist in the solemn slowness and linguistic complexity of his style, which he suddenly transcends through dizzying resolutions that remain among the most remarkable exploits of Romantic literature. In other words, in 1949 Cecchi discovered that Conrad had the technical virtues of his own defects. It is Mario Curreli’s conviction that the early phase of Conrad’s reception in Italy was brought to a close with the completion of the twenty-four-volume Bompiani edition of his works in 1966, while the new era of Conradian studies was opened in 1967 by the publication of the first volume of the Mursia collected edition (Curreli 1984, 126–7). Besides its unprecedented comprehensiveness, what makes the Mursia edition particularly commendable is the high standard of the critical introductions by Elio Chinol, Franco Marenco and Renato Prinzhofer, and the philological accuracy guaranteed by Ugo Mursia’s textual notes and by his personal supervision of the translators’ work. A concomitant factor which had a great impact on Conradian studies, in Italy and elsewhere, was the explosion, in the 1960s and 1970s, of new interpretative approaches such as Marxist historicism, psychoanalysis, close textual reading in all its variants, feminist criticism and, later on, Bakhtinian dialogism. As a consequence of the ensuing lively critical debate, the Italian version of the Conradian canon was redefined and, especially since the 1980s, opened up. New critical attention has been given to Conrad’s supposed minor works and to previously neglected aspects of his literary output, such as his plays and the cross-media connections of his fiction with cinema, television, graphic books and photography.16 An early example of the political interpretation of Conrad’s fiction, obviously inconceivable before Italy’s liberation from Nazi-fascism, was supplied in 1954 by the novelist Italo Calvino (Calvino 1954). In this article, Calvino, who had graduated from Turin University with a dissertation on Conrad, defined him as a reactionary and an atheistic humanist, whose fiction nonetheless deserves our admiration. What Calvino admired in Conrad was his capacity to cope bravely with the fin-de-siècle crisis, just as his heroes face life’s challenges steadfastly, as if they were provided, so to speak, with a lion’s backbone. As to the reshaping of the Conradian canon, in 1954 the cosmopolitan author Tomasi di Lampedusa added Heart of Darkness, The Shadow-Line and a few more previously undervalued 15

Tomasi di Lampedusa 1991, 371–6. On Conrad’s plays, see Pugliatti 1988 and Petrocchi 1998.

16

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books to the list of Conrad’s essential texts.17 In 1967 the academic critic Claudio Gorlier, in his turn, mentioned Lord Jim, Nostromo, Typhoon and Heart of Darkness as Conrad’s most representative works.18 However, the reception of the small number of works singled out by Gorlier has been varied. For instance, as shown by Curreli’s inquiry into translations and reissues of Conrad’s novels,19 Typhoon has long been a favourite with publishers and readers in Italy, but has not commanded equal critical consideration: ‘Conrad’s epic vein’, as Cecchi defined it, has appealed to fewer academic critics than Conrad’s modernist production. Among the readers who made a case for Typhoon, the pre-eminent place is occupied by Piero Bigongiari,20 who praised Conrad’s story as an exercise in Wagnerian infinite melody and as a complement to the nearly contemporary Lord Jim, which also deals with the themes of guilt and responsibility. Bigongiari described MacWhirr as Conrad’s counter-version of Don Quixote, who succeeds because of his lack of imagination and his strict sense of duty. Indeed, it is his apparent mediocrity that enables him to turn into a hero when he faces the test embodied by the typhoon. In Gorlier’s reading, Typhoon is neither an adventure story nor a realistic narrative: rather, it is a metaphoric journey, a parallel to the Genesis story of the world’s creation (Gorlier 1990). As in the biblical account, Conrad’s story develops over a six-day span. As a stylized drama, the tale stages the confrontation of two opposite characters: one young, bookish and creative (Jukes); the other, experienced, unimaginative and apparently dull (MacWhirr). What the two sailors have in common is that they both experience the loss of the centre. MacWhirr especially seems to have lost most of his ties with England and even with his family. Jukes, for his part, is a father-seeking figure, still loyal to his country and to the shipowners. But nothing and nobody – not even Jukes, the overachieving pursuer of idealistic goals and the believer in universal values – stays unchanged in a world of collapsing certainties. The traditional hero of sea stories, for instance, is reassessed: he is replaced by the anti-heroic MacWhirr, whose reliability as master of situations Jukes must finally acknowledge. The two sailors represent the opposite sides of a divided self that is plunged into estrangement and isolation by its confrontation with chaos and irrationality. As for Conrad’s language, Gorlier claimed it is functional in the delineation of the two opposed characters. During the storm, in particular, the short and truncated dialogues aptly render the contrasting relation between MacWhirr and his romantic opponent. Unlike Typhoon, which has almost invariably been discussed by critics only in the introductions to popular editions, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ has attracted more critical attention. An engaging study of this enigmatic story was provided, for example, by Giuseppe Sertoli, who interpreted Conrad’s text in psychoanalytic terms as the result of authorial acts of unconscious removal

17

Tomasi di Lampedusa, 371–6. Tomasi’s assessment of Heart of Darkness is remarkable not because it is the first explicit appreciation of the novella (for example, in the article mentioned above, Savinio had already included Heart of Darkness among the most typically – and implicitly valuable – Conradian works, along with Lord Jim and The ShadowLine), but because of the (posthumous) authority of the critic and his reputation as a refined connoisseur of European, especially English and French, literatures. However, no single authority, after Cecchi, has determined decisively the shaping of the Conradian canon within Italian criticism; instead, this has become a collective enterprise in strict interaction with the international critical debate. 18 Gorlier 1976. In the same year, in a review of the Mursia edition of Conrad’s Tutti i racconti e i romanzi brevi, Gorlier presented Heart of Darkness as a model for twentieth-century fiction (Gorlier 1967a). 19 Curreli 2004, 185–207, and Curreli 2009, 148–9. 20 Bigongiari 1955. Piero Bigongiari (1914–97) was a hermetic poet in the tradition of Ungaretti, Quasimodo and Luzi, as well as a literary and art critic well known for his studies of Leopardi and Italian poetry.

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(Sertoli 1974). The return of the repressed determines, in Sertoli’s view, the death of the author as the source of ultimate authority in the text’s meanings and leaves the text open to the sociohistorical practices of writing and interpretation. The story’s beginning proposes the bringing of light to darkness as the white man’s goal. The Narcissus represents orderly society, the Western man’s sense of safety and self-satisfaction as opposed to the threat of natural disorder. But the order of civilization is artificial; the minute parts that compose it never make a whole. Conrad’s aim was to get the ship ready to cope with natural and metaphysical storms, but the text contradicts its author’s intentions by revealing the chaos underlying the apparent harmony of things. In the end, it is death that restores wholeness, while life, in its social and ethical dimensions, is characterized negatively. Death as a positive reconstitution of organic unity is exchanged for life as an expression of disruptive anti-sociality. Nature takes over culture; the negative value that nature had originally assumed is transferred to civilization, to which darkness and chaos eventually belong. Conrad’s intention was to reject as undesirable the end of a social system based upon the solidarity between members of an organic community. Conrad’s text, however, refuses to hide the cracks in the civilized structure and pits the evil side of man and his social dysfunctionality against a self-preserving system, whose aim was to remove all contradictions. Predictably, the relation between the ship community and its individual members has also been touched upon by later critics of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’. Carlo Pagetti, for example, defined the Narcissus’s voyage as the negative counterpart to Christian’s glorious itinerarium in Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress (Pagetti 1985, 75), while Gorlier interpreted the ship’s community as an allegory of the commonwealth, a social microcosm arranged according to a medieval hierarchy. As in medieval moralities, evil is discomfited but its contagion eventually spreads and Bunyan’s redemptive scheme cannot be iterated (Gorlier 1986, 218–19). Elio Di Piazza, for his part, emphasized the multicultural and chronotopic features of The Nigger, which he reads as an inquiry into the antithetical relations of the black man and the white man, the sea and the mainland, order and anarchy (Di Piazza 2004). Drawing on Michael Echeruo’s terminology (Echeruo 1978), Di Piazza discusses the shaping of Wait as an exocultural character. Wait is read as a cultural stereotype and the product of a racist imagination. In his representation of the sailors, Conrad is seen to depict an ideal community based on a hierarchical order and the principle of authority. Wait’s death marks the end of anarchy and of the subjective time of introspection; what we are left with afterwards is the evolutionary time of a well-ordered community working harmoniously for a common goal. A very different interpretation, comparing the text with its Italian and French translations, was then provided in 2011 by Mario Curreli, who interpreted The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ as an epic of memory as much as of language, in which, by studying the psychology of the masses, Conrad realizes a small masterpiece in plurilingualism (Curreli 2011). Also concerned with language and space in Conrad’s fiction, but focusing on the whole Conradian macrotext, is a valuable essay by Alessandro Serpieri.21 After stressing the visual 21 Serpieri 1997. On time and space in Conrad, see also Marenco 1990, in which the critic argues that if The Odyssey marked the foundation of Western civilization, Heart of Darkness marked its crisis. While Ulysses’ story deconstructs traditional myths and brings about man’s emancipation by providing him with an independent psychic structure, Kurtz’s story reasserts the power of myth over rationality. Furthermore, if in The Odyssey space is progressively controlled by man, in Heart of Darkness space and time are outside man’s control. Kurtz himself achieves his decadent greatness by occupying a position outside space and time: one characterized by cannibalistic and unspeakable rites. A more recent essay of interest on the same topic is Capoferro 2016.

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aspect of Conrad’s style, Serpieri defines it as intensely descriptive and baroque, especially in its early phase. Conrad is presented as a strongly subjective writer, whose impressionistic representations of reality are rendered through the technique of multiple points of view. Viewers, in Conrad’s fiction, perceive action in the making or reconstruct it with painstaking efforts, often through the reports of other seers. There are few descriptive pauses in Conrad, because descriptions are rigorously mixed with action. Descriptions are thus both partial and dynamic at the same time. Of course, argues Serpieri, this point is not merely technical: it is a consequence of Conrad’s philosophy, which is influenced by (and cognate to) Schopenhauer’s notion of the Idea and by Nietzsche’s views on the will to live and the representation of the world and mankind as a set of masks. For Conrad, life and the world are irremediably fragmented. The bits and pieces in which they offer themselves to the eyes of baffled perceivers represent disorder, contingency, the puzzling multifacetedness that characterizes the modernist approach to the notions of truth, understanding and experience. This affects Conrad’s representations of space and determines his ample use of space shifts. Such a technique manifests itself in two distinct ways: either characters perceive reality from a limited perspective and are thus led to wrong inferences by their subjective impressionism, or they apprehend reality from a stratospheric perspective (an ironic, nearly expressionist technique, typical of Conrad’s later works, through which the author or a reflecting character expose as illusive the perceiving actor’s impressions). Eloquent examples of this second type of distorted perception are provided in The Secret Agent, in which forms of perceptive de-familiarization include the metamorphosis of the human into the inorganic and vice versa; the beguiling representation of spaces (Verloc’s shop, for instance, that is just a cover for the anarchists’ meeting place); and the hyper- or under-functionalization of objects that are suddenly animated into an independent life or exposed in their apparent usefulness. Generally speaking, however, all types of space in Conrad’s fiction are foreign and unknown. To cast one’s eyes beyond the limen of the usual world implies facing the horror, getting acquainted with man’s animal side, or experiencing the universe as indifferent matter. Conrad is the border-crosser par excellence, but at the same time he is the eternal foreigner and émigré. He projects this condition onto his characters, who are always the Other in a more general sense, because they are strangers to each other and unknowable subjects in a world of masks. What one can accomplish is a sort of complicity with other individuals that are equally unknown to themselves because no one dares look into oneself. The transgressors who enter the dangerous space inhabited by ‘us’ (Kurtz, Lord Jim) do not achieve a safer, communal condition. The space of ‘us’ has foreignness within and not outside itself. In Conrad, the traditional spatial binaries collapse, because, in accordance with his cosmic atheism, all spaces are one and all of them are equally bereft of sense. There is no real difference between the jungle and the city. There is no idealized space to resort to, although there is indeed a positive elsewhere, represented, as in Almayer’s Folly, by the sea as opposed to the jungle (or the wilderness).22 If the jungle is the space of death where the hero typically gets lost, the sea may represent the positive pole of life. At the same time, however, the sea is a non-space, one with no definite shape or boundary; it is unfathomable, bottomless, an enigmatic surface, hiding a terrible, hidden intention. Ultimately, the sea too is part of the space of ‘us’, in which one is

22

The topic is further developed in Serpieri 2004.

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unknown to oneself and to others. In Serpieri’s interpretation, then, Conrad moves away from literary realism, either under the influence of subjective impressionism or of apocalyptic expressionism. In Conrad’s nihilistic view, the only space available is in fact an aimless indifferent universe, whose silent hostility and absurdity man vainly tries to face. Coming to Lord Jim, an influential critique of this text was provided by the novelist Alberto Moravia in his introduction to the 1983 Rizzoli edition (Moravia 1983). Moravia regarded Jim as the positive counterpart of Kurtz: both of them are white imperialists, characterized by a strong sense of honour. While Kurtz – the representative of evil imperialism – does not care about his reputation, putting himself on a par with the Africans whose rites he adopts, Jim redeems himself from his cowardice and restores his honour as a white man in the face of the local peoples. In this account, Jim represents the good British imperialism so much admired by Conrad. While Nietzsche was building a monument to the German Übermensch, and Dostoevsky was raising a monument to the Slav and Christian idiot, Conrad erected his own paper monument to the commonplace British gentleman. That is why, Moravia assumes, Conrad employs dramatized narrators: he hides his ideas behind Marlow’s figure and the trick of multiple viewpoints.23 A few years after Moravia, Franceso Gozzi interpreted Lord Jim as a Prozess novel, in which the hero obstinately denies the apparent truth that emerges from the court debate because he responds only to a superior and objective justice (Gozzi 1987). Jim dresses in white as a sign of his innocence, but seems unable to communicate the ultimate truth to anyone but Captain Brierly. In the end, Jim is not a Christ-figure, although he has taken all upon his head. As suggested by Marlow’s final considerations, his heroism is very dubious and inspired by his ‘exalted egoism’ and abstract idealism, rather than by concrete love for actual human beings. Another significant interpretation of Lord Jim is Luisa Villa’s new-historicist reading (Villa 2001). Villa places Conrad’s text within a historic context characterized by administrative coercion and bureaucratic control. Jim experiences the unprecedented rigidity of the modern world and is plunged into the evasive world of daydreaming by his frustrated drive to selfrealization. He escapes reality not because of his sense of guilt and consequent urge to expiate, but because reality makes him feel inadequate when he compares his actual self to the idealized image of himself he has built. The profound meaning of Jim’s story, argues Villa, is that he indulges in the internal pain arising from such a conflict, and turns it into a modern way of shaping his own identity. As for Nostromo, the credibility of its postwar revaluation has been tested by numerous critical readings. Let me give a few examples of such interpretations, taking as my starting point an influential essay published in two instalments by Franco Marenco (Marenco 1969/1970). Marenco perceptively read Nostromo as a text whose form rather than its themes mark it out as political. In Nostromo, argued Marenco, all political beliefs are shown as fake and empty. The text’s literary structure discloses this emptiness by the continuous frustration of all

23 For an opposite interpretation of Marlow, see Moretti 1981, 15–18. Moretti claims that in the novels in which Marlow is not employed as narrator, Conrad displays a philistine, Manichean and superficial view of the world. When Marlow narrates, however, through him Conrad manages to provide a social synthesis of the opposites at work in his texts: colonial world vs motherland, sacrifice of exceptional individuals like Jim and Kurtz vs survival of the ordinary man, etc. An analysis of Conrad’s narrators as ‘imperfect storytellers’, intradiegetic agents and epistemological devices is provided in Bignami 2003.

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the attempts at storytelling, that never manage to be successfully arranged in a conventional plot. Narration itself is thus placed under the sign of scepticism and destruction. Its twists and shifts, its proceeding through the accumulation of detached biographies, show the prevalence of socio-economic forces over all human efforts. The importance of Marenco’s essay can hardly be exaggerated. In fact, it is probably the first Italian study in which the critical focus has shifted from the romantic fatalism and the interior or moral life of Conrad’s characters to the overwhelming power of the socio-economic context. At the opposite end of the interpretative spectrum was Alessandro Portelli’s reading of Nostromo (Portelli 1973). Portelli claimed Nostromo is not a critique of all ideologies, nor is Conrad just a detached and sceptical observer of the socio-economic tragedies taking place in his spectacular universe. Nostromo rather expresses middle-class conservatism and the rulers’ fear of the subaltern classes, whose representation as an irrational mob is just one of the many signs of Conrad’s reactionary ideology. The critical discussion on Nostromo was then reoriented by Mario Curreli in three articles published between 1978 and 1980 (Curreli 1978, 1979, 1980). By connecting the function of literary techniques to the text’s ideological discourse, Curreli read Nostromo as built around the pivotal symbol of the silver, while the characters’ semiotic status was studied as that of, respectively, speakers and agents. Both speech and action are human strategies interpreted by Curreli as inevitably doomed, as typically happens to all the great narratives of politics, economy and even love in Conrad’s fiction. Like Marenco, Curreli depicted Conrad as a sceptical, even apocalyptic author, whose honest representation of political reality is not distorted by his conservative bias. Among further contributions to the understanding of Nostromo, but from a completely different viewpoint, is Carlo Pagetti’s 1992 article on a possible source for Conrad’s masterpiece.24 After discussing several well-known historical and geographic sources for Conrad’s Costaguana, Pagetti added his own original proposal: Tasmania. He claimed that some geographic features of Tasmania, as described by Edward Braddon’s ‘Tasmania and Its Silver-Fields’, published in the October 1892 issue of Blackwood’s Magazine, recall Costaguana. Further links between the two texts are Charles Gould’s name and his connection to mining. In Braddon’s report, Charles Gould is the government geologist who explores Tasmania’s mines and silver fields, while in Conrad’s novel, the character with the same name is the idealistic owner and manager of the San Tomé mine. Another text to be promoted to canonical status by postwar criticism is ‘The Secret Sharer’. In 1967, Ugo Mursia presented it as one of Conrad’s most remarkable stories (Mursia 1967), and in 1975 Andrea Zanzotto, one of the most eminent postwar Italian poets, described it as a work of musical perfection, combining freshness and maturity.25 Interestingly enough, Zanzotto seems to appreciate Conrad for reasons opposite to Calvino’s. In fact, Zanzotto’s Conrad is a decadent, whose outcasts are the counterpart of Nietzsche’s Übermenschen. In Conrad’s fiction, Zanzotto contended, the conscious side of man never entirely prevails over the unconscious, and no captain is really ever an esprit fort, the master of himself, but a victim of colonialism, a pariah of the seas or an innocent dreamer of adolescent adventures and paradises. 24

Pagetti 1992. Another fine example of ‘source hunting’, as David Daiches used to call this type of approach, was provided by Curreli 1980a and 1980b. 25 Zanzotto 1975. On ‘The Secret Sharer’, see also Saracino 1990.

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Besides Romana Rutelli’s fine psychoanalytic study of ‘The Secret Sharer’,26 mention should also be made of Francesco Marroni’s 1987 semiotic analysis of Conrad’s story.27 Marroni found it particularly significant that the perfect integrity of norms and conventions can never be achieved by Conrad’s heroes because human experience is always contradictory and incomplete. Men are wanderers always moving towards the dark coast, the gate of Erebus. Even the language, in this highly subjective story, hardly corresponds to objective reality. The lexis of incomprehensibility characterizes the story from the outset, and words work according to what Roland Barthes called ‘le paradigme infini de la différence’ (the infinite paradigm of difference). Another object of critical revaluation was ‘Falk’. The first sign of critical interest in this short story in Italy came as late as 1985, when Mario Curreli and Fausto Ciompi wrote a sociosemiotic interpretation of the tale. The two critics read ‘Falk’ as the Bildung of the modern capitalist, or, as Conrad puts it, the ‘born monopolist’, who descends to hell and to the lowest state of nature, that of cannibalism, only to return to civilization and reproduce there, in the cultural spheres of trade and wooing rituals, the mythical codes of natural, brutal power which he had put on through his katabatic experience.28 In 1989, further attention was drawn to ‘Falk’ by Serena Cenni, whose essay focused on the narrator’s social function and the story’s interpersonal rhetoric (Cenni 1989). As Cenni argued, by placing Falk’s subversive act of cannibalism within the sea code of survival, the narrator normalizes Falk’s diversity, and the cannibal may thus become acceptable to Hermann and the middle-class world he represents. The story requires an internal audience, because the narrator’s addressees are the chosen representatives of the community whose pardon or understanding the transgressor must seek. The importance of the addressor/addressee relation in ‘Falk’ was later confirmed by Francesco Marroni in an article that appeared in the 1995 special issue of the magazine Merope edited by Mario Curreli and entirely devoted to Conrad.29 But the clearest sign of this new critical consideration of ‘Falk’ was probably its first-time stand-alone publication, in 1994, separate from the Typhoon and Other Stories volume. The tale appeared in the Marsilio bilingual series, with an introduction by the eminent Conrad critic Alessandro Serpieri,30 who in 1966 had provided readers with a useful selection of Conrad’s letters. Falk’s story powers along, in Serpieri’s reading, as a rite of initiation and as the enactment of the psychoanalytic principle of incorporation, in which the sexual and alimentary instincts intermingle as the basic components of human personality.

26

Rutelli 1979. On the ‘double’ theme in The Secret Sharer, see also Fusillo 1999, in which the homoerotic implications of Conrad’s story are rigorously explored. 27 Marroni 1987. Marroni further discussed the topic in Marroni 2015, where he stressed the multiplanar nature of the narrative and the epistemological and moral perspectives triggered by the text. 28 Ciompi and Curreli 1985. The critical literature on Conrad’s lesser or non-canonical texts has increased greatly in recent years. To mention just a few examples: D’Elia 1983 on ‘Il Conde’; Chialant 1996 on ‘Amy Foster’; Vallorani 1994 on Almayer’s Folly; and Villa 2000 on Chance. 29 Marroni 1996. This special Conrad issue of Merope includes essays on Almayer’s Folly by Marilena Saracino, An Outcast of the Islands by Nicola De Marco, ‘Falk’ by Francesco Marroni, Heart of Darkness by Nicoletta Vallorani, The Secret Agent by Cedric Watts and Mario Domenichelli, Chance by Marialuisa Bignami, and on the stories based on Conrad’s first command by Mario Curreli. 30 Serpieri 1994. Among recent contributions, see also Baronti Marchi 2019. Among the outstanding editions of some of Conrad’s lesser-known texts, I would highlight two translations of ‘The Duel’, edited and introduced by Benedetta Bini and Mario Domenichelli respectively: Il duello (Milan: Bompiani, 2018, and Venice: Marsilio, 2004).

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A further reconsideration of the ‘lesser Conrad’ was proposed by Giuseppe Sertoli in his 2016 introduction to ’Twixt Land and Sea (Sertoli 2016). Sertoli suggests that the three stories in the collection should be read as a sequence as they metaphorically tell a single story. What appears as the sentimental and sexual education of a male subject growing from adolescent anxiety (the young sea captain of the first two tales) to adult virility (the caballero of the third tale) turns out to be a screen hiding a repressed homosexuality, which emerges in the name ‘Bonito’ given by the caballero to the ship he regards as the avatar of the woman he loves. Adopting Ignacio Matte Blanco’s theory of the unconscious, Sertoli observes that the immature captain of ‘A Smile of Fortune’ cannot but flee from the woman who has ‘entranced’ him but at the same time terrified him by making him discover something about himself (‘a cruel selfknowledge’). What this ‘something’ is, the text does not say; but neither does it leave any doubt that it is a ‘catastrophic revelation’ concerning his uncertain and wavering identity. This identity seems to be strengthened in ‘The Secret Sharer’, where the intervention of a male figure (Leggatt), who has the function, in Freudian terms, of an Ego ideal, allows the protagonist, at the end of an educational journey, to establish with his ship – a metaphor, as always in Conrad, of the woman – an apparently heterosexual and mature relationship. A similar relationship is experienced in ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ – this time with a real woman – by the caballero Jasper Allen, himself a sea captain and the hero of a romance that has all the characteristics of fin-desiècle melodrama. Behind the facade of a romantically masculine identity, which the caballero ostentatiously displays, there lurks an unconfessed crypto-homosexuality, which is revealed by a clue as tiny as it is symptomatic: his ship, which he has painted in Freya’s colours, white and gold, as if to imbue her with the girl’s soul, has a male name: ‘Bonito’. This oxymoron of gender testifies to a return of the repressed as a consequence of that homophile drive which, evoked from the very first page of the first story, continues concealed in the two following stories and (involuntarily) emerges in the third through the name ‘Bonito’, which Jasper’s unconscious has given to the ship. In a ‘Postscript’ to his interpretation, Sertoli concentrates on the symbolic function of the story’s foodstuffs: potatoes and sugar.31 Sugar is associated with the island, the Pearl of the Indian Ocean, and through the island it is associated with Alice. Sugar, then, is Alice: it is the promise of a ‘sweetness’ represented by the woman, which the story will prove to be illusory – indeed, impossible. Alongside the sugar, however, appear the potatoes: those that Jacobus brings on board for the captain’s breakfast on the morning of his arrival in port. The potatoes are also associated with Alice – not only because they have been ‘bartered’ for with her, but also because, stowed in the belly of the ship, they are a symbol of pregnancy and therefore ‘stand for’ what the captain escaped from: the anxiety of paternity. This is a recurring theme throughout Conrad’s work, and behind it there is another, more profound anxiety: that relating to his sexual identity. This anxiety makes him and his male characters run away from the (real) woman. The captain escaped from Alice by taking refuge on board his ship, but the cargo of potatoes (a perfect example, along with sugar, of what Matte Blanco calls ‘symmetrization’) is Alice, so the captain has no choice but to flee the ship as well.

31 Sertoli 2017. Another acute interpreter of gender issues in Conrad’s work is Luisa Villa, who has investigated the complex characterological structure of Chance in relation to the Victorian multi-plot novel (Villa 2015). Conrad in Italy also contains a further example of Sertoli’s revaluation of another ‘minor’ Conrad work, Suspense (Sertoli 2015).

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Italian critics have also progressively revalued Conrad’s later works, among which, however, Victory has always been regarded as one of Conrad’s masterpieces. Despite such a prominent status within the Conradian canon, the first significant critical study to focus on Victory – Valerio Bruni’s La grande burla – appeared as late as 1984 (Bruni 1984). Here Bruni described Heyst as a narcissistic character, whose act of altruism towards Morrrison is motivated by selfirony and amusement, rather than genuine generosity. Heyst fears becoming part of the Great Joke, the grotesque masquerade society ultimately is. He rejects the anti-aesthetic externalization of anguish and chooses to keep aloof in his own refined world. But Heyst is also moved by a Schopenhauerian sympathy towards suffering. Heyst’s detachment and negative utopia are the object of the narrator’s irony, which exposes Heyst’s ‘sharp contradictions’. Through Heyst, Conrad deconstructs the contemporary world without embracing an orthodox nihilism. His view is that total detachment is impossible and even scepticism is incomplete. A partial knowledge of the world and of oneself can be sought after, and achieved, but only on an individual and experiential basis. Life is just a puzzling exercise, in which, eventually, nothing can be done, as the novel’s ending insists. That final ‘nothing’ epitomizes the triumph of Schopenhauer’s will to live and the victory of nihilistic scepticism about the possibility of understanding life’s absurdity. Approaching Victory from a completely different viewpoint, in an article concerned with Conrad’s narrative techniques (Ciompi 1996), I observed, among other things, that, as required by print conventions, in writing dialogic exchanges Conrad usually separates different speakers’ enunciations by placing them in distinct paragraphs. Sometimes, however, Conrad places two different enunciations from different characters within the same paragraph, often with the intention of expressing closeness or complicity of some kind between the speakers.32 In Victory, this seems to happen just once. No sooner has Heyst told Lena of his conviction that nobody can break in on them in Samburan, their Paradise of love, than Conrad disrupts the idealized tenderness of the episode by including, in the same paragraph, Lena’s observation of Wang’s presence: ‘He’s here!’ Since Wang comes to announce the arrival of the evil trio on the island, Conrad’s dialogic technique here seems meant to reinforce a sense of the precariousness of human happiness and the impossibility of man’s separation from hostile interventions. Although several other Conrad texts have received significant critical attention since the 1970s,33 the critical debate has focused particularly on Heart of Darkness, which, as Carlo Pagetti put it in 1987, has long appeared to most critics as Conrad’s text par excellence.34 A sign of the popularity of Heart of Darkness is that Conrad’s novella, regarded as an archetype of modern writing, has been appended unabridged to Remo Ceserani and Lidia de Federicis’s Il materiale e l’immaginario [The material and the fictional] (Turin: Loescher, 1978–80). For

32

This happens, for instance, in many dialogic scenes in Heart of Darkness, in which Marlow becomes familiar with Kurtz and discovers the horror of colonialism. In contrast, in the novel’s final scene, in which Marlow confronts Kurtz’s Intended, the turn-taking is distributed into separate paragraphs in order to stress that the two speakers have a completely different view of Kurtz. There can be no closeness or unity of vision between the idealizing woman, who still thinks of Kurtz as the epitome of philanthropism, and Marlow, who, despite his present reticence, has fully recognized Kurtz’s deterioration and clearly exposed it to his audience on the Nellie and to the reader. See Ciompi 1988. 33 The Secret Agent, for example, has been studied by Loretelli 1975; D’Elia 1978; Ciompi 1984, 1985; Cifarelli 1991; Domenichelli 1996. Among other introductions to The Secret Agent, the following must be mentioned because of their critical interest: Marenco 1990; Serpieri 1994; and Curreli 1995. 34 Pagetti, D’Egidio and Marroni 1987, 31.

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years this has been one of the favourite handbooks of comparative literature in Italian high schools. Vallorani (2017) has discussed the dissemination of Heart of Darkness and influences exerted on Italian culture by the text and by the exemplary figure of Kurtz. In addition to this cultural studies approach to Conrad, Heart of Darkness has also attracted the attention of comparative criticism, most notably in Brugnolo (2017). Given the premise that every great literary work necessarily contradicts or exceeds the ideology of its author, Brugnolo reads Heart of Darkness as the complex explication of a parasyllogism: 1) we are not like those savages; 2) we are like those savages; 3) we are more savage than those savages; that is, we are barbarians. This recalls Denis Diderot’s distinction between barbarians (those who are among us always, no matter how civilized they have become) and savages (those who are such only in a particular cultural environment).35 In the postwar reception of Heart of Darkness, we can distinguish four main interpretative approaches. The first one is the humanistic reading in the tradition established by Silvio D’Arzo. In 1956, for instance, incidentally anticipating Guerard’s notion of the ‘night journey’, Glauco Cambon read Heart of Darkness as a narrative charting the descent to the innermost recesses of the human soul (Cambon 1956). This interpretation, taken up, among others, by the philosopher Sergio Givone,36 has been so popular among Italian critics that it is no exaggeration to say that Heart of Darkness has long been convenient shorthand for the dissection of an evil soul. A further humanistic reading of Heart of Darkness was provided, in 1974, by Giovanni Cianci.37 Cianci anticipated Todorov’s view that Kurtz is a hollow man, though a remarkable one, in the first place because he discovers the void at the heart of himself. If, as a Faustian hero, Kurtz experiences the impossibility of achieving or communicating the ultimate truth, Marlow, the ordinary man, finds out that the only defences against the horror of reality are action or the escape into a world of illusions. It is to preserve the artificial integrity of such a world that Marlow lies to the Intended at the end. In 1987, Franceso Gozzi interpreted Heart of Darkness as a medieval morality and a sort of psychomachia (Gozzi 1987). As Marlow seems to suggest through the statement ‘There was nothing either above him or below him’, Kurtz is at the same time Übermensch and beast. In Gozzi’s reading, Kurtz has damned himself by choosing a superb ‘great solitude’. Perhaps he can be saved if he humbles himself before a fellow human being, that is, Marlow. In this reading, Marlow exorcizes the devil within Kurtz, whose hubris is an excessive thirst for knowledge that has led him to explore the area where light and darkness mix and become indistinguishable. The private truth Kurtz has discovered there cannot be communicated. Marlow’s account of it is thus necessarily indeterminate, and his reticence and lies are unavoidable consequences of such incommunicability. In all the humanistic readings discussed above, Kurtz is usually presented as a Faustian, charismatic character, who commands respect and admiration in spite of his evil aura. It is thus small wonder that, in 1980, a book-length essay was devoted to the subject by Valerio Bruni (Bruni 1980).

35 Another notable comparative study is Rocchi 2017. An excellent guide to Heart of Darkness and to the criticism of the novel is provided by Tomaiuolo 2014, written by a leading figure in Conrad adaptation studies in Italy. 36 Givone 2001. For a political discussion of Kurtz as a ‘lost soul’ and an adventurer revolting against society, see also Runcini 1968, and, for a more recent interpretation, Moretti 2017. 37 Cianci 1974. See also Cianci 1990 and Binni 1990, 94.

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A second line of interpretation of Heart of Darkness is explicitly political. In 1973, Renato Oliva provocatively read Heart of Darkness as the expression of Conrad’s imperfect imperialism (Oliva 1973). According to Oliva, Conrad criticizes the brutal exploitation of the Congo carried out by the Belgians, but ultimately supports colonialism in its idealized British version. As we have seen, a further step in mounting this critique was taken by novelist Alberto Moravia, who described Conrad’s politics in terms of an ‘imperfect’ understanding of colonialism (Moravia 1981, 181). For Moravia, in fact, Conrad’s rejection of colonist brutality is not determined by the author’s accurate reading of the historical situation. It is rather the reaction of a conservative, Anglophile gentleman to the insulting inappropriateness of imperialism. Such interpretations were challenged by another critic, Giuseppe Sertoli, who wrote an introduction to the 1974 Einaudi edition of the novella at the suggestion of Italo Calvino and later developed his interpretation in subsequent publications.38 It is no accident, argues Sertoli, that the white characters in Heart of Darkness come from different European countries, and that ‘all Europe’ contributed to the making of Kurtz. It is equally significant that the gloom hanging over London in the story’s incipit becomes the darkness in the heart of Africa. It is, in fact, Western civilization that takes its sepulchral emptiness to the colonized world. In his confrontation with the wilderness, Kurtz yields to the power of unconscious, brutal instincts, and achieves self-knowledge at the expense of his life. Marlow, by contrast, does not cross over the edge. He is no Prince Hamlet but an attendant lord who is unable to challenge conformities. However, if he lies to Kurtz’s Intended, and does not inform her of Kurtz’s reversion to savagery, he does not lie to his audience on the Nellie, nor is Conrad reticent with his reader. The horror of every type of colonialism, concludes Sertoli, is fully exposed. An equally complex view of the fundamental ambiguity of Heart of Darkness has been offered by Francesco Binni (Binni 2004). On the one hand, Conrad’s text is regarded by Binni as a devastating critique of imperialism; on the other hand, it seems to deconstruct itself by exposing the shortcomings of its own impressionistic technique. The third approach to Heart of Darkness is especially concerned with Conrad’s style and literary techniques. In an essay which placed Conrad and Heart of Darkness in the literary system of modernism, Franco Marenco carefully highlighted the connections between literary form and axiology (Marenco 1991). In particular, he characterized Conrad’s rhetoric in Heart of Darkness as ‘devoted to incongruity, to a continual meandering – or unfathomable collation – between the banal and the exceptional, the oppressive and the liberatory, the meaningful and the meaningless’.39 In turn, the novelist Alessandro Baricco, in an essay published in the Feltrinelli edition of Heart of Darkness (Baricco 1995), stresses the imperfections and the casualness of Conrad’s style: the relation between different parts of the text seems to be wrong or at least random; marginal episodes assume disproportionate relevance; expectations are raised in the reader that are then rapidly dissolved, with baffling and disappointing results. All these imperfections, however, are part of the fascination of a text that Baricco defines as ‘enigmatic, unpleasant and upsetting’. Speaking of imperfections, it is of some interest that the

38 Sertoli 1974a, 1974b, 1999. Similarly, for Prospero Trigona, Conrad tries to demystify colonial rhetoric both in his early fiction (Almayer’s Folly, An Outcast of the Islands, ‘An Outpost of Progress’) and in Heart of Darkness (Trigona 1972, 140). 39 Marenco 1991 in Curreli 2015, 56.

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novelist Elena Ferrante also appreciates Conrad’s style (specifically in ‘The Return’) for such apparent flaws as ‘the interrupted sentences and misguided senses’.40 Among recent publications, the most relevant essay on technique in Heart of Darkness is probably by Giovanni Bottiroli, one of Italy’s leading literary theorists (Bottiroli 2017). Moving between narratology, philosophy and psychoanalysis, Bottiroli argues that, in Lacan’s register theory, ‘we find the tools best suited to approach the dangerous attraction alterity can exert. Marlow is not the double of Kurtz, and does not cut off the link with the Symbolical. His voyage towards the Real, towards the incandescence of das Ding, is knowledge rather than dissolution.’41 The enigma proposed by the text does not lie in the unrepresentable. The most serious flaw in a reading such as Peter Brooks’s consists, contends Bottiroli, in reducing Marlow to his narrative, testimonial function, as if he were telling us only the story of Kurtz and not that of his relationship with Kurtz. It is as if Marlow were ‘sitting on a frame’, and not also within it. As if he were a detective, whose job is simply to ascertain the truth of facts that have already happened. As if the greatest danger on his African journey was to lose his life, as happens to the helmsman of the boat, and not to lose his own soul. From a certain point of view, if there is a double of Marlow in Heart of Darkness, he argues, it is not Kurtz but the Harlequin, that is, the person who has already met Kurtz, perhaps the most dangerous thing he had come across so far. Marlow’s whole journey is an approach to the Thing (das Ding), not so much as a noumenal object but as a zone of incandescence in which the subject risks seeing the contours of his own identity vanish. That is why in this African tale the fog isotopy is so important. Marlow is what he narrates, and his narration narrates the blurring of boundaries: thus, the possibility of his own identity vanishes into a confusing identification. By comparison, Kurtz is a limit-surpassing character, who recalls Nietzsche’s Zarathustra: the one who accesses all opposites. A fourth type of reading of Heart of Darkness is of a symbolic and archetypal nature, such as those provided by Francesco Giacobelli in 1976 (Giacobelli 1980), Domenichelli (1978) and Barale (1990). In his reading, Giacobelli also redefined Kurtz’s fascination by presenting him as an antecedent of Thomas Mann’s magician in Mario und der Zauberer [Mario and the magician]. Kurtz, the corrupt hero, is the link between two cultural and literary situations. In the nineteenth century – the age of the crowds – this type of negative hero was usually driven to self-destruction by his own insanity, but, in the twentieth century, crowds of subjugated listeners and spectators put their wills into the hands of fascinatingly delirious and manipulative figures. In his deconstructive and psychoanalytic approach, Domenichelli interpreted Heart of Darkness as a discourse without a Weltanschauung but a critique for every Weltanschauung, faith or belief. To Oliva, and to the advocates of Kurtz’s sinister fascination, Domenichelli objected that

40

Ferrante 2016; my translation. For an alternative view of the functionality of Conrad’s style, see Ciompi 2019, in which, among other things, Conrad’s delayed decoding is understood as a legacy of Dostoevsky. On the strategic use of first-person narration in Heart of Darkness as a typological model, see Torino 2019; for a useful introduction, see Bignami 2013. 41 Bottiroli 2017, 13. Another relevant philosophical study is Moretti 2017. According to Moretti, Heart of Darkness can be linked to Johann Jacob Bachofen, particularly in the matriarchal-heretical aspect of the novel. This has particular reference to certain symbols: Bachofen’s swamp and forest and Conrad’s vegetation are almost identical. On the one hand, we have the ‘forest’, the primitive and wild space-time that the civilized Kurtz penetrated and by which, evidently, he was then in turn effectively swallowed up. On the other hand, we have Bachofen’s ‘swamp’, a visible, concrete representation of natural etheric generation, that generation in which birth, generation and death constitute a single cycle devoid of hope and future.

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Kurtz is not altogether saved by Conrad by having him acting or speaking grandiloquently in an atmosphere of Faustian grandeur. Kurtz is, like all Conrad’s supposed Übermenschen, just human, all too human, and not the strong producer of his own convictions. He is the beastly body, the repressed desire freed from Victorian constraints that speaks the horror in a devilish voice. He is Baal Zebub, the Lord of the Flies (insects buzz in the great peace of death and announce his presence). In Heart of Darkness each main character has a double, and the connections between characters are described by Domenichelli in terms of the Jungian quaternium. Kurtz is thus, among other things, Marlow’s negative double, the infernal sun, the king of Darkness, the father Marlow tries to kill in order to get hold of the Intended, seen as the pure mother. But the Intended remains aloof and detached. Eventually Kurtz meets her only in the horror of Death. Kurtz’s fiancée is, in fact, Atropos, the third of the Fates, whose obscure fellow-knitters of man’s life are the two old women met by Marlow in the sepulchral city and addressed by him with the words, ‘Ave, old knitters of black wool. Morituri vos salutant.’ This is why, argues Domenichelli, Marlow does not lie when he says the last word pronounced by Kurtz was the Intended’s name. Unfortunately, there is not space to provide further examples of Domenichelli’s pyrotechnical arguments. His interpretation is representative of the contemporary reading of Conrad as an apocalyptic nihilist: a writer who, paradoxically, elaborates the enormous inheritance of different cultural traditions only to expose them all as hollow at the core. This view is shared by, among others, Franco Marenco, who, in the wake of Mario Perniola’s 1966 essay on Conrad’s metafiction (Perniola 1966), has often insisted on the meta-literary value of Conrad’s novels (Marenco 1978, 1996). In Marenco’s opinion, in fact, Conrad’s work both typifies and engages with what Lukács defined as the intrinsic weakness of avant-garde writing, that is, its inability to found positive social and axiological values (Marenco 1996, 48). Marenco’s Conrad is the paradoxical, ironical beginner of the literature of exhaustion which spans from decadentism to Samuel Beckett – and to Kafka, as novelist and critic Claudio Magris later added, Conrad being comparable to a sort of ‘en plein air Kafka’ (Magris 2003). In this sense, the kenosis of traditional fiction Conrad performs in books like Victory is even more important than the literary gymnastics of his more experimental texts. This interpretation is particularly attractive, because it transcends the conventional achievement–decline scheme and blurs several other binaries. For instance, it makes the old opposition of romantic–realist irrelevant. It also undermines the new-historicist claim, cleverly voiced among others by Luisa Villa, that Conrad’s fiction is the work of a split author writing either as an experimental high-modernist or as a garrulous romancer (Villa 2000). The most comprehensive contribution to the reading of Conrad as a nihilist and protomodernist is a 2012 book-length study by Fausto Ciompi, Conrad: nichilismo e alterità (Conrad: Nihilism and Otherness), in which Conrad’s modernism is understood as existential anxiety, philosophical scepticism and technical experimentation. Among the arguments put forward in the book is that Conrad’s ‘philopony’ (the love of work that unites and saves his sailors) differentiates him from the devotees of work as a secular religion à la Carlyle, in that it serves as an antidote to the modern evils of living and as the means to build solidarity among the members of a micro-community.42 Reading Conrad is like taking part in a guided tour of the nineteenth42

For some Ruskinian echoes in relation to Conrad and work, see Cianci 2017; and for an insightful reading of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ from the perspective of non-work ethics, see Bellini 2017. According to Bellini, the man who refuses to work, like Wait in The Nigger, evokes the figure of the idiot, a man, as Maria Zambrano so aptly put it, ‘who does not behave humanly’ but rather as ‘a pure inhabitant of the planet’, a mere presence in the sense of Heidegger, one who refuses to act and thus denies the incessant neoliberalist exhortation to invest in ourselves.

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century cemetery of grand narratives: race, progress, colonialism, coded sexual identity, epistemological incontrovertibility. Conrad is thus interpreted as a transnational author whose sources are to be found in the great European culture, especially that of suspicion and pessimism, which starts with Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. From Nietzsche, among other things, Conrad would reprise in The Secret Agent the trope of the ‘world as hospital’ (‘Nietzsche’s nightmare’, as Alan Bennett has defined it), which is developed especially in Human, Too Human (first translated into English in 1909), where Nietzsche imagines a world made up of a series of health resorts (Gesundheitsstationen), and in On the Genealogy of Morals (first translated into English in 1896). The idea of the world as a hospital, which in The Secret Agent is associated with the anarchist Michaelis, has a long and interesting history in German culture: a narrative which includes Goethe and was certainly known to Nietzsche and perhaps, at least in part, to Conrad. It is part of this story, for example, that the eighteenth-century German poet Johann Jacob Rambach wrote a poem that begins with the lines ‘Die ganze Welt ist nur ein Hospital’ (The whole world is but a great hospital). Rambach collaborated with another famous biblical scholar, Johann Heinrich Michaelis, on a well-known edition of the Bible (Frankfurt, 1720). It would seem, then, that, by attributing to the anarchist Michaelis the ideas and the name respectively of two theologians who shared an interest in pietist philosophy, Conrad was mocking the political agenda of the burly revolutionary of The Secret Agent, which was analogously based on the theological virtues of faith, hope and charity (Ciompi 2012, 175–7). Similar attempts to combine epistemic philology, textual criticism and transnational culture are produced, in Conrad: nichilismo e alterità, in the reading of Conrad’s texts, from The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ to The Shadow-Line. But the overall interpretative proposal put forward in the book could be summarized in the definition of Conrad as an ‘active nihilist’ in the Nietzschean sense, an experimenter in forms and ideas who identifies writing as the intellectual work of a ‘novelist with a hammer’. Conrad’s apocalyptic nihilism or scepticism is emphasized by several other critics: by Serpieri, who stresses the fact that, in Conrad’s fiction, the sublime is often reduced to the grotesque and the absurd (Serpieri 1997), as well as by Ceserani (Ceserani 1999, 66) and Gorlier, Curreli and Pagetti (Pagetti 1994). The latter deems Conrad the most eminent author at the turn of the century, because, among other things, he revolutionizes the status of the hero and of truth in fiction. This interpretation of Conrad as a nihilist is opposed by a minority of equally influential critics, who do not deny his technical modernity but foreground the ethical side of his fiction. Agostino Lombardo, for instance, regards Conrad as a decadent who transcends fin-de-siècle aestheticism through his modern narrative techniques and his solid ethics (Lombardo 1992). Giovanni Cianci, in his turn, concedes that Conrad’s language is often haunted by a modernist ambiguity, but also emphasizes that, as happens in most Victorian fiction, Conrad’s stories are illuminated by his moral certainties (Cianci 2000). Another debate that has recently interested Italian critics concerns whether Conrad is an exponent of imperial romance or a transnational author.43 This second option has been argued 43

This topic was originally developed in Ambrosini 2013, 1–12. Of considerable interest in this context is Zulli 2019. As Zulli observes, ‘Considering Conrad in transnational terms means [. . .] that his narrative, while benefitting from a comparative reading with Benjamin’s language theories, is also an echo-chamber, or rather, an anticipation of those theories’ (Zulli 2019, 24). Zulli’s book contains perceptive chapters on intertextual relations between Conrad and Nadine Gordimer, on orality and the language of colonialism in Conrad and Stevenson, as well as linguistic readings of ‘Karain’ and ‘Amy Foster’. Ambrosini and Zulli’s transnational approach is not limited to a synchronic heterotopia, but is also interested in insights from the classical tradition. On this latter topic, see also Ambrosini 2019.

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especially by Richard Ambrosini in one of the most significant publications of recent Conrad criticism, the 2019 volume Le storie di Conrad: biografia intellettuale di un romanziere (Conrad’s stories: the intellectual biography of a novelist). According to Ambrosini, Conrad must be compared to such authors as Kafka, Proust and Thomas Mann rather than included in what Leavis called ‘the great tradition’ of English literature. Ambrosini rejects the achievement– decline scheme (Woolf and Moser) and the idea of Conrad’s intellectual vacuity (E. M. Forster). Instead, he proposes to read Conrad’s entire production as the work of an intellectual author, whose self-awareness and maturity are shown by his Author’s Notes,44 which Ambrosini takes as the starting point for his critical analyses. Ambrosini’s aim is ‘to recount not the life of Conrad the “practical person”, but Conrad the “poetic person” [the distinction is Benedetto Croce’s], an intellectual biography based on an intelligence that was expressed in a series of existential and artistic choices’.45 The main ambition of Ambrosini’s study, however, is to demonstrate that the female figures in Conrad’s fiction, from Almayer’s Folly to Suspense, are the fil rouge that allows his authorial intelligence to unfold. Many of Conrad’s stories have a male name in the title or a male protagonist, and it is certain traits of this hero that give the first impetus to the events. But as stories are drawing to a close, in any story that is not a sea tale, the reader is left in suspense, uncertain whether she has witnessed the end of a tragedy concerning male hubris. What actually happens, however, is that, without our realizing it, Conrad has moved the woman from the margins to the centre of the narrative. Most obvious, in this sense, are the cases of Chance and Victory, in which Flora and Lena act as the engines of the final denouement. Ambrosini thus reconceptualizes Conrad as an intellectual, a theorist of the novel, a lucid observer of contemporary geopolitics, who, by interweaving political materials and a numinous writing, increasingly focused on the testimony provided by his women, continually renews the how and what of his stories. Apocalyptic nihilist or inveterate moralist? Imperial romancer or transnational intellectual? Let me conclude with these final bifurcations. In packaging a small part of Conrad’s Italian Wirkungsgeschichte, I started from the early Conrad of the so-called liquid literature, then I outlined, successively, the sublime Conrad devised by the ‘art prose’ culture, Conrad the existentialist, the humanist, the political observer, the apocalyptic nihilist, the meta-literary destroyer of fictional tradition, the intellectual and the revaluer of all values (especially the feminine). In the end, the originally liquid object of my attention unexpectedly metamorphosed into the pretty solid condition of a biblical and Flaubertian god, who shares the axiological certainties of his late-Victorian contemporaries. Every survey of critical interpretations unavoidably confirms that our readings are historically determined. In that respect, the best we

44

For a perceptive study of Conrad’s Author’s Notes from a transnational perspective, see Lops 2019. ‘una biografia intellettuale fondata su un’intelligenza che si è andata esplicando in una sequenza di scelte esistenziali e artistiche’, Ambrosini 2019, 21 (my translation). Ambrosini, a leading figure in Conrad studies in Italy, is also the author of Conrad’s Fiction as Critical Discourse (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). On the link between literature and autobiography, see the insightful conclusion of Marilena Saracino’s study: ‘Tanto Conrad, quale protagonista e narratore della sua  autobiografia, quanto i personaggi dei suoi romanzi, traggono dalle loro itineranti “avventure” la materia necessaria per meditare sul proprio destino tragico e, nello stesso tempo, danno vita a ciò che si può definire “autobiografia del procedere artistico” ’ (‘Both Conrad, as the protagonist and narrator of his autobiography, and the characters in his novels draw from their itinerant “adventures” the necessary material to meditate on their own tragic destiny and, at the same time, give life to what can be defined as an “autobiography of artistic progress” ’) (Saracino, 2008, 129; my translation). 45

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can do is to be the rigorous tracers of chains that bind. But such hermeneutic variance may also give the impression that what critics normally do is, as Cesare Segre put it, to sell or shop in the supermarket of opinions (Segre 1993, 2001). And in this respect, I do not wish to master, to unify, or to reappropriate contradictions. I would rather wish to conclude with the words of two Italian authors and great admirers of Conrad: Daniele Del Giudice and Primo Levi. Quoting a minor Conrad essay, ‘Out of Literature’, which discusses the ‘Notice to Mariners’, in his introduction to Levi’s work Del Giudice shares Conrad’s respect for this ‘good prose’ from which every literary and ennobling aspect is barred ‘except responsibility’ (Del Giudice 1997, xlix; LE, 39–40). In turn, Levi, who quotes Conrad at the end of his 1978 novel The Wrench, elaborates on the value of every kind of poiesis: human activities ‘teach us to be whole, to think with our hands and with the entire body, to refuse to surrender to the negative days and to formulas that cannot be understood’. The ‘profession of writing’, which includes creative literature as well as its critical epiphenomena, ‘grants (rarely, but it does grant) some moments of creation, like when current suddenly runs through a circuit that is turned off, and a light comes on’ (Levi 1987, 52–3). As Levi critic Pierpaolo Antonello, to whom I owe this quotation, observes, ‘such professions disclose an intrinsic ethical programme’ (Antonello 2007, 102).

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PART 3 CONRAD’S RECEPTION IN SPAIN AND LATIN AMERICA

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CHAPTER 12 THE RECEPTION OF CONRAD IN SPAIN Daniel Zurbano García

‘Viva l’España!!!!’ In such enthusiastic terms did Conrad refer to Spain with respect to the ’98 war in a letter to R. B. Cunninghame Graham, and he added, ‘But, perhaps, the race is doomed? It would be a pity. It would narrow life, it would destroy a whole side of it which had its morality and was always picturesque and at times inspiring’ (CL2, 60). Described as ‘an incorrigible, hopeless Don Quixote’ (PR, 50) in his own book of memoirs, A Personal Record (1912), Conrad was an admiring reader of Cervantes’s masterpiece, and the Quixotic drive runs through his narrative fiction, from Almayer’s Folly (1895), Lord Jim (1900) or Nostromo (1904) to Victory (1915). Conrad’s second novel, An Outcast of the Islands (1896), is preceded by a motto from Calderón’s La vida es sueño (Life is a Dream) (1635) in Spanish: ‘pues el delito mayor / del hombre es haber nacido’ (For the greatest sin / of man is that he ever was born). Alert to Spanish culture and deeply sympathetic to the plight of the Spanish people, Conrad named his family’s dog Escamillo after the bullfighter in Bizet’s opera Carmen, based on Prosper Mérimée’s novel. Nostromo, set in an imaginary Latin American republic and written in response to the American-Spanish war of 1898 and American support for the secession of Panama from Colombia, is suffused with Spanish words and expressions and reflects a powerful vision of the Hispanic ‘race’ from a foreign perspective. In 1907, while staying in Montpellier, Conrad took formal Spanish lessons. Finally, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, in the collection of stories Within the Tides (1915), is set in the north-west of Spain at the time of the Peninsular War, while the depictions of the ‘Tremolino’ episode in The Mirror of the Sea (1906) and the late novel The Arrow of Gold (1919) dramatize an adventurous affair of gunrunning to Spain in the context of the Carlist wars, supposedly based on Conrad’s own experiences from his youth. As a truly international writer, Conrad is thus linked with Spain and Hispanic culture in many different ways. In what follows, a diachronic overview of the reception of Conrad in Spain will be offered, covering in turn four major areas of interest: translation; newspaper articles and magazine criticism; academic criticism; and literary impact. From the present perspective, and taking all the available data into consideration, the predominant view that Conrad has been little read and underappreciated in Spain needs to be revisited (see Galván 2005, 104–7 and Celada 1994, 56–8).1

Conrad in translation The reputation of Vicente Blasco Ibáñez (1867–1928) as an internationally successful novelist was already well established when he contacted Conrad to obtain his permission to undertake 1

The following survey focuses exclusively on the reception of Conrad in Castilian. Evidences of response to Conrad in Catalan, Galician or Basque fall outside the scope of this chapter.

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the project of translating Conrad’s works into Spanish for the publishing house Prometeo. Ibáñez himself was to ‘oversee the translations to ensure their accuracy and the faithful rendering of the writer’s ideas’.2 In the letter written to Conrad in French on 10 March 1923, Ibáñez declared his admiration for the Polish-born writer in the following terms: I have long admired you through the several novels I have read in French, because, alas, I read English badly. For me you are a true novelist of the kind I admire, and I have always regretted that the Spanish public is unfamiliar with your immortal works.3 In addition, Ibáñez had the intention to ‘write a study of you and your works to preface the novels translated into Spanish’.4 He went on to express his wish that Conrad’s representative would come to an agreement with Prometeo Publishers though, he lamented, ‘the enterprise will be important on literary rather than commercial grounds’.5 After reading Ibáñez’s letter, Conrad described his language as the ‘most extraordinary jargon of French I have ever read in my life’ in a letter to his agent, Eric Pinker (CL8, 52). Nevertheless, Conrad answered Ibáñez’s letter on 21 March, addressing him as ‘Cher et illustre Confrère’ (Dear and illustrious Colleague), telling the Spanish novelist, ‘I am very glad to know of your interest in my work. I wish ardently to be presented to the Spanish public under your auspices.’6 Conrad assured Ibáñez that Pinker would resume negotiations with Prometeo Publishers immediately after his return from the United States, and he added, ‘No doubt there will be no difficulty in reaching an agreement.’7 The project was never fulfilled, but Vicente Blasco Ibáñez’s was the first recorded attempt to publish a collection of Conrad’s works in a Spanish translation. The first book-form translations into Spanish of the works of Joseph Conrad were published by the Catalonian house Montaner y Simón in 1925, just after Conrad’s death. It was thanks to the efforts made by Joan Estelrich, an enthusiastic reader of Conrad who became a shareholder in the company, that the introduction of Conrad’s works into Spain was possible. Though relatively belated, these translations proved to be extremely popular during the next decades. By the end of the 1920s, Conrad’s works, already established as the hallmark of the Montaner y Simón publishing house, were among the few collections considered indispensable to reissue (Bellver Poissenot 2016, 209). Apparently, the original project involved the publication of Conrad’s complete works in translation and, though this ambitious aim was eventually abandoned, the volumes published between 1925 and 1935 are sufficiently representative of the Conrad canon. Translated into Spanish by renowned critics and translators like Ricardo Baeza or Ramón Perés, with introductions written by Estelrich, the Montaner y Simón editions of

2

‘je vigile aussi les traductions pour qu’elles soyent exactes et reflectent fidelement la pensée de l’auteur’ (Stape and Knowles 1996, 203). The translation into English is provided by the editors. 3 ‘Fait longtemps que je vous admire pour quelques romans que j’ai lu de vous en français, car malheureusement je lis tres mal l’anglais. Vous etes pour moi le vrai romancier tel comme je l’admire, et j’ai regretté toujours que le public de langue espagnole ne connaisse pas vos œuvres immortelles’ (Stape and Knowles 1996, 203). 4 ‘écrire une étude sur vous et vos œuvres qui figurait en téte de vos romans traduits a l’espagnol’ (Stape and Knowles 1996, 204). 5 ‘cette entreprise aura plus d’importance de coté littéraire que du coté commercial’ (Stape and Knowles 1996, 204). 6 ‘Je suis très heureux de savoir que Vous Vous intéréssez a mon oeuvre. Je désire vivement me présenter au public espagnol sous Vos auspices’ (CL8, 54). The translation into English is given by the editors. 7 ‘Sans doute il n’y aura aucune difficulte a nous entendre’ (CL8, 54).

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Conrad’s works were an immense success among the reading public.8 In fact, not only did the translations for Montaner y Simón popularize Conrad in Spain in the 1920s and 1930s, but they have been reissued in several different editions from the 1970s to the present. After a period of cultural flourishing, when the emergence of the 1927 generation coincided with a proliferation of literary magazines and a growing interest in modern European authors, the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936 and the establishment of Franco’s regime changed the cultural landscape completely. Not until the 1970s did new translations of Conrad’s works begin to appear in Spain. From the establishment of democracy to the present, a wide number of translations of Conrad’s works have been edited for different publishing houses, thus confirming Conrad as one of the most frequently translated foreign authors in Spain. El corazón de las tinieblas (Heart of Darkness) (1899) is by far the most popular of all Conrad’s works in Spain. The database of the Biblioteca Nacional de España (Spanish National Library) lists sixty-three editions of the novella between 1974 and 2018, and there are over twenty different translations into Spanish. Lord Jim and El agente secreto (The Secret Agent) (1907) have also been widely disseminated in the Spanish literary market; the BNE records thirty-six editions of the former, and twenty-four different editions of the latter. Other popular works, in terms of the number of editions and translations, include The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1897), Typhoon (1903) and The Shadow-Line (1917), but virtually the whole canon of Conrad’s works is now available in Spanish translations. Finally, it is worth noting that distinguished creative writers such as Javier Marías and Rosa Regàs have also been involved in the translation of Conrad into Spanish, as will be discussed below.

Newspaper articles and magazine criticism Early references to Conrad in the Spanish press, prior to his death and the appearance of the first translations in 1925, include an article in the weekly journal España (Spain) on 12 July 1917, in which Agustín Heredia wrote, ‘The tragic concept of life, the struggle of man against material forces and seemingly fatal forces, against hidden forces of destruction, desolation and insanity in landscapes and masses of greatness and perfect beauty are magnificently described by Mr. Thomas Hardy and Mr. Joseph Conrad in the epic manner.’9 The author also selected Conrad’s Victory for particular praise, forcing a connection with the First World War (in the same issue, there is a text in support of France written by Conrad’s friend John Galsworthy). On the occasion of Conrad’s death, several obituaries appeared in different Spanish papers and magazines. In La Esfera (The Sphere), A. de Tormes reviewed Conrad’s life and work, praised ‘the magnificence of his English prose’,10 and lamented the fact that ‘none of his books are available in Spanish’.11 The Catholic newspaper El Siglo Futuro (The Future Century) also

8

For more details about Joan Estelrich and the translations of Conrad’s works for the Montaner y Simón house, see the essays by Hurtley and Puxan Oliva in this volume. 9 ‘El concepto trágico de la vida, la lucha del hombre contra fuerzas materiales y contra fuerzas fatales al parecer, contra fuerzas ocultas de destrucción, de desolación y de insania en paisajes y en masas de grandeza y de acabada belleza los describen Mr. Thomas Hardy y Mr. Joseph Conrad soberbiamente a la manera épica’ (Heredia 1917, 11). 10 ‘la magnificencia de su prosa inglesa’ (Tormes 1924, 25). 11 ‘no hay ningún libro suyo en lengua española’ (Tormes 1924, 25).

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paid tribute to the late Polish-born writer: ‘The literary world has suffered a great loss with the unexpected death of the famous Catholic novelist Joseph Conrad.’12 The Spanish critic Antonio Marichalar (1893–1973) championed the young literary generation of 1927, both in Spain and abroad, and wrote appreciatively on many different Western literary figures in the 1920s and 1930s. On the occasion of Conrad’s death, Marichalar wrote ‘Estela de Joseph Conrad’ (‘In the wake of Joseph Conrad’) for the August 1924 issue of Revista de Occidente (Western Review). It is a short article, and it abounds in the critical commonplaces of the time, such as Conrad’s Slavism or Conrad as a writer of the sea. For Marichalar, however, Conrad is more than simply an adventure writer: ‘Still, what Conrad tells us is not just a good adventure novel, but something else.’13 Marichalar praises Conrad for his analytical sagacity and the creation of characters: ‘Conrad [. . .] is concerned with the proper knowledge of his different characters. He tries to perform his analysis and, in order to accomplish it, he suddenly hurls them into the chances of a complicated action.’14 Joan Estelrich (1896–1958) not only promoted the edition of Conrad’s works in translation for Montaner y Simón, but also produced the first substantial works of criticism about Conrad in Spain. The monthly review Cuba contemporánea (Contemporary Cuba), in its issue for July 1925, published a fragment of the critical study on Conrad which Estelrich had written for Montaner y Simón. Quoting extensively from Conrad’s works in translation, and drawing from critical studies written in French and English, Estelrich defines Conrad as a ‘realist’ and a ‘romantic’ novelist (Estelrich 1925, 258). Defining Conrad as a fatalist and aligning him with Hardy in their contempt for what he calls ‘the bitter comedy of life’,15 Estelrich believes that ‘the higher meaning of Conrad’s work lies in the confrontation of personal effort with the nonhuman potencies of the universe’.16 On the front page of the daily La Voz (The Voice), of 5 March 1927, under the heading ‘La decadencia de la novela’ (The decadence of the novel), the critic Hernández Cata named Conrad as one of the indisputable masters of the novel, alongside Marcel Proust and George Meredith, thus confirming that, by that date, Conrad was read and appreciated by discerning critics in Spain, as well as by the general reading public (Hernández Cata 1927, 1). Curiously enough, on 19 September 1928 an unsigned news report about Arthur Conan Doyle’s involvement with spiritualism and the occult appeared in the journal La Libertad (Freedom). The creator of Sherlock Holmes claimed that the spirit of Joseph Conrad had contacted him through a medium asking him to help conclude a novel he had left unfinished at his death. In Conan Doyle’s reported words, ‘I could not fulfil his wish because the book had already been published with the title of Suspense.’17 The renowned Spanish novelist Javier Marías referred to

12

‘El mundo literario ha sufrido una gran pérdida con la muerte inesperada del famoso novelista católico José Conrad’ (‘Noticias de Inglaterra’, El Siglo Futuro: Diario Católico, Madrid, 12 August 1924, 5304:1). 13 ‘Con todo, lo que Conrad nos cuenta no es únicamente una buena novela de aventuras, sino algo más’ (Marichalar 2002 (1924), 220). 14 ‘A Conrad [. . .] le preocupa el conocimiento cabal de los diversos caracteres. Trata de hacer su análisis, y para lograrlo, de súbito los aventura en los azares de una complicada acción’ (Marichalar 2002 (1924), 220). 15 ‘la amarga comedia de la vida’ (Estelrich 1925, 251). 16 ‘El sentido superior de la obra de Conrad hay que buscarlo en su confrontación del esfuerzo personal con las potencias inhumanas del universo’ (Estelrich 1925, 259). 17 ‘No pude cumplir su deseo porque dicho libro había sido ya publicado con el nombre de Incertidumbre’ (‘El espiritismo de Conan Doyle’, La Libertad, Madrid, 19 September 1928, 2652: 3).

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the same anecdote almost eighty years later, in an article translated for The Conradian on the occasion of the 150th anniversary celebration of Conrad’s birth (see Marías 2007a). It was some decades before Conrad reappeared in newspapers and literary journals. In the monthly literary journal Ínsula (Isle), of June 1980, Pérez Minik reviewed Conrad’s work and his contribution to English literature on the occasion of the reissue of Ricardo Baeza’s translation of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ for Editorial Planeta (Planet Publishing). Pérez Minik took the opportunity to vindicate the name of Baeza, ‘forgotten today, a writer who in the 1920s and 1930s had a really lucid knowledge of foreign literatures, who sought to mend our provincialism with his most accomplished renditions of so many outstanding western figures of the present and the previous century’.18 Five years later, writing in the November 1985 issue of Ínsula, coinciding with a period when several new translations of Conrad’s works were being published alongside reissues of old ones, Minik engaged in a discussion of Conrad’s moral, political and philosophical outlook (see Pérez Minik 1985, 7). After another five years, the writer Vicente Muñoz Puelles, who had translated Youth and The Shadow-Line into Spanish, wrote appreciatively on Conrad in ‘Joseph Conrad: el mar y los libros’ (Joseph Conrad: the sea and the books): ‘Although it is a frequent setting in his works, Conrad always reacted vehemently against the label of writer of the sea.’19

Academic writing In his book-length study Novelistas ingleses contemporáneos (Contemporary English Novelists) (1945), Ricardo Gullón included a chapter on Conrad entitled ‘Conrad el desarraigado’ (The rootless Conrad). In it, Gullón discusses approvingly the quality of Conrad’s imagination, his ars poetica as expressed in the Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, and the mastery of Conrad’s characterization and literary style. Moreover, the eminent Spanish critic sums up the much-debated question of Conrad’s adherence to the adventure novel genre in these terms: As to what is properly called the plot of his novels, Conrad’s imagination is boundless: Nostromo, Almayer’s Folly, Lord Jim, The Arrow of Gold . . . they all constitute a compact and extremely varied network of interesting events, and not merely of adventures, as might be said disdainfully. For adventure here is a pretext, an incitement to souls so that when faced by it, vast spaces open up that would otherwise remain secret, an elaborate device needed for the highest of goals: to capture the complex secret of mankind.20

18 ‘tan olvidado hoy, un escritor que entre los años veinte y treinta poseyó una conciencia muy lúcida de las literaturas extranjeras, que intentó corregir nuestro aldeanismo con sus versiones más cumplidas de tantas figuras sobresalientes occidentales del presente o del pasado siglo’ (Pérez Minik 1980, 7). 19 ‘Aunque es un escenario frecuente en sus obras, Conrad siempre se defendió vehementemente contra el apelativo de escritor del mar’ (Muñoz Puelles 1990, 53–4). 20 ‘En cuanto a lo propiamente llamado asunto de sus novelas, la fantasía de Conrad es inagotable: Nostromo, La locura de Almayer, Lord Jim, La flecha de oro . . . constituyen un tejido compacto y variadísimo de sucesos interesantes, y no solamente de aventuras, como con criterio empequeñecedor podría decirse. Pues la aventura es aquí un pretexto, una incitación a las almas para que al enfrentarse con ella dejen al descubierto vastos espacios de otra manera herméticos, un complicado ingenio necesario al más alto proyecto: capturar el complejo secreto del hombre’ (Gullón 1945, 62).

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Gullón also rejects the idea of Conrad’s supposed ‘Slavism’: ‘Thus every attempt to explain the Conradian world through his Slavic tendences fails; the truth is that those tendencies were subjected to the attraction of the western mentality which was central to his character.’21 In addition, the Spanish critic anticipates F. R. Leavis’s objection to Conrad’s ‘adjectival insistence’ (see Leavis 1948, 206) when, though praising Conrad’s flexible and precise vocabulary, elegant style and wise use of adjectives, he mentions the occasional risk of certain ‘faltering paragraphs’ and ‘adjectival reiteration’.22 The academic engagement with Conrad’s work, however, did not begin until some decades later.23 Among the earliest pieces of academic writing on Conrad produced by Spanish scholars, it is worth mentioning the essay ‘Oscuridad y subconsciente en Joseph Conrad’ (Darkness and the subconscious in Joseph Conrad) (1966), by the late Javier Coy Ferrer, a pioneer in Anglo-American literary studies in Spain. He contributed greatly to the development of English Studies at Spanish universities during the 1960s and 1970s, coinciding with the cultural opening in the later phase of Franco’s regime and the early years of democracy. During this time, the study of modern and contemporary literature in English was gradually established. As a result, from the 1980s to the present a large number of academic articles on Conrad have been produced in Spanish universities. These have been written from a variety of different critical perspectives, including comparative literature as well as post-colonial, feminist or cultural studies. In this context, Heart of Darkness has become the single work by Conrad which has elicited most attention from Spanish scholars and common readers alike.24 It is impossible to offer an exhaustive survey of the scholarly items published on Conrad in Spain over the last four decades, but some articles might be highlighted as a sample. Teresa Gibert (1988), for example, examines the story ‘An Outpost of Progress’ from several interrelated critical angles, while, more recently, Matas Pons (2014) discusses the motif of the double or Doppelgänger in Conrad’s fiction. In 2002, on the occasion of the centenary of the publication of Heart of Darkness in book form, Miguel Sánchez-Ostiz published the essay ‘Conrad y los vagabundos de las islas’ (Conrad and the outcasts of the islands) in Revista de Occidente (Western Review), the widely influential journal founded by Ortega y Gasset in 1923, where ‘Una avanzada del progreso’ (‘An Outpost of Progress’), ‘La Bestia’ (‘The Brute’) and ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ had appeared in 1924, 1926 and 1927, respectively. Finally, the essay ‘Size, Wisdom, and Uneasiness: Further Reflections on the Loss of the Titanic and Conrad’s “Some Reflections” ’, written by the marine engineer officer José González, appeared in The Conradian, the journal of the Joseph Conrad Society (UK) in 2016. The first doctoral thesis on Conrad written in Spain dates from 1980. It is entitled ‘Joseph Conrad: un mundo de soledad’ (Joseph Conrad: a world of solitude), and it investigates the theme of solitude through an analysis of Conrad’s characters, highlighting an implicit acceptance of death and suicide as possible solutions to the overwhelming loneliness they

21

‘Así falla toda tentativa de explicar el mundo conradiano por las tendencias eslavas; lo cierto es que tales tendencias vivieron supeditadas a la atracción de la mentalidad occidental determinante de su carácter’ (Gullón 1945, 70). 22 ‘el empleo de párrafos entrecortados, de la reiteración al adjetivar’ (Gullón 1945, 67). 23 Gullón was imprisoned for collaborating with the Republicans during the Spanish Civil War. From 1953 to 1956, he lived in Puerto Rico where he had gone to visit his friend, the exiled Juan Ramón Jiménez; he subsequently moved to the United States where he taught Spanish literature at a number of universities. 24 See, for example, Antón García 1983; Galván 1994; Fernández Álvarez 1998; and Carmona Fernández 2006.

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usually experience (see Serra Cornella 1980). From the 1980s to the present, several doctoral theses on Conrad have been written in Spanish universities, often within the field of comparative literature and usually exploring the interconnection of Conrad’s works with other Western writers and literary or philosophical traditions. Thus Leboreiro Amaro (1989) and Campo Gómez (1994) discuss the problem of evil in Conrad and Herman Melville, and the voyage as a rite of passage in Conrad, Stevenson, Theroux and Coetzee, respectively, while Puxan Oliva (2010) investigates questions of narrative reliability, narrative voice and racial stereotypes in Conrad’s Lord Jim and Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom!, and Abril Hernández (2019) discusses the symbol of the labyrinth in Conrad, Borges and Stuart Moulthrop from a semiotic perspective.

Literary impact One of the most distinguished Spanish novelists to have been compared to Conrad is undoubtedly Pío Baroja (1872–1956). It remains unclear, however, to what extent the affinities between the two writers can be ascribed to a relation of literary influence. On the one hand, Baroja was well read from his youth in the tradition of the English adventure novel, and several works by Conrad are located in the library of Itzea, Baroja’s impressive house in Vera del Bidasoa (Alberich 1966, 48). Baroja himself asserted that many of his sailor characters derived from memories of his reading of Poe, Kipling and Conrad (Alberich 1966, 134). On the other hand, according to Julio Caro Baroja, the nephew of the eminent novelist and a member of the Spanish Royal Academy, it was many years after the publication of Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía (The Restlessness of Shanti Andía) (1911) that Pío Baroja first read Conrad’s novels, either in French or Spanish translations (Caro Baroja 1991, 18; see also López García 1995, 59, n. 38). Both Baroja and Conrad experiment with the adventure novel and sea stories from the perspective of strikingly pessimistic worldviews with a common Schopenhauerian root. They also share a nostalgic view of the transition from sail to steam in merchant ships (Allende Portillo, 2010). Nevertheless, their styles are very different; the elaborate and majestic sentences of Conrad’s best works stand in sharp contrast to Baroja’s direct and agile prose style. The connection between Baroja and Conrad was perceived as early as 1926 by J. B. Trend,25 and the comparison between the two novelists has become something of a critical commonplace ever since. According to the controversial critic Ernesto Giménez Caballero, for example, an early champion of the avant-garde literary movement and of fascism in Spain, ‘Conrad, compared to this work by Baroja [La estrella del capitán Chimista (The Star of Captain Chimista)], is reduced to an inventor of little storms and modest voyages.’26 Regarding the connection between Baroja and Conrad, as well as their approach to the adventure novel, Alberich remarks, ‘Adventure is something which can only be observed, something which can only be a spectacle for the writer.’27 It is interesting to note that Baroja

25

In Alfonso the Sage and other Spanish Essays (1926, 101), qtd. in Alberich 1966, 110. ‘Conrad, al lado de esta obra de Baroja, queda en un inventor de pequeñas tormentas y de modestos periplos’ (Giménez Caballero 1930, 95). 27 ‘La aventura es algo que sólo puede ser contemplado, que sólo puede ser espectáculo para el escritor’ (Alberich 1966, 111). 26

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himself claimed, referring to his character Zalacaín, that adventure leads to renunciation and philosophical contemplation (Alberich 1966, 111). This observation is pertinent to the endings of Conrad’s Lord Jim or Victory, pointing to further links between the two writers and the way they experimented with the adventure novel. They both exploited and subverted the conventions of the genre, using it as a point of departure for the analysis of literary characters and the exploration of the contradictions of human nature. In the library of the house of the Spanish Nobel Laureate Juan Ramón Jiménez (1881–1958) in Moguer, there are several English editions of Conrad’s works.28 In addition, Juan Ramón had in his library a copy of André Gide’s French translation of Typhoon (Typhon, Nouvelle Revue Française, 1923) and a copy of Jean Aubry’s translation of Within the Tides (En marge des marées, NRF, 1921) with an autograph dedication from Conrad’s friend and first biographer: ‘To Mr. Juan Ramón Jiménez with my admiring friendship, G. Jean Aubry.’29 For Juan Ramón, Gide was ‘the perfect man of letters’, and he ‘translated wonderfully several of Conrad’s novels into French’.30 However, the Spanish poet held mixed opinions about Conrad: ‘I see in Conrad something hybrid, something undefined: an Englishman who is not English. His books look like translations, and I always have the impression of something out of place in them.’31 Conrad himself had remarked, ‘Homo duplex has in my case more than one meaning’ (CL3, 89), but Juan Ramón found that hybridity and the sense of displacement in Conrad’s works troubling: ‘That’s why Conrad is more natural when he writes about the sea, with her universal and strange or familiar men, than when he writes about the land.’32 González Ródenas (1999, 144) found surprising the fact that Juan Ramón had in his personal library so many volumes of English prose writers like Chesterton, Stevenson or Conrad, who are rarely mentioned in his critical writings. Nevertheless, it is clear from the evidence available that Juan Ramón had read Conrad, both in the original and in French translations, and had a certain interest in his work and personality. Despite Juan Ramón’s ambivalent attitude towards Conrad, both writers shared temperamental similarities and a common approach to their art in many significant respects, and it is not hard to imagine how Conrad’s language and poetic descriptions of the sea would have appealed to the author of Diario de un poeta reciencasado (Diary of a Newlywed Poet). Among the Spanish novelists who have been undeniably influenced by Conrad, the figure of Juan Benet (1927–93) stands out. Traces of his reading of Conrad’s fiction are evident in the themes developed, the literary style and certain echoes and allusions in specific passages of Volverás a Región (You will go back to Región) (1967), Sub rosa (1973), and Saúl ante Samuel (Saul before Samuel) (1980).33 Díaz (1995, 120) mentions ‘Typhoon’ and ‘The Secret Sharer’ in

28 Tales of Unrest (Leipzig: Bernard Tauchnitz, 1898), Almayer’s Folly (Leipzig: Bernard Tauchnitz, 1914), Chance (Leipzig: Bernard Tauchnitz, 1914), Victory (New York: Doubleday Page, 1916) and The Shadow-Line (Leipzig: Bernard Tauchnitz, 1928). See González Ródenas 1999, 339. 29 ‘A D. Juan Ramón Jiménez avec mon admirative amitié, G. Jean Aubry’ (González Ródenas 1999, 358). 30 ‘Gide tradujo al francés magníficamente varias novelas de Conrad. Son versiones memorables, verdaderas joyas. Claro es que Gide es el caso del literato perfecto’ (Gullón 1958, 139; see González Ródenas 1999, 145). 31 ‘Yo veo en Conrad algo híbrido; algo que no acaba de definirse: un inglés que no es inglés. Sus libros parecen traducidos y siempre me parece encontrar en ellos algo que no está en su sitio’ (Gullón 1958, 139, in González Ródenas 1999, 145). 32 ‘Por eso Conrad es más natural cuando escribe sobre lo del mar, con sus hombres universales y estraños o propios que cuando escribe de lo de la tierra’ (Jiménez 1990, 622). 33 For more details about the influence of Conrad on Juan Benet, see López García (1995, 63–8).

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particular as significant influences on the literary style cultivated by Benet in the novella ‘Sub rosa’, a sea narrative with ‘a more elaborate intrigue than is typical of popular literature’.34 Benet also wrote the prologue for Javier Marías’s celebrated translation of The Mirror of the Sea (El espejo del mar) in 1981.35 Of Benet’s literary work, Javier Marías has said that ‘it is the most important work written in Spain in the second half of the twentieth century’.36 Furthermore, speaking about his own connections with Benet as a writer, Marías highlights the common influence of Conrad as a key to their literary and stylistic affinities: I know that there might be some things in that book [The Century] which seem Benetian, but I also know where they come from, and they come from some masters we both had in common, for example Conrad, whose work The Mirror of the Sea I had recently translated, and therefore had influenced me when writing that book. In his [Benet’s] case, more Faulkner; in my case more Conrad; but both of them influenced us both.37 One of the most widely acclaimed and internationally renowned novelists of post-Franco Spain, Javier Marías, has also written about Conrad on several occasions. In Vidas escritas (Written Lives) (1992), a series of unconventional, well-researched and immensely delightful biographical sketches of canonical writers, he includes a chapter on Conrad entitled ‘Joseph Conrad en tierra’ (Joseph Conrad on land). Marías focuses on Conrad’s oddities and temperamental idiosyncrasies from a demythologizing yet respectful and affectionate perspective, drawing from the reminiscences of Ford Madox Ford, Bertrand Russell, Jessie Conrad and Richard Curle as well as Conrad’s own prefaces and autobiographical works. In the chapter devoted to Henry James, Marías also writes about James’s relationship with Conrad: ‘even though he admired his [Conrad’s] works, the man didn’t satisfy him completely, most of all because “at bottom” he was a Pole, a Roman Catholic, a romantic, and a Slavic pessimist at that’.38 Marías published his translation of The Mirror of the Sea in 1981 for the publisher Hiperión. In 2005, a new edition appeared for Reino de Redonda (Kingdom of Redonda), the publishing house Marías himself had founded in 2002. This new edition of El espejo del mar. Recuerdos e impresiones (The Mirror of the Sea. Memories and Impressions), dedicated to Arturo PérezReverte, includes Marías’s revised translation with a note on the text and the preface written by Juan Benet for the Hiperión edition. In the note on the text, written in November 2004, Marías’s discussion of the origins of the project becomes a tribute to Conrad’s masterly prose style: In fact it was I who suggested this book, at that time entirely unknown in Spain, for publication. And in fact it was Juan Benet that I heard mention the book for the first

34

‘una intriga más elaborada que la característica de la literatura popular’ (Díaz 1995, 121). For a fuller discussion of Benet’s response to Conrad, see Marta Puxan Oliva’s chapter in this volume. 36 ‘Su obra [. . .] me parece la más importante de la segunda mitad del siglo XX en España’ (Marías 1993, 28). 37 ‘Yo sé que quizá haya algunas cosas en ese libro [El siglo] que pueden parecer algo benetianas, pero también sé de dónde vienen y vienen de algunos maestros comunes que tanto él como yo tuvimos, por ejemplo Conrad, de quien yo había traducido recientemente  El espejo del mar y que por lo tanto sí que me había influido a la hora de escribir ese libro. En su caso, más Faulkner, en mi caso más Conrad; pero los dos a ambos’ (Marías 1993, 28). 38 ‘aunque admiraba sus obras, la persona no acababa de satisfacerle, sobre todo porque “en el fondo” era polaco, católico romano, romántico, y además un pesimista eslavo’ (Marías 2007b (1992), 67–8). 35

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time, many years before 1981, and not just mention it: it was one of his favourite books in the entire history of literature, as it was to be mine as well, especially after facing its devilish and extraordinary prose and having to rewrite it in my tongue. You can imagine that, after rewriting it for the second time, I consider The Mirror of the Sea, somehow, even more of my own than any of my novels, stories or articles, and besides – it goes without saying – infinitely better than all of them, together or separate and without exception.39 In his preface to the text, Benet praises Marías’s translation as ‘the best expression of Conrad in Spanish’,40 and he concludes: ‘I think that a translation like this one forms in such a way that what comes of it is the style, pretty similar to Conrad’s own, of Javier Marías.’41 Both Benet and Marías were dissatisfied with local colour narrative and the social realism which had become dominant in Spanish literature. In their search for models in foreign literatures which could be helpful for their own purposes, Conrad was of paramount significance (see Mena et al. 1992, 356, and Marías 1993, 26). Alongside Javier Marías, Rosa Regàs is another Spanish writer who is an admirer of Conrad’s work, has translated Conrad into Spanish and shows traces of his literary influence in her own narrative fiction. It is also worth noting that both Benet and Marías published some of their books with La Gaya Ciencia (The Gay Science), the publishing house founded by Regàs in 1970 (see Marías 1993, 26). Regàs translated Conrad’s Typhoon in 1985 for the publisher Juan Granica (Barcelona). The first chapter of Regàs’s novel Azul (Blue), which earned her the Nadal Prize in 1994, is preceded by a quotation from A Personal Record in English: Can the transports of first love be calmed, checked, turned to a cold suspicion of the future by a grave quotation from a work on Political Economy? I ask – is it conceivable? Is it possible? Would it be right? With my feet on the very shores of the sea and about to embrace my blue-eyed dream, what could a good-natured warning as to spoiling one’s life mean to my youthful passion? PR, 113, in Regàs 2011 (1994), 11 As an epigraph for the novel, the passage sheds light on the meaning of its title and foregrounds the themes of youthful passion and disillusion. Conrad is often discussed as an enduring influence on the narrative fiction of Rosa Regàs. According to Inma Lyons (2008), for example, Conrad’s sea narratives, together with Heart of Darkness, constitute the most relevant intertexts

39 ‘De hecho fui yo quien entonces propuso este libro, enteramente desconocido en España, para su publicación. Y de hecho fue a Juan Benet a quien le oí mencionarlo por primera vez, muchos años antes de 1981, y no sólo mencionarlo: era uno de sus libros favoritos de la historia entera de la literatura, como luego pasó a serlo también mío, sobre todo tras enfrentarme a su endemoniada y extraordinaria prosa y reescribirlo en mi lengua. Pueden imaginarse que, tras reescribirlo por segunda vez, considero El espejo del mar, en algún sentido, todavía más propio que cualquiera de mis novelas, cuentos o artículos, y además – huelga decirlo – infinitamente mejor que todos ellos, juntos o por separado y sin excepción’ (Marías 2005, 27). 40 ‘la mejor expresión de Conrad en castellano’ (Benet 2005 (1981), 19). 41 ‘yo creo que una traducción de éstas forma de tal manera que lo que sale de ella es el estilo, bastante conforme con el de Conrad, de Javier Marías’ (Benet 2005 (1981), 19).

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in Regàs’s Azul.42 Enrique Ávila López has compared Regàs’s novel Luna lunera (Moon, little moon) and Lord Jim in relation to the shared motifs of the journey, fantasy and the dream (2003, 167–8). As a passionate reader of Conrad, Regàs has also written about his work on several occasions. In the literary column ‘Las tinieblas de Conrad’ (Conrad’s darkness), Regàs briefly discusses the multiple layers of meaning in Heart of Darkness, and she concludes: The point is not trying to find in Heart of Darkness a moral message which in no way did the author seek to transmit to us. The point is not finding in that splendid novel or in the journey it tells the keys of human behaviour from some characters so well drawn that they seem to be, and in fact are, more real than our neighbours and the murderers we see on a daily basis. But if there is a reason for the eminence of a text like this, it is the movement it arouses in our intelligence.43 In 2000, Mondadori republished Regàs’s translation of Conrad’s Typhoon (Tifón) with a letter by Juan Bonilla appended as a coda. The letter offers a critical appreciation of Conrad’s art and Typhoon in particular, disguised as a fictional epistle addressed to Captain MacWhirr himself. Bonilla also singles out The Mirror of the Sea for praise, a true favourite among Spanish writers and a work that he ‘had read fascinated in [his] youth just because it had been translated by Javier Marías’.44 On the topic of the Conradian ‘voice’, Bonilla concludes, ‘That voice which, making of the ellipsis a refined art, succeeds in creating characters like you, MacWhirr, and also succeeds in making an illusory homeland of the sea.’45 The late Javier Reverte (1944–2020) made a masterful contribution to contemporary travel literature. His ‘African trilogy’ is heavily indebted to Conrad, whom Reverte had admired since his youth. In El sueño de África (The dream of Africa) (1996), the first book of the trilogy, Reverte echoes the well-known anecdote which Conrad had recorded in Heart of Darkness, as well as in the essay ‘Geography and Some Explorers’ and his autobiographical work A Personal Record: My readings and my childish dreamings, as had happened to Joseph Conrad, were invariably directed to Africa and, when I was about to reach my fiftieth birthday, I thought that at last I would go there. There aren’t, of course, great blank spaces on the

42

‘As in many of Joseph Conrad’s novels, the symbolic use of the sea is crucial in Regàs’s narrative. [. . .] Both protagonists, Marlow and Ures, enter darkness: the African Congo and a mysterious Mediterranean island respectively. [. . .] Both settings, characterized by mystery, deformation, and grotesque images of nature, symbolically express the protagonists’ introspective look’ (Lyons 2008, 90). 43 ‘No se trata de buscar en ‘El corazón de las tinieblas’ un mensaje moral que de ningún modo quiso transmitirnos su autor. No se trata de encontrar en esa espléndida novela ni en el viaje que nos cuenta las claves del comportamiento de los humanos a partir del de unos personajes tan bien dibujados que nos parecen y de hecho son, más reales que nuestros vecinos y que los asesinos que vemos actuar a diario. Pero si algo tiene de superior un texto como éste es el movimiento que provoca en nuestra inteligencia’ (Regàs 2000). 44 ‘El espejo del mar de Joseph Conrad, que leí fascinado en la adolescencia sólo porque la había traducido Javier Marías’ (Bonilla 2000, 156). 45 ‘Esa voz que, haciendo de la elipsis un arte refinado, consigue crear personajes como usted, MacWhirr, y consigue también hacer del mar una patria ilusa’ (Bonilla 2000, 158–9).

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map of the continent any more, but the heart of Africa still keeps its mythic aura, or at least it kept it for me at that moment.46 In fact, the passage from Heart of Darkness referred to above is selected as an epigraph for the whole book, together with a quotation from Graham Greene and the Roman proverb Semper aliquid novi ex Africa (see Reverte 2003a (1996), 15). Conrad’s tutelary presence becomes pervasive in Vagabundo en África (Vagabond in Africa) (1998), the second book in the trilogy. From the opening chapter, Reverte recounts how he consciously sought to emulate Conrad’s own legendary journey up the river Congo: I was travelling in the wake of Joseph Conrad, leaving the port of Kinshasa far behind and heading for distant Kisangani, the Conradian ‘heart of darkness’, on the river André Gide and Graham Greene had also sailed, and where, long before, the canoes of explorers Stanley and Brazza had gone down. The exhilaration of fulfilling a cherished aim made me a happy traveller.47 Later in the text, Reverte remarks, ‘Joseph Conrad navigated the Congo in 1890, driven by a desire for adventure which made him compare himself to Don Quixote.’48 On Heart of Darkness, he states, ‘Conrad’s book is a parable on how the human soul, driven by lofty ideals, can slip to the border of barbarism, a question which has permeated twentieth century history and literature, and which Conrad lucidly anticipated.’49 A marked hypertextual dimension is one of the distinguishing traits of Reverte’s travel literature, and Conrad is the central figure which agglutinates all the other literary and historical references in the text (see Peñate Rivero 2005). Besides the Conradian background for the African trilogy of travel books, the influence of Conrad is also manifest in Reverte’s fictional works. Thus, for example, Lord Jim is a fundamental intertext in Reverte’s novel Lord Paco (1985) (see Dos Santos and Meuwly 2005). Among Spanish writers of a younger generation, several names are worth highlighting, including Juan Manuel de Prada and Arturo Pérez-Reverte. There was some critical debate with respect to the sources of inspiration for Morir bajo tu cielo (To die under your sky) (2014), de Prada’s historical novel about the Spanish Empire’s loss of the Philippines and the subsequent siege of Baler, in which an isolated group of Spanish troops continued to fight Filipino forces until 1899. According to Pere Gimferrer, it is ‘an admirable novel which combines Joseph

46

‘Mis lecturas y mis ensoñaciones infantiles, como le sucedía a Joseph Conrad, se dirigían sin remedio a África y, en el alba de mis cincuenta años, pensaba que al fin debía ir allí. No quedan, por supuesto, grandes espacios en blanco en el mapa del continente, pero el corazón de África sigue conservando su aura mítica, o al menos la conservaba en ese momento para mí’ (Reverte 2003a (1996), 20). 47 ‘Viajaba en la estela de Joseph Conrad, dejando ya muy atrás el puerto de Kinshasa y en dirección al lejano Kisangani, el conradiano ‘corazón de las tinieblas’, en el río que también habían navegado André Gide y Graham Greene y por donde mucho antes descendieron las canoas de los exploradores Stanley y Brazza. La euforia de cumplir un acariciado propósito hacía de mí un viajero feliz’ (Reverte 2003b (1998), 17–18). 48 ‘Joseph Conrad navegó el Congo en 1890, impulsado por un deseo de aventura que le hacía compararse a sí mismo con Don Quijote’ (Reverte 2003b (1998), 19). 49 ‘El libro de Conrad es una parábola sobre cómo el alma humana, impulsada por ideales nobles, puede deslizarse hasta el límite de la barbarie, una cuestión que ha impregnado la historia y la literatura del siglo XX y que Conrad adelantó con lucidez’ (Reverte 2003b (1998), 20).

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Conrad’s spirit of adventure and the excitement of John Ford’.50 In Luis Alberto de Cuenca’s opinion, however, it is Jack London, and not Conrad, whose influence is patent in the novel. Juan Manuel de Prada settled the argument: ‘There is more influence from Conrad on the novel, and even some explicit tribute to him.’51 Arturo Pérez-Reverte, a successful contemporary novelist and a member of the Spanish Royal Academy, is a self-confessed admirer of Conrad, whose tutelage is evident in such works as La carta esférica (The Nautical Chart) (2000), El tango de la guardia vieja (translated as What We Become) (2012) and Los perros duros no bailan (Tough Dogs Don’t Dance) (2018), to name but a few (see Ramón García 2018). Passionate about the sea and a holder of the title of Yacht Master, Pérez-Reverte paid a heartfelt tribute to Conrad in his article ‘La Posada de Dickens’ (The Dickens Inn), which earned him the Mariano de Cavia Prize, awarded by the daily newspaper ABC, in 2019: ‘Conrad is the only writer of whom I have a photograph in my work library; the one who never deserts me and grows old with me.’52 That Pérez-Reverte holds Conrad as a moral reference-point is also clear from his article ‘Un barco no es una democracia’ (A Ship Is Not a Democracy), published in July 2020, in the middle of the crisis brought about by the pandemic. To end with some more contemporary references, there is, first, the prize-winning novelist Lorenzo Silva. Paul Van Den Broeck (2004, 623) cites Conrad among Lorenzo Silva’s favourite writers, and those who have had some influence on his prose. The distinguished novelist Antonio Muñoz Molina, another member of the Spanish Royal Academy, has also expressed his long-held admiration for Conrad on several occasions. In ‘Visiones de Joseph Conrad’ (Visions of Joseph Conrad), he clearly affirms this sense of affiliation: ‘Conrad is our contemporary in spite of the ideological anathemas which have befallen him in this age of virtuous simplifications.’53 In the light of the discussion above, it becomes apparent that the still prevalent idea that Conrad has not elicited much interest among Spanish readers, critics and writers does not hold water. The publication of Conrad’s works in translation by Montaner y Simón from 1925 onwards was an immense success, and Conrad has been a favourite among the Spanish reading public ever since. If there was a long period of neglect for Conrad in Spain, it was due to the tragic development of the Spanish Civil War and its aftermath, which equally affected every other area of Spanish cultural life. During the final years of Franco’s regime and with the advent of democracy, however, interest in Conrad revived in Spain with the appearance of many journals and publishing houses which released numerous new translations of Conrad’s works, and a parallel development of academic studies as departments of English were being established at Spanish universities. Yet the most significant area of interest in Conrad has arguably been in the field of literature among novelists and writers. A bond of deep admiration

50

‘Una novela admirable que aúna el espíritu de aventura de Joseph Conrad y la emoción de John Ford’ (see Arias Toribio 2014). 51 ‘Hay más influencia de Conrad, y algún homenaje explícito incluso’ (Arias Toribio 2014). 52 ‘Conrad es el único escritor del que tengo una fotografía en mi biblioteca de trabajo; el que no me abandona y envejece conmigo’ (Pérez-Reverte 2019). 53 ‘Conrad es nuestro contemporáneo a pesar de los anatemas ideológicos que han caído sobre él en esta época de simplificaciones virtuosas’ (Muñoz Molina 2017).

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for Conrad has linked several of the most eminent and successful Spanish novelists of the twentieth century, from Pío Baroja and Vicente Blasco Ibáñez, through Juan Benet, Javier Marías, Pérez-Reverte and Rosa Regàs, to Juan Manuel de Prada and Antonio Muñoz Molina. Conrad has become a classic cultural reference-point in Spain, and his indisputable tutelary power continues even under the present political, economic and social upheaval.

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CHAPTER 13 FROM UNREST TO ANTHROPOLOGY: ALMOST A CENTURY OF CONRAD IN CATALONIA Jacqueline Hurtley

In a recent volume geared towards the general reader, Héroes, aventureros y cobardes, Barcelona journalist Jacinto Antón speaks of his devotion to Conrad’s novel of 1900, Lord Jim. He goes on to explain how he continually returns to his copy, a now battered paperback, published in Spanish in the Catalan capital by publishing house Bruguera in 1981.1 In 2002, the municipal authorities in the city launched an exhibition in Catalan around the centenary of the first publication of Heart of Darkness in book form.2 In an introductory note to the catalogue for the exhibition, the then (Socialist) Mayor of Barcelona, Joan Clos, spoke of ‘the contradictory and profound meaning of [Conrad’s] masterpiece’ (‘el significat contradictori i profond d[e l’] obra mestra [de Conrad]), whilst placing it in the contexts of both the European colonization of Africa and the latter-day arrival of Africans in Europe, ‘motivated by different concerns’ (‘amb motius diferents’) (Institut 2002, 11). Since then, Conrad has been taught at university level as well as lectured on to a wider audience.3 These latter-day traces of the impact of Conrad on ‘common readers’ and at an institutional level, both municipal and academic, signal an intellectual and political interest in (as well as a passion for) Conrad’s writing in twenty-firstcentury Catalonia. However, almost a hundred years earlier, an impassioned intellectual and ideological interest had already been generated, giving rise to the Polish writer’s works in English being translated into Catalan during the decade of the 1920s. In an article of 1998, Sílvia Coll-Vinent convincingly demonstrated that the route for entry into Catalonia and Catalan translation for a number of late nineteenth- and early twentiethcentury novelists in English (Dickens, George Eliot, Hardy, Meredith, Henry James, Conrad, Virginia Woolf and the now lesser-known Maurice Baring and Margaret Kennedy) was via France. Translations into French and/or the critical defence of, for instance, Dickens by Taine (1856) and George Eliot by Montégut (1885), both of whom responded to the moral dimension reflected in the works of the two English novelists, would lead to Conrad’s ethical dimension acquiring a wider critical appeal.

1

Antón 2013, 467. The translation in question was originally produced by Cuban-born Ramón D. Perés, writer critic, journalist and a translator, who became the editor of the original L’Avenç journal between 1883 and 1884. For further information, see Ramon Pla i Arxé, ‘L’Avenç: la modernitazació de la cultura catalana’, https://lletra.uoc.edu/ca/revista/ lavenc-1881-1893/detall. 2 For the catalogue of the exhibition, which includes a translation into Catalan of Heart of Darkness by graduate in Catalan philology and translator Montserrat Vancells, see Institut de Cultura de Barcelona (2002). For further comment on the 2002 exhibition, see Iribarren 2003, 31. 3 During the academic years 2016–17 and 2017–18, Lord Jim was a set text on an undergraduate course devoted to the novel in English and delivered by Dr Marta Puxan-Oliva in the Departament de Llengües i Literatures Modernes i d’Estudis Anglesos at the University of Barcelona. In 2019, Dr Isabel Alonso lectured on 29 January on Heart of Darkness to a reading group dedicated to Africa, organized by the Museu d’Història de Catalunya in Barcelona.

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Assessment by commentators and translators unsympathetic to French naturalism, Marcel Schwob (1888) and Teodor de Wyzema (1907), the latter writing in the Revue des Deux Mondes, and, later, novelist André Gide, in the Nouvelle Revue Française, further paved the way for an eager embracing of Conrad’s fiction; indeed, as Mark Fitzpatrick’s chapter in the present volume suggests, the novel in English, and Russian, came to be viewed as a healthy antidote to French naturalism. In the wake of Schwob’s arguing in favour of a new novel, Coll-Vinent further highlights ‘two essential concepts’ that were ‘to remain associated [in France] with the roman anglais: aventure and être vivant’, whilst also citing Jacques Rivière’s ‘seminal article’ of 1913 in the NRF on the novel of adventure (Coll-Vinent 1998, 212). And so, as Mark Fitzpatrick shows, Conrad enters into French as an author who foregrounds questions of moral concern in adventure fictions by convincingly depicting characters as living beings with psychological depth (Coll-Vinent 2010, 111). Gide subsequently took on the task of translating Conrad’s Typhoon (1903) into French (Typhon, 1921). However, that novella would not appear in Catalan until the turn of the decade, by which time a sample of Conrad’s fictional talent had already been made available in Catalan, in 1924, the year that Conrad made a grander debut in Barcelona in Spanish, thanks to a publishing venture founded and developed by Catalans, whose literary editor was a speaker of mallorquí, a variant of Catalan spoken in Mallorca. Before alluding more specifically to the Spanish publishing house, the literary editor in question or the Catalan review in which Conrad’s fiction first appeared, it is worth focusing some attention on the political and cultural contexts in Catalonia in the period between the wars.

Conrad comes to Catalonia, in Spanish The autumn of 1923 brought political upheaval to Catalonia: in the month of September, with the consent of the reigning monarch, Alfonso XIII, General Miguel Primo de Rivera established a military dictatorship in Spain. The new regime came to signify the undermining of the notable progress that had been made in the north-east of the country with regard to the consolidation of norms concerning the Catalan language and the development of a series of institutions and bodies.4 Together with initiatives in the private sector, the Catalan authorities had geared their efforts towards securing a distinct political and cultural identity, a consciousness of which had been growing at a pace since the turn of the century and had succeeded in creating a greater sense of national self-assurance in the wake of the founding of an administrative powerhouse for Catalonia, the so-called Mancomunitat, in 1914.5 Catalonia’s material prosperity had grown over the second half of the nineteenth century through the development of industry and commerce. The territory’s damp climate favoured the textile industry; thus, machinery was imported from Britain and manual labour facilitated by the arrival of migrants from poorer parts of Spain. Following the construction of the railway line between Barcelona and the coastal town of Mataró, north of the Catalan capital, in 1848,

4

For instance, the Institut d’Estudis Catalans (The Institute of Catalan Studies) (1907), responsible for publishing the Normes ortogràfiques (1913), designed to regulate the written use of the language; the founding of the Biblioteca de Catalunya (Catalan National Library) (1914); and the Escola de Bibliotecàries (School of Women Librarians) (1915). 5 For further information on the Mancomunitat, see Murgades 1987, 42.

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the transportation of goods and people would become faster and more efficient. Industry was established in the capital as well as further afield.6 Books had been an important feature of the city since the Middle Ages and the publishing industry was now developing too, incorporating mechanization, the captains of industry keenly aware of business opportunities as well as the importance of the acquisition of knowledge for creating a well-informed citizenship. The leading publishing house Montaner y Simón was founded in 1867 by Ramon Montaner i Vila (1828–1921), born in the coastal town of Canet de Mar, north of the Catalan capital, and Barcelona-born Francesc Simon i Font (1843–1923).7 Originally situated in central Barcelona, in Plaça Catalunya, the publishing house moved into premises further from the city centre in the 1880s, on carrer Aragó, a building designed by the Catalan architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner (1850–1923), nephew of the elder of the founders, which would come to be within easy reach of the train station on the Passeig de Gràcia avenue. As Manuel Llanas has pointed out, on the basis of its volume of production and the quality thereof, Montaner y Simón would soon become the most distinguished publishing house in Spain and the one which led in exports to Latin America (Llanas 2007, 117). Speaker of mallorquí, Joan Estelrich i Artigues (1896–1958) was born in the Mallorcan town of Felanitx, though his use of the Catalan variant was coloured by his early education on another Balearic island, Menorca.8 A University of Barcelona Arts graduate, he joined the youth movement within the right-wing Catalan party, the Lliga Regionalista, becoming private secretary to the co-founder and leader of the party, Francesc Cambó i Batlle, before joining Montaner y Simón in 1924.9 According to his own account, towards the end of 1923, Estelrich had travelled to London where he met publisher William Heinemann, who sang Conrad’s praises. Some two years on, Estelrich would explain, ‘An interest in the author’s work followed my interest in the man. His texts have travelled with me around the world over the last two years and have been good companions.’10 It was before the end of August 1924, then, in the wake of Conrad’s death, that a contract was drawn up between the author’s executors and representatives of Montaner y Simón with a view to securing the rights to publish in Spanish translation the complete works in English, for both Spain and Latin America, of the Polish author.11 What became the Obras Completas (Complete Works) project began with the Spanish translation of Almayer’s Folly and Under Western Eyes in 1925 and continued into the years of Spain’s Second Republic (Bellver Poissenot 2017, 485–90), by which time Estelrich had published his own critical assessment of Conrad in two Barcelona-based journals in Catalan (Estelrich 1925a, 1925b), whilst ‘The Lagoon’, from Tales of Unrest, Almayer’s Folly and ‘Typhoon’ had appeared in Catalan translation. Before focusing on these texts, I wish to consider the cultural interest in Conrad in the context of a curiosity and appetite for adventure on the part 6

See Sobrequés i Callicó 1995. The Catalan surname Simon became Simón in Spanish. For further information on the founders of Montaner y Simón, see Sàiz i Xiqués 2008, 3–8, and Castellano 2008, 224–5, 228. 8 According to the Mallorcan intellectual Joan Pons i Marquès, Estelrich spoke ‘un mallorquí menorquinitzat’ (Pons i Marquès, cited in Graña 1996, 13). 9 For further information on Estelrich, see Coll-Vinent 2011, and the chapter by Marta Puxan-Oliva in the present volume. 10 ‘A l’interès desvetllat per l’home, seguí l’interès per l’obra. La seva lectura m’ha acompanyat en dos anys de rodar món. Em venia adequadissima’ (Estelrich 1996, 277; my translation, above). 11 A carbon copy in Spanish, a ‘Memorandum de Contrato’, dated 15 August 1924, can be consulted in the Joan Estelrich Papers (Fons Joan Estelrich, Biblioteca de Catalunya, henceforth FJE). 7

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of a Catalan bourgeoisie that was driven to assert its desire for nationhood, materially equipped to satisfy its adventuresome inclination and anxious to figure on a par, at least, with other European nations.

Africa and the Catalan gaze In the year that William Heinemann spoke of Conrad to Joan Estelrich in London, the leading Catalan journal D’Ací i D’Allà published a twelve-page report on a hunting expedition along the River Gambia in West Africa, led by the Menorcan-born architect and landscape gardener, then Head of Parks and Gardens in Barcelona, Nicolau Maria Rubió i Tudurí (Rubio 1923). It appears that early on, Nicolau Maria had fallen under the influence of an uncle who was a lover of adventure;12 indeed, Tudurí himself remembered his Uncle John (Catalan Joan) teaching him how to catch birds as a child in Barcelona.13 The family had moved to the Catalan capital in 1897 and by the time the boy was growing up there, later to become an undergraduate in the School of Architecture at the University of Barcelona, an awareness of the world beyond Europe and Latin America was growing, not least through Spain’s colonial interventions in North Africa (Martínez Carreras 2009, 361–5) and at home by means of the ambitious publications of Montaner y Simón. Since the 1870s, the publishing house had been producing ‘World Geographies’ (1875–6, 1878–83) and had brought out a world atlas (1877). Later volumes were devoted to Africa (1888, 1908) and India (1901), with a major ‘New World Geography’ published over a six-year period, from 1911 to 1917.14 In 1875, in Valencia, Francisco García Ayuso published an account of David Livingstone’s travels in Africa (Ayuso 1875), and, as the final decade of the nineteenth century began, another Barcelona publishing house, Espasa, brought out Henry Morton Stanley’s Darkest Africa, translated into Spanish as En el África tenebroso (Stanley 1890).15 Rubió i Tudurí mentions both Livingstone and Stanley in his writing in the 1920s (Rubió i Tudurí 1926), whilst Luna and Nogué remark that between 1926 and 1932, four noteworthy books were published in Barcelona providing accounts of journeys to West Africa, two of which were authored by Rubió i Tudurí (Luna and Nogué 2008b, 322–4). Indeed, Luna and Nogué claim that African subjects came to rouse great enthusiasm in Barcelona towards the fin de siècle16 and into the new century. Hence, Rubió i Tudurí’s interest in the continent was far from an isolated phenomenon, though, it may well be argued, his Christmas in West Africa in 1922 was unique. Before examining the content of the article, it is worth considering where Nicolau Maria Rubió i Tudurí & Co17 chose to publish the account of their expedition. Under the title ‘Safaris 12

https://www.fundaciorubio.org/es/fernando-rubio/familia-rubio/nicolau-maria-rubio-i-tuduri. Bosch 1989, cited in Luna & Nogué 2008a, 203–04. 14 Nueva Geografía Universal: los países y las razas. Obra presentada en forma enteramente nueva, compuesta por eminentes especialistas de Europa y América, con arreglo a los más recientes trabajos e investigaciones de la ciencia (Barcelona: Montaner y Simón, 1911–17). 15 Espasa also published a translation of Stanley’s Through the Dark Continent (El continente misterioso), but this large format, illustrated edition carries no date of publication. 16 ‘A Barcelona, en efecte, es vivia amb gran passió la temàtica africana i des de molts punts de vista’ (Luna and Nogué, 2008b, 324). 17 The article is signed by himself and three others: his friends Josep Botey and Raimond Duran, and his brother Ferran Rubió, all of whom travelled together. 13

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along the Gambia River’,18 it appeared in what Joan Manuel Tresserras has described as ‘the most spectacular of the illustrated journals ever published in Catalan’: D’Ací i D’Allà (From here and there).19 The journal first came out in January 1918 as a monthly magazine and sold for one peseta. A product of Editorial Catalana (1917–24), the cultural enterprise sponsored by the ‘versatile and affluent’20 Lliga Regionalista politician Francesc Cambó, it was intended that the journal would work alongside the Lliga Regionalista daily La Veu de Catalunya (The Voice of Catalonia) to reinforce the values of the neoclassical movement, noucentisme, which constituted the ideological foundations of the Mancomunitat. As a result, Tresserras claims, ‘the long shadow of the Lliga [Regionalista]’21 haunts the journal’s pages. However, he also recognizes its appeal for a significant sector of the Catalan bourgeoisie given the quality of the print, a subject matter of interest on occasions (the qualification is Tresserras’s), and the opportunity to read the best of latter-day Catalan writers as well as the fiction, plays and poetry of established foreign authors in translation. Art critic Alexandre Cirici claims that from the start, D’Ací i d’Allà sought to be ‘the high-life journal’,22 hence, the portrait which follows, which illustrates one of the pursuits of the restless ranks within Barcelona’s bourgeoisie in the roaring ’20s. A paratextual piece introduces the account of the expedition, identifying the four travellers as inhabitants of Barcelona23 (the text never loses sight of them as citizens of the Catalan capital or of the nation, Catalonia), whose day-to-day reality was, as is declared, not one spent in the pursuit of animals in the wild – that is, until this particular moment in time, when these pioneering citizens spent a month thus engaged. The text hails the intrepid nature of the travellers, describing the feat as heroic, and even ‘a new mark of glory for our race’.24 At this juncture, France and England are alluded to as the countries of ‘the great hunting or scientific expeditions’25 and such exploits are further described as having been on many occasions of even greater importance than the creation of new industrial manufacturing. It is then claimed that the current expedition was not undertaken as a recreational pursuit but carried out efficiently and with a scientific end in view; thus, the exploits of the four Catalans are potentially placed on a level with the achievements of the two aforementioned colonizing nations. Finally, a ‘strong desire’26 is expressed that the expedition might prove inspirational for Catalan youth who, ready for tough challenges, might follow in the footsteps of the four trailblazers, taking to the world’s great highroads in pursuit of major conquests so that in the future ‘our Catalonia’,27 small as it is, territorially speaking, might acquire ‘the spiritual vastness of great cultures and strong races’.28 18 ‘Caceres al riu Gambia’ (my translation of the Catalan title into English, above, and of the extracts which follow from the article, Rubió et al. 1923). 19 ‘la més espectacular de les revistes il.lustrades que mai s’hagi editat en llengua catalana’ (Tresserras 1993, 15). My translation, above, and in the quotations which follow. 20 ‘polifacètic i acabalat’ (Tresserras 1993, 15). 21 ‘l’ombra allargada de la Lliga’ (Tresserras 1993, 39). 22 ‘la revista de la high life’ (Cirici 1974, 462). The italics figure in the Catalan original; my translation, above. 23 ‘barcelonins’ (Rubió et al. 1923); page unnumbered. 24 ‘un nou segell de glòria per la nostra raça’ (Rubió et al. 1923); page unnumbered. 25 ‘les grans expedicions cinegètiques o científiques’ (Rubió et al, 1923); page unnumbered. 26 ‘vehement desig’ (Rubió et al. 1923); page unnumbered. 27 ‘la nostra Catalunya’ (Rubió et al. 1923); page unnumbered. 28 ‘la vastitud espiritual de les grans cultures i races fortes’ (Rubió et al. 1923); page unnumbered. Arguably, there are echoes of Thomas Carlyle in the discourse contained here. Carlyle and his notion of the heroic had been alluded to by the noucentista ideologue Eugeni D’Ors i Rovira (1881–1954) in his column in the Lliga Regionalista daily La Veu de Catalunya. See D’Ors 1950, 259.

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The account which follows, illustrated with twenty-three photographs, the first of which identifies the travellers as hunters, Catalans, Europeans and Catholics, whilst picturing them alongside Catholics of the indigenous community (Rubió et al. 1923, 164), reads as rather more recreational than research-like, even suggesting a hedonistic aspect of the experience, connected with the lifestyle of a class enriched in the wake of the First World War (Cirici 1974, 462). The opening paragraphs are conversational in tone and a vein of irony may be detected throughout the text, hence somewhat undermining the paratextual pomp that precedes it, before the article becomes more diary-like in describing the steps taken in preparation for the journey and the journey itself. The party embarked on 16 December 1922 on a French ship for an eight-day journey to Dakar, to be followed by a 400-km journey by train to Tambacounda and then in a lorry on to Missira and on again to the Nieri Ko camp, from where the party would descend to the River Gambia, the habitat of hippopotamuses, which the ‘Barcelona Four’ had come to hunt. The text expresses the party’s impatience to reach the hippos though it also registers the temptation to hunt the antelope en route, whose pursuit is assessed as being of ‘an obsessive liveliness and intensity’;29 at this same juncture, hunting the wild boar is also portrayed as ‘highly recommendable’. Without doubt, the text is punctuated by the thrill of the hunt and unreservedly expresses ‘the hunter’s passion’;30 however, it is also informative as regards the variety of animals and birds encountered. There are elephants, lions, buffalo, hyenas, crocodiles, monkeys, vultures and marabou storks, the text becoming overwhelmed, as it were, by the number and range of creatures, thus: ‘thousands of birds of ten thousand colours’!31 Finally, some detail is provided as to ‘housing’ arrangements, describing the bamboo and mud huts set up by the indigenous inhabitants accompanying the four Catalans, and the food provided by the local cook: boiled guinea fowl and roast partridge as well as bread made in situ and water to drink. These contribute to the success of the supper, as in Catalonia, we are informed. The account ends with the party paying a courtesy visit to the indigenous chief of Dialokoto with whom plans are made for a future journey, which promises to be longer and more ambitious. The text ends on a note of nostalgia for the African experience, a visit to the lions in Barcelona’s zoo providing a poor substitute for those encountered in the wild, and a note of regret in the present for ‘our pitiable imprisonment’.32

Capital Conrad/Conrad capital in Catalan The account provided by the four Barcelona citizens appeared in the March 1923 issue of D’Ací i D’Allà, and by the time Conrad’s first novel, Almayer’s Folly, was translated into Catalan by Josep Carner Ribalta and published in what is understood to be 1929, the metropolis had acquired an appetite for and knowledge of the exotic, not least through the pages of the journal. In addition, an interest in Conrad had been promoted, particularly via the articles by Joan Estelrich in the Barcelona journals La Revista de Catalunya and La Revista. With regard to an

29

‘una vivor i [. . .] una intensitat obsessionants’ (Rubió et al. 1923, 175). ‘la passió del caçador’ (Rubió et al. 1923, 170). Instances of such can be seen when the party rise at 6 am to hunt and in the emotion registered on contemplating the hippos in the river for the first time (Rubió et al. 1923, 171, 172). 31 ‘ocells mil, de deu mil colours’ (Rubió et al, 1923, 170). 32 ‘el nostre lamentable engabiament’ (Rubió et al. 1923, 176). 30

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exotic aesthetic, Cirici mentioned the contemporary taste for tropical vegetation as one of the manifestations of the exotic, as reflected in the Paris Art Déco exhibition of 1925,33 and, more recently, Tresserras has drawn attention to the female figures that appeared in D’Ací i d’Allà by the illustrator Emili Ferrer, who exuded an Orientalizing sensuality.34 In connection with the promotion of Conrad, the first of Estelrich’s articles, in May 1925, highlights aspects of the writer and his writing which connect to some degree with the D’Ací i D’Allà account of the expedition to Africa by Rubió i Tudurí and Co., such as respect for the man of action, the depiction of adventure, the discovery of new worlds and the stuff of heroes. Following Conrad’s death in August 1924, the September issue of D’Ací i D’Allà published ‘The Lagoon’, the final story included in the author’s Tales of Unrest (1898). It was translated into Catalan by the young Barcelona dramatist, poet, author of short stories, translator and occasional contributor to La Veu de Catalunya Josep Maria Millàs i Raurell (1896–1971). The translation was preceded by a biographical introduction to the author, ‘Josep [sic] Conrad: a Pole who became England’s leading novelist’, attributed to Millàs-Raurell and illustrated by a photograph of Conrad as well as a caricature of the author, signed by ‘Matt’ (Millàs-Raurell 1924). ‘La llacuna’ occupies six pages of the journal, each page carrying an illustration (except the final one, which carries a reproduction of Conrad’s signature), all of which are attributed to an artist who appears to have been of Hungarian descent: Szathmary.35 Teresa Iribarren i Donadeu has drawn attention to Millàs-Raurell’s early interest in James Joyce, assessing the translator, critic and writer-in-the-making as ‘one of the transnational pioneers in the translation, critical discourse and creative reception’36 of the Irish writer in English (Iribarren i Donadeu 2004, 48) with regard to Catalan culture. As documented by Iribarren i Donadeu, in the month of February 1924, Millàs-Raurell published his rendering into Catalan of three poems from Joyce’s 1907 collection Chamber Music, in La Revista, and two years later his translation of the Dubliners tale ‘Evelina’ would appear in D’Ací i D’Allà. In a piece published alongside the translation of the short story, Millàs-Raurell expressed his awe in relation to Joyce’s achievements as a writer. In the introduction to the Catalan translation of Conrad’s ‘The Lagoon’, the translator appears less awe-struck in relation to the Polish writer in English, the text initially conveying the air of an assignment and seeming somewhat unsure of itself, concerned not to offend ‘those who know better’. It begins by expressing regret that ‘Josep [sic] Conrad’ was not familiar to Catalan readers, though the statement is immediately qualified by the claim that it was, rather, the common Catalan reader who was unacquainted with the Polish writer in English whilst those who enjoyed ‘English literature’,37 either in the original or through translation, did appreciate him and held him in high esteem. The remaining section of the opening paragraph asserts that Conrad may be considered ‘one of the most important figures within contemporary prose writing’.38 The text then goes through the

33

Cirici 1974, 459. Tropical vegetation is much to the fore in both ‘The Lagoon’ and Almayer’s Folly, the two texts by Conrad to first appear in Catalan. 34 Tresserras 1993, 26. For more on the impact of Orientalization on Ferrer, see Tresserras 1993, 23–4. 35 The name of the artist figures thus in the issue’s List of Contents and at the end of the translation, though the artist’s signature on each illustration appears to carry an accentuated second ‘a’. It is unclear whether it is ‘à’ or ‘á’. 36 ‘un dels pioners transnacionals en la traducció, en el discurs crític i en la recepció creativa’ (Iribarren i Donadeu 2004, 48). My translation, above, and in the extracts from ‘La llacuna’ which follow. 37 ‘la literatura anglesa’ (Millàs-Raurell 1924, 98). 38 ‘una de les figures més importants de la prosa contemporània’ (Millàs-Raurell 1924, 98).

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biographical and literary listing with regard to writer and writing, ending with an allusion to Conrad’s current popularity in English-speaking countries as well as in those other countries that had an educated reading public with a literary appetite for the best (hence the aspiring writer’s bow before his elders and betters). ‘The Lagoon’ may be considered a challenging piece for the translator on a number of counts. The Malay setting of the short story brings in its wake culture-specific referents which lend authenticity to the portrayal of place, thus, the captain of the boat which brings the white man to Arsat’s clearing is referred to as the ‘juragan’,39 both early on in the text and in the final paragraph. Millàs-Raurell translates the term into Catalan, ‘patró’, on both occasions (Conrad 1924a, 100, 105), as he does when a Malay sailing boat, a ‘prau’, is alluded to, simply referring to it as a boat: an ‘embarcació’ (Conrad 1924a, 104) in Catalan. Another feature of Malay culture is also sacrificed in the Catalan translation of Arsat’s speech, when he is describing the speed at which the boat in which he and his brother, together with Diamelen, were making their escape: ‘the boat went as straight as a bushman’s dart, when it leaves the end of the ‘sumpitan’ (TU, 198–9), which is rendered into Catalan as ‘la barca anava tan ràpida com la fletxa d’un guardaboscos, quan deixa l’arc’ (Conrad 1924a, 103). It is not unreasonable to speak of the dart or arrow leaving the bow (‘arc’) in conveying Arsat’s comparison in Catalan, but the culturespecific sumpitan, meaning ‘a kind of blowgun for discharging arrows, used by the indigenous peoples of Borneo and islands adjacent’,40 is lost. It might be argued that, by eradicating the culture-specific referent both here and in the case of ‘juragan’ and ‘prau’, the translator sought to render the text more readily accessible to Catalan readers. However, on two other occasions, the indigenous terms are respected – the reference to a kind of vessel, a ‘sampan’, a ‘Malay flatbottomed skiff usually propelled by two short oars’, and to a piece of clothing, a ‘sarong’, a ‘loose garment made of a long strip of cloth wrapped around the body chiefly of the Malay Archipelago’ (Russo 2018, 79) – with explanatory footnotes being provided in the target text. Furthermore, when addressing ‘[t]he white man’, Arsat uses the term of respect ‘Tuan’, meaning Sir or Lord in Malay, a form which is used consistently throughout the source text and is respected in the translated tale. Finally, one reference to local vegetation, the ‘nipa palms’ (TU, 187), is carried over into Catalan, ‘palmeres de nipa’ (Conrad 1924a, 100), but, in another instance, the ‘nibong palms’ (TU, 189) simply become ‘palmeres’ (Conrad 1924a, 100). Overall, a tendency towards simplification may be detected either through outright omission or through a failure to replicate a more elaborate description in the source text. Thus, towards the denouement of ‘The Lagoon’, the text records, ‘Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence’ (TU, 202), whilst in the Catalan, the quality of the violence is unspecified and, arguably, becomes less disturbing: ‘Arsat esclatà amb violència’ (Conrad 1924a, 104). In the longer paragraph which follows, in which the death of Diamelen will occur, the mist is described as vanishing into ‘thin flying wreaths’ (TU, 202). The Catalan omits ‘thin’, perhaps no great loss, though the sacrifice of the death imagery, by conveying ‘wreaths’ as curls, ‘rulls’ (Conrad 1924a, 104), may be considered regrettable. Another instance of metaphor being dispensed with is in Arsat’s description of the (intense) haste employed in paddling as he and his brother sought to escape, having kidnapped Diamelen: ‘The blades bit deep into the smooth water’ (TU, 198). In the

39

My emphasis, both here and in the words in bold which follow throughout the text. Definition taken from www.yourdictionary.com.

40

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translation, the verb ‘enter’ replaces ‘bite’ and punctuation is introduced, which reduces the sense of sheer intensity and speed in the flight, also achieved in the source text through the pile-up of monosyllables, the alliteration in ‘b’ (blades bit) and the accumulation of voiced consonants (blades bit deep): ‘Les pales entraven, profundes, en l’aigua llisa’ (Conrad 1924a, 103). Finally, I wish to focus on the omission of a phrase from the end of a paragraph in which, during Arsat’s absence in the hut in which Diamelen is in the throes of death, ‘[t]he white man’ ponders human mortality and the presence of evil, coming to see ‘the earth’ as ‘a shadowy country of inhuman strife, a battle-field of phantoms terrible and charming, august or ignoble, struggling ardently for the possession of our helpless hearts’ (TU, 193–4). The vision of the earth and humanity’s place in it is scarcely rosy but the binary nature of the phantoms, ‘terrible and charming, august or ignoble’, and the struggle therein, arguably provide some grounds for optimism. However, the paragraph ends on a more pessimistic note – ‘An unquiet and mysterious country of inextinguishable desires and fears’ (TU, 194) – but this is not the case in the Catalan version, where the phrase is absent. The translator may have overlooked it, but in the light of other instances of ‘transcreation’41 in ‘La llacuna’, the explanation may lie elsewhere. By the July, August and September issues of La Revista in 1925, the Catalan critic Josep Carbonell would be delivering his thoughts on moral reform, leading him to conclude that ‘our moral ill’ was, on the one hand, a consequence of ‘the general sickness in Spanish society’ and, on the other, attributable to ‘the literary spirit of the time’. He further elucidated in relation to the latter that ‘the ungodly current of literary practices in Europe (particularly fashionable in France), understanding as ungodly, not so much the lack of faith as the lack of respect, of awe of the sacred, of all the nuances of human dignity’, which were seen to have also ‘poisoned’ the literary spirit in Catalonia.42 Would the final (omitted) phrase, mentioned in the paragraph above, be an instance, then, of withdrawing from the Catalan translation what smacked of the profane? The question might seem impertinent were it not for three other instances in ‘La llacuna’ where very specific changes, of a moral nature, were made. Whilst addressing ‘[t]he white man’, Arsat pronounces, ‘We are of a people who take what they want – like you whites. There is a time when a man should forget loyalty and respect’ (TU, 196). With regard to the highlighted verbs, on both occasions the text is adapted in order to render Arasat’s claims less morally reprehensible whilst also placing ‘[t]he white man’ in a (relatively) more positive ethical light. Thus, ‘want’ becomes ‘need’ and the modal ‘should’ is replaced by the Catalan equivalent of the English ‘may’, expressing possibility in a given circumstance rather than an obligation or imperative.43 Later, Arsat will recall his brother, identifying both his sibling and himself as ‘freeborn robbers’ (TU, 198), where ‘robbers’ is rendered as (potentially) upright

41

Spinzi et al. 2018. ‘nostre mal ètic [. . .] la malaltia general de la societat espanyola [. . .] l’esperit literari del temps [. . .]el corrent irreligiós dels costumes literaris d’Europa (d’una guisa especial de França), entenent per irreligiós, no tant la manca de fe confessional com la manca de respecte, de temor pel sagrat de tots els matissos de la dignitat humana, [. . .] intoxicat’ (Carbonell 1925, 213). My translation. 43 ‘Som d’un poble que pren el que necessita – com vosaltres els blancs. Hi ha una època a la vida quan un home pot oblidar la lleíaltat i el respecte’ (Conrad 1924, 102; my emphasis). Later in the text, Arsat’s brother will recall Arsat’s pronouncement, lending it further approval: ‘It is right, [. . .] We are men who take what we want’ (TU, 197; my emphasis). The Catalan text repeats the change made in the earlier passage, that is, the verb change from ‘want’ to ‘need’: ‘És veritat [. . .] Som homes que prenem el que necessitem’ (Conrad 1924a, 103; my emphasis). 42

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citizens in the Catalan, that is, freeborn men: ‘homes lliures de naixença’ (Conrad 1924a, 103). Finally, at the start of the paragraph which ends with the omitted phrase commented on above (‘An unquiet and mysterious country of inextinguishable desires and fears’), ‘[t]he white man’ is represented as peering into the darkness and the text continues, The fear and fascination, the inspiration and the wonder of death – of death near, unavoidable and unseen, soothed the unrest of his race,’ the sentence ending ‘and stirred the most indistinct, the most intimate of his thoughts’ (TU, 193). Arguably, the sentence becomes cryptic: what is ‘the unrest of [the white man’s] race’? What are ‘the most indistinct’ and ‘the most intimate’ of the white man’s ‘thoughts’, which become ‘stirred’? However, before this juncture, the highlighted elements in the sentence from the source text, reproduced above, have been modified in the target text: ‘death’ is not related to ‘inspiration’ and ‘wonder’; evocation (‘evocació’) and mystery (‘misteri’) are provided in the Catalan; and the soothing is removed – indeed, quite the opposite effect is described: the experience excited the true unrest of his race (‘excitava la inquietud genuïna de la seva raça’) (Conrad 1924a, 101). These changes deny the consciousness of death in ‘[t]he white man’ as either inspirational or capable of striking awe, and neither can such a perception deliver calm (soothing). Ultimately, the changes seem geared towards providing a more favourable representation of the Westerner, less guilt-ridden and suspicious of the indigenous Other. In the article devoted to Millàs-Raurell’s interest in and translation of Joyce’s writing (referred to earlier), Iribarren i Donadeu further signals the extent to which the Irish writer’s influence was reflected in a book of short stories published by Millàs-Raurell in 1927, La caravana (The caravan). However, in spite of what Iribarren i Donadeu signals as the ‘specular relationship’44 between two short stories in Dubliners and two in La caravana, as well as traces of Ulysses in another piece, she demonstrates how the Catalan texts become less transgressive and the extent to which (unlike Joyce’s) they bow to the values of the Catholic establishment.45 In the case of ‘La llacuna’, the text fundamentally follows Conrad’s story in terms of plot but, as is illustrated in the instances cited above, Arsat’s convictions are brought into line with the moral (Catholic) majority in Catalonia together with a concern to uphold a more positive portrayal of ‘[t]he white man’. Similarly, Arsat’s brother’s proud assertion of Arsat and himself as outlaws (‘robbers’) is censored.46 It might be said that 1925 was Conrad’s year in Catalonia. Following the publication of the translation of ‘The Lagoon’ in September 1924, Estelrich published articles on Conrad in May and June 1925; the poet, critic and translator Carles Riba mentioned Conrad in his much-cited lecture delivered in the month of June at the Ateneu Barcelonès (Riba 1979); and in the article by the English writer and critic Edward Shanks, carrying his reflections on the recent history of the English novel (translated by Millàs-Raurell and published in the final issue of La Revista for the year), Conrad was hailed as ‘the most outstanding representative of the English novel today’.47 Undoubtedly, the prospect was promising in terms of readiness on the part of the

44

‘relació especular’ (Iribarren i Donadeu 2004, 49, 50). Cases in point would be Manuel de Montoliu, Carles Riba and Maurici Serrahima. Their responses, and that of others, to Millàs-Raurell’s La caravana are cited in Iribarren i Donadeu 2004, 51–2. 46 For more on the short story in English gaining ground in Catalonia in contrast to the novel, given the latter’s transgressive evolution in terms of both technique and Christian morality, see Iribarren i Donadeu 2017. 47 ‘la figura més significativa de la novel.la anglesa d’avui’ (Shanks 1925, 242). My translation. 45

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literary establishment to embrace Conrad’s output; however, the publishing infrastructure was lacking. The novels might well have been candidates for publication in the Biblioteca Literària, a series produced by Editorial Catalana, dedicated to foreign authors in translation and overseen by the journalist, poet and cultural mediator Josep Carner i Puig-Oriol (1884–1970), but Conrad’s Catalan heyday had passed48 and there would be no further Conrad capital in Catalan until the end of the decade.49 In the meantime, Montaner y Simón would be bringing out titles in Castilian within the ‘Obras Completas’ project, five titles appearing between 1925 and 1928.50 Conrad’s first novel and the first translation to be published in Spanish was Almayer’s Folly. La locura de Almayer appeared in 1925, which means that the Catalan translator of the novel, Josep Carner Ribalta,51 would have been able to access the Spanish version before the publication of his Catalan text in 1929. Born in the inland Catalan town of Balaguer in 1898, Carner Ribalta left Catalonia in 1921 and worked for a cousin’s business venture in London before taking up a post as a teacher of Spanish at the Berlitz School in Reading.52 In 1923, he took up residence in Paris, where he edited Estat Català (The Catalan State), a mouthpiece for the political party of the same name. Founded in 1922 by Francesc Macià i Llussà (1859–1933), together with others, Estat Català was inspired by the Irish struggle for independence.53 Macià’s political leanings inclined to the left, in contrast to the right-wing persuasion of the Lliga, and he sought to establish an independent Catalan republic.54 In this connection, Carner Ribalta travelled to Russia with Macià in 1925, subsequently co-translating Gorky’s essays on Lenin and the Russian peasant into Catalan.55 Carner Ribalta appears to have received a fee of 400 Spanish pesetas for his translation of Almayer’s Folly, produced by López Llausàs’s publishing venture Catalònia.56 In January 1930, the Catalan journalist and writer Just Cabot published what promised to be a review of Carner Ribalta’s translation in the Catalan daily La Publicitat. However, the major part of the two columns occupied by Cabot’s text are taken up with data relating to Conrad’s life and writing in general (eight paragraphs), before he homes in (in four paragraphs) on the translation

48 Editorial Catalana existed between 1917 and 1924, when it became financially unviable. It was then taken on by Antoni López Llausàs, who led the bookshop and publishing venture Catalònia (Murgades 1987, 50). By 1924, Carner i Puig-Oriol had become a Spanish diplomat, having already left Barcelona for Geneva in 1921. 49 A letter addressed to Joan Estelrich by Josep M. Aparicio of the Barcelona publishing house Mentora, dated 9 October 1926, reveals that Estelrich was attempting to bring out Conrad’s Complete Works (as undertaken in Spanish translation by Montaner y Simón) in Catalan. Aparicio suggests that a trial run of two translations might be attempted with a view to observing how the reading public responded (Fundacio Joan Estelrich). See also Coll-Vinent 2010, 112. 50 La locura de Almayer (1925); Alma Rusa (Under Western Eyes) (1925); Nostromo: relato de un litoral (1926); Lord Jim: narración (1927); Gaspar Ruiz (1928). 51 J. Carner Ribalta came to place a hyphen between his two surnames (thus, Carner-Ribalta), but the hyphen was not present in this early publication. 52 Carner 2017, 11–12, 151. 53 The Anglo-Irish Treaty was signed in December 1921 and divided Ireland into the twenty-six counties of what would become the Republic of Ireland and the six counties of Northern Ireland, remaining part of the United Kingdom. 54 For information on Carner Ribalta’s activities in the 1920s, see his memoir (Carner-Ribalta 1972). 55 Màxim Gorky, Lenin; El pagès rus, trans. Ventura Gassol and Josep Carner-Ribalta (Valls-Barcelona: Les Edicions de l’Arc de Barà, 1928). 56 See the unsigned carbon copy of a letter addressed to Antoni López Llausàs (by Joan Estelrich), dated 10 October 1929, in which Estelrich explains that six copies of the translated text should be sent to the translator at a New York City address. He also requests that the translator’s fee be paid, which was, as he recalls, 400 Spanish pesetas. File: Correspondència 1 (Correspondence between Joan Estelrich and Antoni López Llausàs), Fundacio Joan Eestelrich.

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proper, dismissing it as ‘a great disappointment’ and of ‘poor literary quality’.57 Cabot’s diagnosis is pronounced in conjunction with his praise for ‘the excellent French translations’,58 which, in Cabot’s view, are not plagued with the type of imperfection found in the Catalan rendering. He specifically mentions Anglicisms, a Catalan contaminated by Spanish, and grammatical errors, which he ascribes to negligence: the translation, apparently, not having been checked (according to Cabot) once it was finished or at the proof stage.59 Finally, Cabot provides some fourteen instances to illustrate his criticism, four of which cite the original English in inverted commas within brackets, and he claims that many more examples are to be found at the ‘appalling’ rate of more than one per page.60 In spite of Cabot’s writing off Carner Ribalta’s Catalan translation, it would be republished in 1985 (with some revision) by the Barcelona publishing house Edhasa in the Modern Classics series, dedicated to nineteenth- and twentieth-century authors.61 Undoubtedly there were instances in the translation of 1929 which fell short of what might be considered a satisfactory rendering of the original text in English. These are already in evidence in chapter 1. The novel opens with Mrs Almayer calling her husband to table, delivered in direct speech. The description in the brief paragraph which follows, focalizing Kaspar Almayer’s mental response, moves from descriptive narrative to free indirect discourse: ‘An unpleasant voice too [. . .] No matter; there would be an end to all this soon’ (AF, 3).62 Later in the chapter, Carner Ribalta respects Conrad’s use of elements of the Malay lexicon in the English text, providing footnotes for a reading public in Catalonia in 1929 who would be largely unfamiliar with Malaysia: ‘punkah’ and ‘prau’ are cases in point, though Dain’s allusion to the Dutch colonials or nationals as ‘Orang Blanda’ (AF, 48), that is, blond/fair men, defeats the translator in a pre-globalized world.63 Dain’s distorted use of tense in English, ‘Tuan, tomorrow we talk like friends’ (AF, 15) for ‘will talk’, is ‘corrected’ in Catalan, where the future tense, ‘parlarem’ (Conrad 1929, 18), is used. Dain is thus transformed into a more educated speaker or, more precisely, Conrad’s use of a non-standard English to mark non-English speech is not reproduced in the translation. A different issue is raised when, in chapter 3, Almayer’s ‘fleeting hopes’ (AF, 34) are rendered as floating in the target text: ‘flotants’ (Conrad 1929, 44),

57

‘una grossa decepció [. . .] poca qualitat literària’ (Cabot 1930). My translation, and in the following quotations from Cabot’s review. 58 ‘les excellents traduccions franceses’ (Cabot 1930, 4). 59 As documented in his memoir, Carner Ribalta’s political activity alongside Macià in the 1920s in Russia, France and Cuba appears to have been intense. See Carner-Ribalta (1972) and his son’s biographical essay (Carner 2017). George Carner, Carner Ribalta’s son, dates his father’s employment with the American cinema corporation Paramount between 1928 and 1931, when he was resident in New York and Hollywood (Carner 2017, 151). 60 ‘[la proporció] esgarrifosa’ (Cabot 1930, 4). 61 Clàssics moderns. E-mail correspondence, with Francesc Parcerisas, 13 January 2020, in charge of the Edhasa series when the revised translation of 1929 appeared. 62 ‘A més era una veu enutjosa [. . .] Tant se valia, però; aviat s’acabarien totes aquestes coses’ (Conrad 1929, 5). The emphasis added here in the Catalan highlights the conjugated verbs in a past tense, which undermine the use of free indirect discourse in the source text. Both these instances are maintained in the 1985 republication. 63 Carner Ribalta is misled by ‘Orang’, associating the term with simians and assuming that the indigenous population would refer to the colonial master in pejorative terms (Conrad 1929, 18). On other occasions, the Malay lexicon is reproduced in italics, or not, and not footnoted, e.g. in chapter 2, ‘Ubat’ (medicine) appears in italics in the target text, but no translation or explanation is provided, whereas ‘Mem Putih’ (white lady), in the same sentence and also in italics, is footnoted (AF, 31; Conrad 1929, 41). Again, in chapter 3, ‘Datu Besar’ (Big Chief) appears without italics or footnote whilst ‘surat’ (book) appears in italics (AF, 40; Conrad 1929, 50).

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which sacrifices the implicit comparison with ‘the rapidly disappearing vapour’ (AF, 35).64 In the same chapter, Carner Ribalta takes on the role of the nineteenth-century narrator guiding his/her reader when, in the reference to ‘that joyous night’ when Almayer’s house received ‘the name of “Almayer’s Folly” ’ (AF, 37), the target text impresses on the Catalan reader, lest s/he miss the point, that the name is ‘significatiu’ (significant).65 Finally, with regard to chapter 3, Carner-Ribalta modifies Mrs Almayer’s vindication of her status as Kaspar Almayer’s spouse according to Dutch law: ‘I am your wife! Your own Christian wife after your own Blanda law!’ (AF, 40).66 In the target text, ‘Christian’ is replaced by the circumlocution ‘la teva dona davant l’església’, that is, before the Church, thus replacing any evocation of Christ or Christianity with a potentially more anonymous reference to the institution. Similarly, in Mrs Almayer’s recollection of her convent days, the (ironic?) reference in the source text to ‘the good Mother Superior’ carries no attributive adjective in the target text: ‘la Mare Superiora’.67 In chapter 4, whilst Nina contemplates the boat carrying Dain down the river, ‘the folds of white vapour’ are described as ‘shrouding the middle of the river’ (AF, 56). The imagery of death is forfeited in the target text, and what is rendered there as the thickness of vapours is described as repeatedly flying over the river.68 In chapter 5, two paragraphs focus on Nina’s perception of Dain and his of her whilst in a third, their encounters, overseen by Mrs Almayer, are referred to: ‘And they used to pass many a delicious and fast fleeting hour under the mango trees behind the friendly curtain of bushes till Mrs Almayer’s shrill voice gave the signal of unwilling separation’ (AF, 64). Carner Ribalta presumably considered further identification, beyond the pronoun ‘they’, to be required in the new paragraph, and refers to Nina and Dain as ‘the lovers’.69 The reference to the couple’s separation as ‘unwilling’ is not carried into the Catalan where it is described as ‘fatal’ (Conrad 1929, 80), that is, a consequence of fate rather than highlighting the agency of those affected by the separation – although it is also possible that the adjective is being used hyperbolically, simply to mean ‘terrible’. A later paragraph in the same chapter begins with a statement by the narratorial voice which may be identified with a sceptical (and relativistic) attitude rooted in Conrad’s worldview: ‘There are some situations where the barbarian and the, so-called, civilised man meet upon the same ground’ (AF, 67). Conrad emphasizes the scepticism by means of punctuation, more forcefully drawing the reader’s attention to ‘so-called’ through the (ironic) pause created by commas. They are excluded in Carner Ribalta’s translation.70 Towards the end of the chapter, the source text carries a fourteen-line sentence describing an encounter between Dain and Nina.71 The intensity of sensual effect is achieved by means of the pile-up of natural description, creating an erotic

64

In the 1985 republication of Carner Ribalta’s translation, ‘flotants’ (Conrad 1929, 44) is replaced by the Catalan equivalent of ‘fleeting’ (AF, 34) with regard to Almayer’s hopes, i.e. ‘fugisseres’ (Conrad 1985, 44). 65 Conrad 1929, 46. Carner Ribalta’s addition of ‘significatiu’ is maintained in the 1985 republication (Conrad 1985, 46). 66 My emphasis here and in the words which follow in bold in relation to Almayer’s Folly. 67 Conrad 1929, 52. The Mother Superior is qualified as ‘good’ once again in the 1985 republication: ‘la bona Mare Superiora’ (Conrad 1985, 51). 68 ‘l’espessor de baus [sic] que revoleiaven [sic] per sobre el riu’ (Conrad 1929, 71). Carner Ribalta uses ‘baus’ for ‘vapors’ or ‘bafs’ and ‘revoleiaven’ for ‘revolaven’ (or, rather, ‘revolava’ since the subject is singular: ‘l’espessor de baus’). 69 ‘els amants’ (Conrad 1929, 80). Not adopted in the 1985 republication (Conrad 1985, 75). 70 ‘Hi ha certes situacions en les quals els bàrbars i els anomenats homes civilitzats es troben en un mateix pla’ (Conrad 1929, 83). The same sentence appears in the 1985 edition (Conrad 1985, 78). 71 Within the paragraph that starts ‘He stood up attentive [. . .]’, the sentence in question begins, ‘In a moment [. . .]’ (AF, 71) and ‘Un moment més tard [. . .]’ (Conrad 1929, 88; Conrad 1985, 82–3).

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charge (ultimately, disturbingly intertwined with a sense of ‘horror’ at the ‘corruption’ that is also part of natural processes); this is undermined in the target text by the single sentence being divided into three.72 However, Carner Ribalta’s marking off of a first sentence, following ‘a high canopy of dense foliage’, may be considered as not inappropriate since the lyricism of the text develops in what follows: ‘while above, way up in the broad day, [. . .]’ (AF, 71). In 1930, Conrad’s ‘Typhoon’ (1903) would be introduced to readers of Catalan. As was the case with La follia d’Almayer, El tifó was published by López Llausàs’s Catalònia in a translation produced by Alfred Gallard i Genís. Born in the Costa Brava town of Palafrugell in 1899, Gallard i Genís had published a book of short stories and a novel in the early 1920s and became a frequent contributor to both newspapers and journals already mentioned here: La Publicitat, La Veu de Catalunya, La Revista and D’Ací i D’Allà. A companion of Joan Estelrich, like the Mallorcan-born writer and cultural mediator, Gallard i Genís joined the youth movement of the Lliga Regionalista party and was also employed by the publishing house Montaner y Simón.73 Given Coll-Vinent’s existing analysis of Gallard’s translation of ‘Typhoon’, as mediated through André Gide’s translation of the novella into French (Coll-Vinent 1998, 220–2; CollVinent 2010, 112–13, 115–18), and, possibly, through a translation of the same source text into Spanish (Coll-Vinent 1998, 221), I shall turn my attention now to the growth of Conradian cultural capital in Catalonia in the 1930s. The cultural contribution of literary and art critic, teacher and translator Ramon Esquerra i Clivillés, born in Barcelona in 1909, has been particularly recognized since the turn of the twenty-first century through the research and publications of Iribarren/Iribarren Donadeu/ Iribarren i Donadeu (1998, 2003, 2003, 2006, 2010) and, more recently, in a full-length study by Guillem Molla (2014). Educated by the Jesuits and a graduate in Law and the Humanities, Esquerra’s premature death on the Ebre Front in 1938 abruptly ended the already ‘brilliant literary career’74 of a young man now acknowledged as having introduced comparative literature into Catalonia and regarded as the most tenacious and insightful critic of the contemporary novel in English, as reflected in the Barcelona press in the late 1920s and the decade of the 1930s leading up to the Civil War. His Lectures europees (1936) brought together a series of articles which had appeared in the daily or periodical press in Barcelona between 1932 and 1935, two of which were devoted to Conrad and the cinema. Both had originally appeared in June of 1932 in the Catalan journal Mirador, which displayed a particular interest in the new art form.75 In ‘Conrad i el cinema’ (Conrad and the cinema) (1932), Esquerra reminded his readers that three of the Polish author’s fictional texts in English were available in Catalan translation: ‘The Lagoon’, Almayer’s Folly and ‘Typhoon’. The translations generated further Conrad capital

72

The three sentences in the Carner Ribalta translation are reduced to two in the 1985 edition, which also introduces nine changes into the 1929 rendering at this juncture. 73 For additional information on Alfred Gallard i Genís, see http://www.visat.cat/diccionari/cat/traductor/357/gallardi-genis-alfred.html; http://www.civtat.cat/gallard_alfred.html; https://scg.iec.cat/Scg7/Scg72/S720026a.htm. See also an interview with Gallard following the Civil War (P.B., 1944). 74 ‘brillante trayectoria literaria’ (Iribarren 2016, 385). 75 In December of the same year, Esquerra devoted a ‘strictly literary’ (‘estrictament literari’) article to Conrad’s The Arrow of Gold, which was published in the liberal Catholic newspaper El Matí (Esquerra, 1932c). See Iribarren i Donadeu 1998, 70, n. 195).

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in the shape of articles or reviews76 before the publication of another of the Tales of Unrest, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, was translated by Esquerra himself, together with one Francesc Detrell,77 and brought out in wartime Barcelona in November 1936. In his articles on Conrad and the cinema four years earlier, Esquerra had revealed his awareness of film versions of works by Conrad, pointing out that they had been unsuccessful, apart from the version of what he considered one of the author’s best works, Victory.78 Esquerra attributed the lack of success of such attempts to the fact that, in his view, the cinema falls short of the novel when ‘the soul of the characters’ is being represented, hailing Conrad’s rendering of ‘the moral and psychological anatomy’ as the most successful aspect of his writing.79 However, the articles were less interested in assessing the film versions of Conrad’s texts or in considering the impact of the cinema on Conrad’s writing. Indeed, as Esquerra points out, the author was already writing in the later part of the nineteenth century, prior to the cinema becoming the popular art form of the twentieth, yet he displays a technique which anticipates the camera eye: ‘the style and procedure displayed by Conrad are absolutely original, and he can be considered to be a forerunner of the major directors of today’.80 In this connection, he recalls a scene from The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, highlighting the play of dark and light as members of the crew enrol on board the ship, described by Esquerra as ‘a series of magnificent close-ups’,81 and another from ‘An Outpost of Progress’, the moment when Kayerts spies Carlier’s feet jutting out from behind a corner: ‘a pair of turned-up feet. A pair of white naked feet in red slippers’ (TU, 113).82 It will be observed that in the Catalan translation, cited from Esquerra’s article of 2 June 1932, the ‘naked’ has been omitted. It was subsequently included in the 1936 translation of the whole text: ‘un parell de peus amb la punta cap amunt. Un parell de peus blancs, nus, amb sabatilles vermelles’ (Conrad 1936, 42). It might be argued that, on the one hand, the later inclusion reveals Esquerra’s/Esquerra and Detrell’s careful attention to the translated text – though it may have struck Esquerra in the first instance that ‘naked’ wasn’t necessary (if the feet were seen to be white, they were obviously naked). However, Esquerra/Esquerra and Detrell may have realized the importance of including this word, not simply in deference to the source text, but because of the collapse of ‘civilization’ being demonstrated in the denouement of the tale: the white men come to have naked feet too, highlighting their likeness to, rather than difference from, the indigenous population. Earlier I suggested that 1925 might be considered ‘Conrad’s year in Catalonia’, given the prominence assigned to the writer and his work on a number of fronts. Seven years later, however, Esquerra makes the point that Conrad had not become a highly popular writer,

76 Iribarren cites the names of sixteen writers and critics, among them Estelrich, Just Cabot and Esquerra (Iribarren 2003, 32). 77 I have been unable to verify the identity of Francesc Detrell. I wonder if he was Francesc Detrell Tarradell (Santiago de Cuba, 1908–Mexico City, 1990), resident in Catalonia since childhood before going into exile in Mexico in October 1936. See Domènech 2014. However, both Iribarren i Donadeu and Molla refer to Esquerra’s co-translator as Josep (rather than Francesc) Detrell: see Iribarren i Donadeu 1998, 5, n. 2; Molla 2014, 30. 78 Esquerra 1932b, 4. This was, presumably, the silent film version directed by French director Maurice Tourneur in 1919. Iribarren mentions Tourneur, together with other American film versions of Conrad’s works (Iribarren 2003a, 33). 79 ‘l’ànima dels personatges [. . .] l’anatomia moral i psíquica’ (Esquerra 1932b, 4). 80 ‘l’estil i els procediments que Conrad empra són absolutament originals i pot considerer-se’l com un precursor dels grans directors d’ara’ (Esquerra 1932a, 6). 81 ‘una sèrie de primers plans magnífics’ (Esquerra, 1932a, 6). 82 ‘un parell de peus amb la punta per amunt. Un parell de peus blancs amb sabatilles vermelles’ (Esquerra 1932a, 6).

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claiming that this is ‘a natural consequence of the high standard of his writing’;83 as a result, his readers are few, though faithful (among the few, it might well be argued, Esquerra himself).84 Moreover, the critic claims that, in spite of the efforts of Joan Estelrich and others, Conrad’s fiction was often placed alongside the likes of Mayne-Reid or Salgari. Contrary to the decline in the writer’s reputation, as recorded by Esquerra, the latter’s own devotion to Conrad’s output is manifest in Catalan translations of two further stories of the six which make up Tales of Unrest: ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (mentioned above), which Esquerra and Detrell appear to have had some difficulty in publishing (Iribarren i Donadeu 1998, 69, n. 194), before it was finally brought out in November 1936 alongside Millàs-Raurell’s D’Ací i D’Allà translation of ‘The Lagoon’, dating from 1924, together with his biographical introduction, in the so-called ‘Literary Notebooks’, the weekly paperbacks first launched by the enterprising young poet, publisher and sometime journalist Josep Janés i Olivé in 1934.85 There is evidence that Esquerra also undertook the translation of the first story in Tales of Unrest, ‘Karain: a Memory’, though a full text appears not to have been completed and what was translated has never appeared in published form.86 Correspondence in the FJE reveals that there was an early interest in translating the entire Tales of Unrest into Catalan;87 however, apart from Millàs-Raurell’s translation of ‘The Lagoon’, no further stories from the volume appeared in Catalan until the Esquerra and Detrell rendering twelve years later. In the meantime, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ had appeared in Spanish translation in 1924, in an issue of the journal founded by José Ortega y Gasset in Madrid in 1923, the Revista de Occidente (The Western Review);88 no translator is acknowledged. It is possible that Esquerra and Detrell had consulted the 1924 Spanish translation, though the two translations do show a number of differences. However, an early mistranslation in both texts suggests that Esquerra and Detrell did consult the Spanish rendering of the previous decade.89 Nonetheless, Esquerra and Detrell’s translation may be considered competent overall; indeed, miraculously so given the wartime context. I shall limit comment here to four particular

83

‘una conseqüència natural de la bona qualitat de la seva obra’ (Esquerra, 1932a, 6). Doubtless, Conrad’s moral preoccupation would have an appeal for Esquerra, apart from his professional interest as a critic and teacher of literature with regard to questions of form and technique. 85 For further information on Josep Janés i Olivé and the Quaderns Literaris, see Hurtley 1986, 128–45, 354–62, and Mengual 2013,138–67. 86 A manuscript of twenty-eight pages (a rendering of only the first and third sections of the short story), entitled ‘Kárain [sic]: un record’, is preserved in the Fons Ramon Esquerra, deposited at the Biblioteca de Catalunya (Molla 2014, 32). See http://www.bnc.cat/Fons-i-col-leccions/Cerca-Fons-i-col-leccions/Esquerra-Ramon. 87 See the correspondence between Artur Perucho i Badia (1902–56) and Joan Estelrich in the FJE, dating from February 1929 to April 1931. In a letter from Perucho to Estelrich, dated 10 April 1931 (four days before Spain’s Second Republic was declared), Perucho enquires, ‘What are you thinking of doing with my translation of Conrad’s Tales of Unrest?’ (‘Què penseu fer amb la traducció dels “Contes d’inquietud” de Conrad que jo vaig traduir?’; my translation). Coll-Vinent refers to this correspondence (Coll-Vinent, 2010, 113, n. 77). 88 A footnote to the short story explains that the translation has been authorized by Conrad’s executors, Ralph L. Wedgewood and R. Curle, and by Montaner y Simón (Conrad 1924b, 52). Two further stories appeared in Spanish translation in the Revista de Occidente: ‘La bestia’ (1926) and ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ (1927). 89 The list of articles belonging to Kayerts and Carlier that litter the plank floor of the ‘building’ where the two white men reside includes ‘town wearing apparel’ (TU, 87). The Spanish translation supplies ‘ropa de uso destrozada’ (Conrad 1924b, 53), and the Catalan ‘ropa feta malbé’ (Conrad, 1936, 12), both of which refer to old, worn or threadbare clothes. More recently, Miquel Barceló provided an appropriate translation into Catalan: ‘roba d’anar a ciutat’ (Conrad 2005, 24). 84

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instances, two of which are cultural and two stylistic, which illustrate some of the challenges faced in translating the text. The source text repeatedly refers to the Sierra Leonean, Henry Price, and other representatives of the indigenous population as ‘niggers’, which appears in the target text as ‘negre’ (plural ‘negres’), that is, a black-skinned person (or people). No indication is provided in the target text that the term used in the source text conveys ethnic contempt towards the Other. With regard to Price, the source text establishes early on that he speaks both English and French, and the character will reveal himself on more than one occasion, in direct speech, in English or in Pidgin. Thus, when he challenges Kayerts, who is ‘nearly burst[ing] with indignation’ on realizing that Price (Makola) has traded men for tusks, the latter keeps his cool: ‘ “I did the best for you and the Company,” said Makola imperturbably. “Why you shout so much? Look at this tusk” ’ (TU, 104).90 The target text does not reflect the distortion of tense and interrogative, but simply renders the text in Catalan as if it came from standard English usage: ‘Why are you shouting so much?’91 With regard to style, Esquerra and Detrell replicate the death imagery introduced around Kayerts’s hysteria in realizing that Carlier’s body is a corpse, for which he is responsible: He stood up, saw the body and threw his arms above his head with a cry like that of a man who, waking from a trance, finds himself immured forever in a tomb. [ . . . ] A shriek inhuman, vibrating and sudden, pierced like a sharp dart the white shroud of that land of sorrow. Three short impatient screeches followed, and then, for a time, the fogwreaths rolled on, undisturbed, through a formidable silence. TU, 115–16 The ‘tomb’ (Catalan tomba) and ‘shroud’ (Catalan mortalla) are present in the target text but the shape of wreaths produced by the fog, as described in the source text, become the equivalent of belts, bands or strips of fog (Catalan llenques) (Conrad 1936, 45). Finally, in the penultimate sentence of the text, Kayerts’s stiffened corpse, ‘hanging by a leather strap from the cross’, is parodically described as (seemingly) ‘standing rigidly at [sic] attention’ and further (literally) held up to ridicule: ‘with one purple cheek playfully posed on the shoulder’ (TU, 117). It might be argued that the thrust of the mockery, the degree of grotesqueness and the representation of the forfeited established order achieved through colonial rule is diminished in the target text by ‘painting’ both cheeks purple.92 The publication of the Esquerra and Detrell translation would mark the end of Conrad’s cultural capital in Catalan for a generation. General Franco’s regime imposed Castilian Spanish in official oral and written contexts, yet, paradoxically, translation (into Spanish, perforce) from a number of (mainly) European languages, became a major cultural source of expression in the context of the Second World War and into the post-Civil War period in Spain, largely via Barcelona-based publishing houses. However, translation was also frowned upon by relentless

90

My emphasis here and in the following words in bold in this same paragraph. ‘Per què crideu tant?’ (Conrad 1936, 31). See also Price’s calling out to Kayerts towards the end of the story, as the steamer arrives, ‘They whistle for the station. I go ring the bell. [. . .] I ring’ (TU, 116) Again, this is translated into standard Catalan: ‘Xiulen [. . .] Vaig a tocar la campana. [. . .] Jo toco’ (Conrad 1936, 46). 92 ‘una de les purpúries galtes’ (Conrad 1936, 47). 91

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representatives of the newly-established status quo, who viewed the ideas or practices represented in the imported literature as threatening ‘sound Spanish values’, hence the mutilation to which many of the texts were subjected by zealous ‘readers’, employed by the regime’s censorship apparatus (Hurtley 2007).93 Apart from a 1966 version (Catalan versió) of ‘Typhoon’ by writer and translator Ramon Folch i Camarasa, published by the Barcelona publishing house Nova Terra, founded in 1958 by a group of progressive Christians (Llanas 2006, 116–20), translations of Conrad into Catalan would only begin to surface once again following the death of the dictator, the establishment of the Spanish Constitution of 1978 and the process of bringing the Catalan language back into her own through the task of ‘normalització’.94 Thus it is that, since the late 1970s, there have been translations of texts by Conrad in every decade, both the republication of early renderings (as in the case of the 1985 La follia d’Almayer by Carner-Ribalta) as the recovery of the language took shape, and the production of new translations. Lord Jim was published in 1979 by Proa, a publishing house originally founded in Badalona, some ten kilometres north of Barcelona, in 1928, which had issued a substantial number of texts in translation up until the Civil War.95 Other publishing houses, for the most part established in Barcelona, have been bringing out Conrad titles since then: for instance, the translation of ‘Typhoon’ of 1966 (Laertes, 1982) and the translations of ‘Heart of Darkness’ (En el cor de les tenebres, Destino,1989) and Nostromo (Nostromo, Edicions 62, 1989). In 1986, Edicions Bromera was founded in Alcira, situated in the Autonomous Community of Valencia, by Josep Gregori Sanjuan, who was born in the Valencian town known as Alzira in Castilian Spanish. Bromera brought out another translation of ‘Typhoon’ in 1990 whilst, in the same decade, the 1979 translation of Lord Jim was republished in Proa’s ‘Clàssics moderns’ series (1997), and the 1966 version of Typhoon was again republished, now by Columna, in the same year. In 1998, Edicions 62 brought out the 1989 translation of ‘Heart of Darkness’. The Mallorcan publishing house Ensiola Editorial was founded in 2003, in the town of Muro, and in 2005 published Una avançada del progrés, another translation of Conrad’s ‘Outpost of Progress’ by the Mallorcan historian Miquel Barceló. Barceló also provided an introduction to the edition, which, additionally, included illustrations by the Mallorcan artist Maria Carbonero. In 2006, Josep Marco, a lecturer in the Facultat de Traducció i Interpretació (Faculty of Translation and Interpretation) at the Universitat Jaume I in Castelló, produced an adaptation of The Secret Agent (L’agent secret: una història senzilla), including an introduction, glossary and ideas for teaching the text, for Tres i Quatre, the Valencia-based publishing house.96 The second decade of the twenty-first century has been particularly rich in translations of Conrad’s texts, seven translations having been produced by both well-established publishing houses (as in the case of Edicions 62, a product of the early 1960s) and by more recent concerns (such as Viena Edicions, founded in 1991); an edition of the Tales of Unrest (Contes del neguit,

93

Historian Josep Benet claimed that the state established under General Franco following the Civil War was guilty of attempting cultural genocide in Catalonia. See Benet 1979, 11–12, and Benet 1995. Manuel Llanas speaks of genocide without further qualification (Llanas 2006, 22). 94 See https://llengua.gencat.cat/ca/el-catala/origens-i-historia/. 95 Full details of the 1979 translation of Lord Jim and of the translations mentioned in the remaining part of this paragraph will be found in the ‘Translations and editions in Catalan and Valencian’ list at the end of the present volume. 96 For further information on Josep Marco, see the chapter by Jacqueline Hurtley and Marta Ortega Sáez in Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown (eds), The Reception of George Eliot in Europe (London: Bloomsbury, 2016), 254–7.

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Alpha, 2012); a rendering of ‘Amy Foster’ (Allò que el mar ens duu i allò que ens treu (What the sea brings and what it takes away from us), Enric Peres i Sunyer, 2013); another translation of ‘Heart of Darkness’ (El cor de les tenebres, Edicions 62, 2014) with a prologue and notes, aimed at young readers; a translation of The End of the Tether (Amb la corda al coll (With the rope wrapped tightly around one’s neck), Viena, 2015); and, two years on, yet another translation of ‘Heart of Darkness’ (El cor de les tenebres, 2017), published by the Valencia publishing house Sembra Llibres, founded by Joan Carles Girbés and Xavi Sarrià in 2014. In the same year, the L’Avenç publishing concern (producing books and a journal, L’Avenç) brought out a translation of Conrad’s A Personal Record (Memòria personal) and, in the following year, also published The Shadow-Line (La línia d’ombra). Finally, in 2019, L’Avenç published a new translation of Almayer’s Folly (La follia d’Almayer). Another valuable dimension of Conrad’s reception in the later part of the twentieth century are the academic articles produced in Catalan and published in both paper format and online.97

Conrad rewritten, rehistoricized and retranslated The most recent Catalan rendering of Conrad’s widely recognized classic ‘Heart of Darkness’ (El cor de les tenebres), with an introduction by the Catalan anthropologist and novelist Albert Sánchez Piñol, was produced by Yannick Garcia, a graduate of the Universitat Pompeu Fabra in Barcelona in Translation and Interpretation, and a practising translator and a writer himself in Catalan. In the mid-1990s, some hundred years on from the serialized publication of ‘The Heart of Darkness’ in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine (1899), Sánchez Piñol was carrying out field work with the Mbuti people in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, ‘in a place very close, in geographical terms, to where Conrad situated Kurtz’s terrible camp base’.98 Whilst Sánchez Piñol was there, the Civil War broke out, leading the ‘poor anthropologist’99 to witness the death and destruction that ravaged many members of the Mbuti community, murdered by soldiers in particular battles, in executions or through hunger, some having taken to the forest in an attempt to escape and finding themselves without any means of sustenance. The writer reflects, ‘War is one of the forms that the horror takes. And our experience of war becomes the horror of horrors.’100 Sánchez Piñol records returning from Africa embittered, leading him to abandon the project of producing a PhD, but prompting the birth of the writer. His highly successful first novel, La pell freda (Cold Skin)101 was published on the occasion of the centenary of the original publication of Heart of Darkness in book form (1902), and he has claimed that his text is ‘an explicit version’102 of Conrad’s, the protagonist’s final words providing a retort to

97 See Eduard Vilella, ‘El macabre espai de l’altre. Tenebra i evolució personal en Joseph Conrad’, Els Marges (Barcelona) 53 (September 1995): 101–8, and Javier Giacomelli, ‘El motiu de la mort en L’agent secret de Joseph Conrad’, Lletres de Filosofia i Humanitats (Barcelona) 2 (2010): 114–33. 98 ‘en un lloc geogràficament molt proper on Conrad situa l’espantós camp base de Kurtz’ (Sánchez Piñol 2017, 16). My translation. 99 ‘pobre antropòleg’ (Sánchez Piñol 2017, 17). 100 ‘La guerra és una de les formes de l’horror. I la nostra vivència de la guerra, l’horror de l’horror’ (Sánchez Piñol 2017, 17). 101 Translated into English by Cheryl Leah Morgan (Edinburgh: Canongate Books Ltd, 2007). 102 ‘una versió explícita’ (Sánchez Piñol 2017, 17).

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Kurtz’s. Sánchez Piñol’s second novel, Pandora en el Congo (Pandora in the Congo),103 takes the reader to Africa, but his first novel is situated on a remote island in the South Atlantic where the protagonist, a disillusioned Irish Republican taking up the post of meteorologist on the island, with a particular focus on winds, will, initially, join forces with the only other human inhabitant, the pugnacious lighthouse keeper, an Austrian exile from the First World War. The attitude of the Westerners towards the reptile-like inhabitants of the island echoes that of nineteenth-century colonizers as depicted in ‘An Outpost of Progress’ or ‘Heart of Darkness’: the indigenous Other is constructed as monstruous and subjected to the will of the colonizer. The unnamed protagonist of Cold Skin comes to see that the indigenous inhabitants of the island are not the monsters he and his fellow European have perceived, but the final paragraph of the novel marks the measure of his disillusionment as he contemplates the lighthouse keeper, bellicose as ever: ‘Without a doubt, the world was a predictable place with nothing new to offer.’104 In 2017, Conrad’s A Personal Record (Memòria personal) was translated and brought out by the publisher of L’Avenç and journal editor Josep Maria Muñoz. In 2018, L’Avenç published The Shadow-Line (La línia d’ombra) in a translation by the translator and graduate in Romance Philology Marta Bes Oliva, a graduate in French and English translation from the Escola Universitària de Traductors i Intèrprets (EUTI) at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. In the same year, ‘El cor de Conrad’ (The Heart of Conrad) appeared in the journal L’Avenç, the translation of Colm Tóibín’s review of Maya Jasanoff ’s The Dawn Watch: Joseph Conrad in a Global World (2017), originally published in the New York Review of Books some three months earlier (Tóibín 2018). Most recently, 2019 saw the publication of Josep Maria Muñoz’s new translation of Almayer’s Folly (La follia d’Almayer). Muñoz is a graduate in History and, on a personal level, his interest in Conrad was acquired ‘historically’, that is, from a grandfather, a lawyer by profession, who was interested in adventure and the sea (having descended from a family who earned their living as sailors in Tarragona) and who was a fond reader of Conrad.105 On a professional level, as both publisher and historian, Muñoz was interested in incorporating Conrad’s memoir in the firm’s output since he values diaries and memoirs for the historical insights they may provide, and with regard to Conrad’s memoir in particular, he found the unconventional nature of the memoir attractive: ‘the fact that it wasn’t a “normal” autobiography’, that it disrupted the borders of the genre.106 He also valued it because of the text’s link to Conrad’s own writing.107 Given that a number of references to the writing of Almayer’s Folly are present in A Personal Record, it is perhaps not surprising that Muñoz should go on to translate Conrad’s first novel, a text which the translator-historian found of particular interest given the dynamic of the past (Almayer, the father) and the present/future (Nina, the daughter), with the figure of the offspring acquiring, in Muñoz’s view, ‘a degree of nobility’.108 Indeed, Muñoz regards Nina as the protagonist of the novel, hence the cover chosen for the paperback edition, which represents the face of a young Indonesian woman. Only half of the face is visible in the close-up, the other half veiled and in darkness, thus reflecting (arguably) the ambivalent role 103

Translated into English by Mara Faye Lethem (Edinburgh: Canongate Books Ltd, 2009). ‘Definitivament el món era un lloc previsible i sense novetats’ (Sánchez Piñol 2018, 299). (My translation above.) 105 Interviews with Josep Maria Muñoz, 17 July 2019 and 23 December 2019. 106 ‘el fet que no fos una autobiografía “normal” ’ (interview with J. M. Muñoz, 23 December 2019). 107 See also Serra 2017. 108 ‘certa noblesa’ (interview with J. M. Muñoz, 23 December 2019). 104

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performed by the character until she comes to fully assert the identity denied her by the Law of the Father.

Conclusion Almost a century has passed since Joan Estelrich met William Heinemann in the autumn of 1923 in London. That November encounter was the first step in Conrad’s work becoming accessible in Spanish translation before the appearance of ‘The Lagoon’ in Catalan shortly after the author’s death. The qualities highlighted by Estelrich in the articles he devoted to Conrad in the 1920s – a sense of duty, of loyalty, of perseverance (the stuff of heroes); a respect for order, for efficiency and discipline – were values with an appeal in Barcelona, ‘a growing capital city’109 from the second half of the nineteenth century, whose industrial impresarios required a workforce without a bent for Bolshevism or anarchist experimentation. Conrad’s Catholic roots, his parents’ resistance to imperialist Russia, the writer’s anti-revolutionary convictions110 and his own cosmopolitan identity would also strike a chord with the Catholic intelligentsia of Catalonia, as would the nationalist struggle of Conrad’s parents and the experience of exile. After Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship in the 1920s, Conrad was championed by Ramon Esquerra in the increasingly revolutionary decade of the 1930s, through the latter’s attention to film adaptation, but also on account of Esquerra’s response to Conrad’s groundbreaking literary technique coupled with the Catalan’s talent as literary critic and translator. Following the Civil War, the Catalan reading public was deprived of translations of Conrad, and much else, in Catalan, for a generation or more. However, since the later 1960s, and, more particularly, from the late 1970s onwards, Conrad has been a constant presence as the Catalan language gradually regained ground as an open means of communication in public life and as publishing houses in Catalan multiplied, embracing Conrad’s works. Since the decade of his death, Conrad’s writing has also complemented a taste for the exotic as part of Catalonia’s cosmopolitan aspirations, an enthusiasm for travel and a curiosity about territories and cultures beyond the West. The growing critical awareness and knowledge of imperial ruthlessness would develop in the second half of the twentieth century with the fin de siècle and early twenty-first century producing a post-colonial re-assessment and latter-day philosophical angst. In this connection, J. M. Muñoz has identified in Conrad ‘a contemporary vision with regard to colonialism’ and an awareness of ‘Europe’s failure towards indigenous peoples’.111 Muñoz’s view is shared by Sánchez Piñol, more specifically with regard to Africa (Sánchez Piñol 2017, 17), although his first-person narrator’s final reflections in La pell freda (Cold Skin) go on to express an ubiquitous sense of hopelessness, not unlike the scepticism found in Conrad, it might be claimed, in spite of the likes of Captain Giles in The Shadow-Line. However, in 2017, the Catalan novelist expressed, with some restraint, what he described as his forerunner’s major discovery: ‘Perhaps Conrad’s great find has been to show

109

‘una capital en expansió’ (Castellano 2008, 228). See Conrad’s pronouncement on ‘[t]he revolutionary spirit’ in ‘A Familiar Preface’ (APR, xix). 111 Interview with J. M. Muñoz, 23 December 2019. 110

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us that, when all is said and done, the authentic heart of darkness lies in the depths of our own hearts.’112 Whether or not this is the case, in the words of the narrator of The Shadow-Line, be it in Poland, Russia, Ukraine, France, England, Malaysia, Africa or Catalonia, ‘One goes on’ (SL, 3), as do the translations of Conrad in Catalonia. The texts speak to this time and place today, more than ever.

112

‘Potser la gran troballa de Conrad hagi estat mostrar-nos que, després de tot, l’autèntic cor de les tenebres es troba a les tenebres del nostre cor’ (Sánchez Piñol 2017, 17).

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CHAPTER 14 THE SPANISH AND CATALAN RECEPTION OF CONRAD’S POETICS: A HISTORY IN THREE VIGNETTES Marta Puxan-Oliva

Joseph Conrad’s reception in Spain is extensive but also belated. Initially, it flourished immediately after his death during a period in which Spain sought renovation by setting its eyes on Europe’s modernization. This Spanish renovation began at the turn of the twentieth century, but Spain vamped up its efforts in the 1920s and 1930s, a period that produced an avant-garde and raised awareness of the importance of investing in cultural education personally and institutionally. The Spanish Civil War cut short some of these initiatives, which were deferred or reconfigured with publications that, at least ideologically, became much less progressive with the establishment of the Franco dictatorship (1939–75). Although the publication of some authors became problematic during this period, Joseph Conrad’s work saw an uptick in the 1940s. Finally, from the 1960s onwards, the number of translations of his works has increased substantially, coinciding with a publishing boom and with the cultural regeneration that came with (and persisted after) the end of the dictatorship, with the number of editions rising enormously. Joseph Conrad has been acknowledged as a fully established canonical author in Spain ever since. This is a story that, like any reception story, branches out in multiple directions. But the branches of this tree are still only partially discernible. This chapter offers three vignettes – roughly corresponding to three historical moments and three kinds of reception figure. To complement the chapters by Daniel Zurbano García and Jacqueline Hurtley in this volume, and the earlier work by Sílvia Coll-Vinent and Teresa Iribarren, this chapter focuses on key aesthetic and social concerns in Conrad’s work that attracted Catalan and Spanish intellectuals and explores the ways in which these Conradian concerns ran parallel to or directly influenced their personal editorial and literary projects. This is thus an approach that, rather than adopting a sociological perspective, traces Conrad’s reception in terms of a dialogue with his ideas and literary poetics. The first vignette is devoted to Conrad’s early editor, Joan Estelrich; the second vignette focuses on a Catalan writer and critic from the 1940s, Josep Pla; and the third vignette considers a Spanish writer who flourished in the 1970s and 1980s, Juan Benet. The three are among the finest editors, critics and writers that Spain and Catalonia have ever produced, though they have not always received sufficient recognition.

First vignette: Joan Estelrich, editor The building in Barcelona that currently hosts the Fundació Tàpies, devoted to the contemporary artist Antoni Tàpies, is well known to tourists and citizens alike. Its history, however, is much less well known. Until 1981, the building served as the Montaner y Simón publishing house. 227

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Built from 1880 to 1882 by the Catalan modernist architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner in a style heavily influenced by Art Nouveau, the building was constructed with exposed brick, extensive wrought iron and stained glass. Over the last decades of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth, along with marketplaces and train stations, new factory and company buildings like this one propelled a renovation project in Catalonia that aimed to modernize construction by turning to industrial and local materials – like tile and brick – that had previously been considered less valuable. These first architectural steps encouraged this same architect to build a concert hall and a public hospital whose modern, social and ideological functions served the educational and recreational needs of the popular classes, while improving health through architectural design. Remote as these developments might sound in relation to Joseph Conrad, they actually have a close connection to his reception. As Daniel Zurbano Garcia notes, under the leadership of the journalist and editor Joan Estelrich, Montaner y Simón planned to publish the Complete Works of Joseph Conrad. The company’s impressive building epitomizes the industrial potential of the city of Barcelona, whose flourishing publishing industry made it, along with Madrid, one of Spain’s foremost publishing centres. It is no surprise, therefore, that most of Conrad’s works published in the country (at least until the 1940s), both in Spanish and in Catalan, were printed in Barcelona. Montaner y Simón seems to have taken up the publication of Conrad’s complete works around the same time as another Barcelona-based publishing house, Ediciones Artemisa. The Biblioteca de Catalunya holdings include two translations published by Ediciones Artemisa, one of El negro del Narcissus (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’), translated by Ricardo Baeza, and the other of El corazón de las tinieblas (Heart of Darkness), translated by Julia Rodríguez Danilewsky. In the catalogue, both works have a publication date of circa 1920 – but the Biblioteca de Catalunya’s dating for these editions is provisional and unreliable. I have found no further information about Ediciones Artemisa and its editorial project: the project might have been agreed upon in collaboration with Montaner y Simón, but the background to these publications remains a mystery.1 The Artemisa editions, the covers engraved with an image of Conrad’s face, were certainly more luxurious than the volumes published by Montaner y Simón. The first translation of Conrad’s works, and the only one recorded during his lifetime, was ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, translated by Juan Guixé and published by the republican morning newspaper El Día Gráfico in Barcelona in 1913.2 As noted earlier, on a trip to England, through a meeting with Heineman, Estelrich acquired the exclusive rights to Conrad’s translations into Spanish (for Spain and Latin America) for Montaner y Simón, where he was the general editor from 1924 to 1949 (Coll-Vinent 2010, 110). Montaner y Simón authorized the publication of short stories like ‘Una avanzada de progreso’ (‘An Outpost of Progress’, 1924)

1

There is a problem here with dates. The foreword by the well-known translator Ricardo Baeza to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ in the Artemisa edition mentions an essay by Estelrich, which introduced Alma Rusa (Under Western Eyes), published by Montaner y Simón in 1925, and was included in Estelrich’s book Entre la vida i els llibres (1926). The Biblioteca de Catalunya’s catalogue dates those translations to ‘ca.1920’ (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’) and ‘1920?’ (El corazón de las tinieblas). The history of Ediciones Artemisa, the number of works they published and when, and their connections to Montaner y Simón remains to be elucidated. For further research, the Biblioteca de Catalunya preserves the Estelrich papers and part of Montaner y Simón’s archive. 2 Information retrieved by Diana Roig-Sanz from the Biblioteca Nacional catalogue.

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and ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ (1927) in journals such as Ortega y Gasset’s Revista de Occidente.3 This represented a foot in the door for modern English literature in Spain. Montaner y Simón published their collected edition of Conrad’s works between 1925 and 1935. They began by publishing Alma rusa (Under Western Eyes, literally ‘Russian Soul’), translated by Juan Mateos de Diego, and La locura de Almayer (Almayer’s Folly), translated by Rafael Marquina, in 1925. They then published Nostromo: Relato de un litoral (Nostromo, 1926), in two volumes, translated by Juan Mateos de Diego; Lord Jim (1927), in two volumes, translated by Ramón D. Perés; and Seis relatos: Gaspar Ruiz, El delator, La bestia, Un anarquista, El duelo, El conde (A Set of Six, 1928), with the following translators: ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ by Gonzalo Guasp; ‘The Informer’, ‘An Anarchist’, ‘The Duel’ and ‘Il Conde’ by Ramón D. Perés; and ‘The Brute’ by José Torroba. This was followed by two further collections of short stories, Cuentos de inquietud (Tales of Unrest, 1928), translated by Marco-Aurelio Galindo and C. De Rivas Cherif, and Un tifón. Amata Fóster. Falk. Mañana (Typhoon, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Falk’ and ‘Tomorrow’, 1929), translated by Ramón D. Perés; Victoria: La novela de una isla (Victory, 1930), also translated by Perés; and another collection of short stories, Juventud. Seguida de La posada de las dos brujas y Un socio (‘Youth’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ and ‘The Partner’, 1931), where ‘Youth’ was translated by Vicente Vera, and ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ and ‘The Partner’ by Juan Guixé. The year 1931 saw a spate of translations: El corazón de las tinieblas (‘Heart of Darkness’), translated by Julia Rodríguez Danilewsky; Entre mareas (Within the Tides), translated by Juan Guixé; La línea de la sombra. Una confesión (The Shadow-Line), translated by Ricardo Baeza (with a foreword); and Un vagabundo en las islas (An Outcast of the Islands), translated by Antonio Guardiola. The next three years saw El cabo de la cuerda (The End of the Tether, 1932), translated by Marco-Aurelio Galindo; El rescate: un romance de los Bajíos (The Rescue, 1932), in two volumes, translated by Marco-Aurelio Galindo: El negro del ‘Narcissus’ (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, 1932), translated by Ricardo Baeza; La flecha de oro (The Arrow of Gold, 1935), in two volumes, translated by Marco-Aurelio Galindo; and El agente secreto: una historia simple (The Secret Agent, 1935), again translated by Marco-Aurelio Galindo.4 The Spanish Civil War began right after the publication of the last of these novels. However, the project appears to be complete, since all the titles listed on the back of the book jacket as ‘soon to be published’ were in fact published. Some of Conrad’s books were left out, but there is reason to believe that they were not part of the project, whose header changed from the original ‘Obras completas de José Conrad’ to just ‘José Conrad’ when listing published and upcoming works. This interesting publication project is heterogeneous with respect to its translation policy, which was clearly left to the prestigious translators’ individual discretion. Thus, some volumes have footnotes to clarify issues of vocabulary; some have a preface or introductory note; and some even include Conrad’s prefaces. The works are mostly translated directly from English, often in contrast to French translations, as Sílvia Coll-Vinent (2010) has demonstrated. These were inexpensive books and appear to have been addressed to the general public. The vagueness

3

Revista de Occidente published ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (‘Una avanzada de progreso’, XVI, October 1924) and ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ (XLIII, January 1927) with acknowledgements to Conrad’s executor Ralph L. Wedgewood, Richard Curle and the Spanish translation rights’ holders, Montaner y Simón. 4 These details are as registered by the Biblioteca de Catalunya. The order in which Montaner y Simón published the works is not the order in which they listed them on the interior of the dust jacket.

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of the taglines also hints at a general readership: Nostromo is advertised as a ‘suggestive story of political intrigue and hidden treasures’; the various stories that comprise Within the Tides are summed up as the ‘powerful painting of a remote environment’; while Heart of Darkness is presented as simply ‘the most beautiful short novel in English’.5 Catalan translations of Conrad’s works also appeared during this period in journals such as Quaderns literaris and in book form. The publishing house Llibreria de Catalònia published La follia d’Almayer (Almayer’s Folly) and Un tifó (Typhoon) in a prestigious collection called Biblioteca Literària in 1929 and 1930 respectively. This collection was transferred from Editorial Catalana (1917–24), which had initiated the collection under the editorial director Joan Estelrich.6 The publishing of Conrad’s works in Catalan had similar objectives to those described in an editorial note in Quaderns Literaris when publishing Dues històries d’inquietud (Tales of Unrest) in 1936: namely, ‘bringing the most important universal authors to Catalan’.7 With Catalan recently normalized and introduced into the education system, translating great ‘universal authors’ into Catalan became a priority for national construction as well as for the modernization of the país (country). One might think that, as a commercial publisher, Montaner y Simón would not be concerned with the push to modernize Spain’s cultural landscape, but their use of distinguished translators such Ramón Perés y Peres and above all Ricardo Baeza, and their connections to the Revista de Occidente, suggest otherwise.8 It is not always clear, however, whether the país to be modernized by turning to European and AngloSaxon authors was Catalonia or Spain, but even when these two projects sometimes appeared to pull in opposite directions, perhaps their needs were not so different. The publication of modern English writers such as Conrad in Spanish by Revista de Occidente and Montaner y Simón and the publications in Catalan by Llibreria de Catalònia and Quaderns Literaris all aspired to renew and modernize the cultural texture of Spanish and Catalan societies. This renewal hinged on cultural mediators like Josep Estelrich and Josep Pla, working in these professional circles in the Spanish and Catalan languages simultaneously. This peculiar

5

All translations in this chapter are mine. ‘Sugestiva historia de intrigas políticas y tesoros ocultos’; ‘imponente pintura de un ambiente remoto’; ‘la más bella novela corta de la lengua inglesa’. 6 The ‘Catàleg de la Llibreria Catalònia. 1931–1932’ (Llibreria Catalònia (1931?)), includes these works within the collection ‘Nova sèrie de la Biblioteca Literària. 60 volums – Novel·la, poesia, teatre i narracions’. It includes prices for La Follia d’Almayer: Rga. 3.50 and Tela: 5.50. These also appear to be the prices for Un tifó. On the previous page, the catalogue lists various titles under ‘Biblioteca Literària de l’Editorial Catalana’. (The co-owner of Llibreria Catalònia, Antoni López-Llausàs, who bought this editorial collection, was subsequently exiled to Argentina, where he founded the prestigious publishing house Sudamericana. For the transfer of Editorial Catalana to Antoni López-Llausàs, see Llanas and Pinyol 2011.) The catalogue defines the collection as ‘Collecció completa de 107 volums en la que figuren els noms més eminents de les literatures antigues i modernes, i els autors catalans més prestigiosos’ (A complete collection of 107 volumes including the most renowned names in ancient and modern literature, and the most prestigious Catalan authors). There is no mention of Conrad in it nor in the titles listed under Editorial Catalana (Llanas and Pinyol 2011, 79–80), but the list includes only eighty-seven of the 107 titles. This catalogue also includes works by authors published by the same publishing house, including J. Estelrich (La qüestió de les minories nacionals and Cataluya endins, De la Dictadura a la República, Valoració internacional de Catalunya) and Josep Pla (Vida de Manolo, Cambó, Cartes de lluny, Cartes Meridionals and El sistema de Francesc Pujols). Retrieved from Biblioteca de la Universitat de Barcelona. 7 ‘Aportar al català els més importants autors universals’ (Quaderns Literaris 136, November 1936). For an excellent analysis of these translations, see Hurtley’s chapter in this volume. 8 Prior to Conrad’s death, Ricardo Baeza was one of the main literary critics to introduce modern contemporary authors in Spain through the review magazine Prometeo. Indeed, Blasco Ibáñez sent a letter to Conrad suggesting that they publish him in Prometeo. The outcome of this initiative has still to be explored.

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modernization is also embodied in the modernist building that housed Montaner y Simón, combining its Spanish and Catalan cultural projects in one. Publishing the complete works of Conrad would not have been possible without Joan Estelrich (1896–1958), a cultural mediator whose role in the definition of Catalan culture has gained greater recognition as scholars have delved into his work. Diana Roig-Sanz and Reine Meylaerts recently defined a ‘cultural mediator’ as ‘an actor active across linguistic, cultural and geographical borders, occupying strategic positions within large networks and being the carrier of cultural transfers’ (Roig-Sanz and Meylaerts 2018, 3). Estelrich was just such an actor. Journalist, editor, literary critic and the Spanish representative at UNESCO (1952–8), he had the finest sense for literary value and an acute understanding of the intertwining of culture and politics in Spain. Living between Mallorca, Menorca, Barcelona, Madrid, Geneva and Paris, he was devoted to expanding Catalan and Spanish cultural relations internationally. Originally an active member of the Regionalist League, he later worked for the Francoist Paris Propaganda and Press Office (1937–40), which attracted some Catalan animosity. In his role as cultural mediator, working for both the Catalan and Spanish-language publishing world, and with his previous experience at Editorial Catalana and Llibreria de Catalònia, Estelrich undertook the Spanish publication of Conrad’s works for Montaner y Simón as a personal project that contributed to refashioning and modernizing the publisher’s catalogue. As noted earlier, he carefully selected his translators, some of whom were very renowned, such as Ricardo Baeza.9 However, his influence over the way in which Conrad was received in Spain did not end there. Joan Estelrich is the author of the first and perhaps the longest essay ever written in Catalan (and probably also in Spanish) on Conrad’s work. This essay was first published in parts in the Revista de Catalunya and La Revista in Catalan (Estelrich 1925a, 1925b); he then wrote the long foreword ‘Joseph Conrad’ in Spanish for the first volume published in the Montaner y Simón edition of Conrad’s works, Alma rusa (Under Western Eyes, 1925). This essay was then republished in Catalan in his most important work, Entre la vida i els llibres (Between life and books, 1926), as well as in Joseph Conrad (1857–1924): El autor y su obra (Joseph Conrad (1857– 1924): The author and his works) published by Montaner y Simón in Spanish in 1931 (Estelrich 1931). In an exquisite portrait, Homenot (Great man), that the writer and critic Josep Pla dedicated to Joan Estelrich, Pla noted that this collection of essays, Entre la vida i els llibres, was meant to be the first of a series of volumes that Estelrich envisioned as his major work, a series that he never managed to write. In Pla’s view, this was unfortunate, since it meant that Estelrich’s great literary talent was never fully recorded (Pla 1969, 490). Yet, in spite of the editor’s ‘dispersed’ character, as Pla described it, Estelrich included his essay on Conrad among the scattered writings that he selected for Entre la vida i els llibres, alongside essays on Giacomo Leopardi, Søren Kierkegaard, Joan Maragall, Charloun Rieu and Jules Romains. This book attests to Estelrich’s expertise in comparative literature and the wider European cultural traditions, and it displays his interests in humanism, philosophy and lyricism.10 Estelrich divides his Conrad essay in two parts, one dedicated to Conrad’s character and the other to his works. In the first part, he emphasizes Conrad’s morality in both his personality and his work, drawing from multiple sources including John Galsworthy, Richard Curle, 9

For an overview of Estelrich’s work at Montaner y Simón, see Coll-Vinent 2011. For Ricardo Baeza’s work as translator in the magazine Prometeo and his efforts toward the modernization of Spanish culture, see Lagete 2010. 10 On Joan Estelrich’s participation in the 1930s humanism discourse in Europe, see Coll-Vinent 2014.

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Válery-Larbaud, Edmond Jaloux and Cunninghame Graham, as well as Conrad’s own works. Estelrich praises Conrad’s simplicity, modesty, stoicism and fidelity. As a humanist, the Catalan editor sympathized very much with Conrad’s character and expatiated on Conrad’s rectitude and deep understanding of human faults. He observes, for example, that Conrad ‘did not offer opinions if he was not knowledgeable; he dismissed insolent theories; he hated vanity. Likewise, he distrusted dilettantes who claimed to understand everything and witty know-it-alls. However, he respected the man of action and the man who carried his enterprise to the end’ (Estelrich (1926) 1996, 282).11 Estelrich links Conrad’s character to his work, praising him for his straightforward narratives nurtured by a knowledge of other worlds. Estelrich notes the misperception of Conrad’s work and his belated success – a fact that Josep Pla also observes – recalling the Polish author’s complaints about his lack of success and his labelling as a sea novelist. In line with his reception in France, the Catalan editor notes that ‘his topic is not the sea, but the human struggle that takes place there; he knew its cruelties too well. He loves ships, not the sea. He loves simple heroes, not those who weaken, and he is indifferent to the forces of nature, which he has nonetheless described with singular force and mastery’ (Estelrich 1926, 287).12 As for the debate about Conrad’s relation to the adventure novel, Estelrich distinguishes Conrad from English writers like Stevenson and Kipling. Rather than comparing him to Dickens, Hardy and Joyce, however, persuaded by Emilio Cecchi, he places Conrad’s novels closer to Dostoevsky’s and Gorky’s. He argues that: Conrad’s adventurer is not the authentic one that Stevenson describes – as conventional as Walter Scott’s stranded, medieval knight or Dumas’s musketeer – and he is not Kipling’s energetic, obstinate hero, who derives from an imperialist view of life. On the contrary, Conrad’s characters were not born to be heroes; they are heroes when they need to be, against their own will. They would desire to live as ordinarily as possible; only exceptional circumstances lead them to exceptional deeds [. . .]. They are mostly victims of a fate stronger than their wills. With all the necessary qualifications, in their psychology they are closer to Dostoevsky than to Stevenson, to Gorky than to Kipling. Estelrich 1926, 28813 Estelrich’s placing of Conrad amongst these canonical Russian authors leads him to discuss two types of heroes, a bold, straightforward one and a mysterious, psychological one, whom he aligns with Russian literary characters. In a section labelled ‘Preferences. Slavism’, Estelrich delves into Conrad’s ‘reserved and refined patriotism’ which, as he notes, surfaces in the short 11 ‘No donava parers si no era competent en la matèria discutida; menyspreava les teories insolents; odiava la vanitat. Es malfiava igualment del diletant que vol entendre en tot i del pedant massa eixerit. Però respectava l’home d’acció i el que porta fins a l’acabament de la seva tasca.’ 12 ‘el seu tema no és la mar, sinó la lluita que hi lliuren els homes; massa en coneixia les crueltats. Estima els vaixells, no la mar. Estima els herois senzills, que no defalleixen, i és indiferent a les forces de la natura, les quals ha descrit tanmateix amb singular força i mestratge.’ 13 ‘L’aventurer de Conrad no és l’aventurer autèntic definit per Stevenson – tan convencional com el cavaller errant medieval de Walter Scott o el mosqueter de Dumas-, ni és tampoc l’heroi enèrgic i tossut de Kipling, emanació d’un concepte imperialista de la vida. Al contrari, els personatges de Conrad no van néixer per herois; en són quan s’escau, a contra-cor. Llur desig seria de viure tan normalment com fos possible; només circumstàncies excepcionals els menen a fets excepcionals [. . .]. Són víctimes, sobretot, d’un destí superior a llurs forces. [. . .] [A]mb totes les reserves exigibles, són per llur psicologia més aprop de Dostoiewski que no de Stevenson, de Gorki que no de Kipling.’

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story ‘Prince Roman’ (Estelrich 1926, 294). In discussing Conrad’s relation to Slavism, Estelrich argues that ‘the positive fact is that Conrad rejects the “Slavic spirit” and feels himself absolutely detached from it’ (Estelrich 1926, 295).14 However, for Estelrich, what Conrad rejects is ‘the current notion of the “Slavic spirit”, a concept already stereotyped in the “Russian Soul,” a mixture of primary and simplistic false ideas, of disorder and decaying humanitarianism that perhaps might not fairly apply to all the best Russian writers’ (Estelrich 1926, 296).15 However, the Catalan editor finds a strong, shared Slavic quality in Conrad’s works. This might also suggest the editor’s predilection for the Slavic, as suggested by the fact that Under Western Eyes (Alma rusa) was the first of Conrad’s novels to be published in the complete works in Spanish. Estelrich also finds other aspects of Conrad’s writing that reveal his Slavism: Horror everywhere; an inexplicable, ineffable horror that slowly invades the soul, the abundantly shed blood; the mystery enshrouding things, the webs of plots and fatalities trapping individuals; the objects and characters drawn quietly, in the path from dark to light, subtly evoked through sharp yet simple contrasts. It is not easy to describe, other than as the tone, the atmosphere, the deep rhythm that is so specific to the best Eastern European writers. As in the most memorable passages of Russian literature, as we have seen, Conrad’s characters are often failed déclassés, maladjusted people; their mistakes, uncertainties and misfortunes have pushed them to the margins of society; they are victims of life. Still, the writing is simple, with a modest absence of rhetorical effects, with rich human psychology in its moral nuances, coming off as unfinished works that are always becoming more perfect: all formal features of the Russian novel. Estelrich 1926, 29716 However, what distinguishes Conrad’s Slavism is his adoption of an English moral attitude based on purity of the soul and self-control (Estelrich 1926, 298). Estelrich, a bilingual speaker himself, who simultaneously shaped Spanish and Catalan editorial agendas in Barcelona, ends with a defence of Conrad’s reasons for adopting the English language in which he disagrees with the idea that this implies that Conrad has rejected his own people. In the shorter, second part, Estelrich explores Conrad’s narrative method, linking it to the previously highlighted features. For him, Conrad’s creation of mystery and his use of impressionist techniques enable him to create a particular way of delving into reality through narratives of human exposure and complex psychology. Estelrich pays special attention to how 14

‘el fet positiu és que Conrad rebutja l’ “esperit eslau” i que se’n considera totalment deslligat’. ‘la noció corrent de l’“esperit eslau,” aquest concepte ja estereotipat de l’“l’ànima russa,” barreja d’idees sumàries, de simplismes falsos, de desordre i d’humanitarisme deliqüescent, que postser no pot aplicar-se amb tota justícia, a tots els millors escriptors russos’. 16 ‘L’horror arreu; l’horror inexplicable, inefable, que envaeix lentament l’ànima; la sang vessada a dolls, el misteri que cobreix les coses, la xarxa de complots i fatalitat que embolcalla els individus; els objectes, els personatges que es van dibuixant silenciosament, en el camí de la foscor a la llum, per suggestions progressives, per durs i simples contrastos. No és res fàcil de classificar, sinó el to, l’ambient, el ritme profund, tan particular, dels millors escriptors de l’Est europeu. Com en els passatges més caraterístics de la literatura russa, els personatges de Cornad són sovint, com ja hem vist, uns fracassats, uns declassés, inadaptables; llurs errors, inquituds o dissort, els han dut al marge de la societat; són víctimes de la vida. Hi ha, encara, la simplicitat en les narracions, la púdica absència d’efectes retòrics, la rica psicologia humana en els matisos morals, la impressió que sap encomanar-nos l’obra inacabada i que sempre va perfeccionant-se: tot característiques formals de la novella russa.’ 15

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Conrad’s characters unfold, many of whom we get to know through a series of unexpected encounters (Estelrich 1926, 313). The absence of psychological commentary maintains the mystery of personality. For Estelrich, Conrad’s sense of fidelity involves the simultaneous abandonment of and adherence to facts, following the movements of their formations until the characters become perceptible and penetrate our souls: ‘At this point of intimate crystallization, they serve mystery without artifice and are perhaps mysterious, not because we ignore them but precisely because we understand them in their totality, thanks to our slow immersion in their lives’ (Estelrich 1926, 313).17 It is through this very sophisticated narrative method that Estelrich understands Conrad’s acute sense of perception and morality. Estelrich’s interest in Conrad’s works emanates from his contemporary preoccupations with the way literary production deals with humanity and with minority identities that are politically mistreated by greater powers. He traces Conrad’s search for a humanist, intimate force to disclose the aesthetic and moral powers of his works, and he places the Polish author at the very top of the European and Eastern literary tradition. By this means, he opened a path to reception in Spain that, while fairly limited in the early decades of the twentieth century, recognized Conrad’s literary value and rejected any associations with popular literature. In a note preceding this important essay, Estelrich recalls that, on the afternoon of the day Conrad died, he had a long conversation in Paris that was the seed of his essay on Conrad. That conversation took place between him and the writer and literary critic Josep Pla (Estelrich (1926) 1996, 279).

Second vignette: Josep Pla, writer and critic In 1943, the illustrated cultural magazine Destino had a special announcement to make: the Barcelona-based publishing house Destino had bought the rights to the Spanish translations of Conrad’s untranslated works. With a little commercially-motivated exaggeration, Destino added that ‘several of his greatest and probably finest narratives’ remained untranslated (Pla 1943, 6).18 The publication of Un hermano de la costa (The Rover) that same year explains the page-and-a-half promotional essay on Conrad entitled ‘La vocación irresistible de Joseph Conrad’ (The irresistible vocation of Joseph Conrad). The writer of this important essay was none other than Josep Pla. Josep Pla was a well-known Catalan writer, impressively informed and with a remarkable critical sense which contemporaries frequently relied on. This critical talent was drawn on by editors to guide them in relation to what to publish in both Catalan and Spanish.19 From February 1940, he became a regular contributor to the weekly magazine Destino, founded by Catalan Francoist intellectuals and written in Spanish. Despite these origins, it brought together highly relevant critics and journalists and gradually, from 1942 onwards, offered material that went beyond traditionalist, Francoist cultural promotion by publishing texts on subjects that trod the bounds of censorship.

17 ‘Arribats a tal punt de cristal·lització íntima, serven el misteri sense artifici i són potser misteriosos, no per allò que n’ignorem sinó precisament perquè els coneixem en llur totalitat, gràcies a la nostra lenta immersió en llur vida.’ 18 ‘varias de sus grandes narraciones y probablemente de las más finas’. 19 For evidence of this, see his correspondence with the Catalan editor, Cruzet, in Gallofré Virgili 2003.

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Pla’s view of Conrad’s life and works is very revealing about Pla himself. For example, he notes that Conrad was a polyglot who wrote in the language of which he was least the master. Pla himself was a writer who, in 1943, saw his ability to write in Catalan being reduced by the shrinking possibilities of Catalan publication under early Francoism. Pla, who was the author of perhaps the best pages on the sea ever written in Catalan, was fascinated by the intricate understanding and description of it in the works of a Polish author who did not see the sea until he was seventeen years old. Pla’s understanding of the sea was aligned to his precursor’s, as can be seen in his later collected writings Aigua de Mar (Sea water (1966) 2010), a volume wavering between memoir and fiction. Pla’s writing recalls Conrad’s semi-autobiographical texts and shows a similar sensitivity in grasping environments and people. Interestingly, the 1943 issue of Destino that promotes Conrad also had a striking front page. Although published in the middle of the Second World War, the image used celebrated the fourth anniversary of the end of the Spanish Civil War (what it termed the ‘liberation war’). In case the image left any room for doubt, a footnote states, ‘On this date, Destino once again recalls the intimacy of that decisive victory that let Spain enter a period of full national dignity. We owe our undisrupted peace to Generalísimo Franco, leader of the Army throughout the war years. His wonderful governing touch has led the nation through this difficult period that all of Europe is living through’ (Destino, 27 March 1943, 1).20 This front page is noteworthy in a magazine that, in many ways, took up earlier projects to keep Spain and Catalonia connected to the rest of Europe and resisted the traditionalism that ultimately fossilized Spanish culture, at least until the Franco regime opened up slightly in the 1960s. In the 1943 article printed in this issue, Pla views Conrad’s ‘irresistible vocation’ with a historical nostalgia that is not far from Conrad’s own: Let us admire a time: a Polish man of Russian citizenship who first sailed in French ships and then became a Captain in the British Merchant Navy. This was already hardly possible then, even before our present war. Today, if a vocation like his, in someone of Conrad’s personal circumstances, declared itself, it would fail hopelessly. What a fortunate age, when one could travel the world without documents! It was only yesterday, and yet, that time seems long gone. The world has progressed so much that one can barely leave one’s own home! If only we could know what we’ve lost! Pla 1943, 621 Though Europe was at the heart of editors’ and critics’ concerns in 1943, given the two world wars, this was not the first time that Conrad’s works presented an opportunity to reflect upon a rapidly changing Europe. For very different reasons, and as part of a new admiration for

20

‘En esta fecha Destino recuerda una vez más, el íntimo sentido de aquella victoria decisiva que significó para España la entrada en una etapa de plena dignidad nacional. Al Generalísimo Franco, conductor de los Ejrcitos en los años de guerra, se debe que no se haya malogrado el fruto de la paz. Su maravilloso tacto de gobernante, conduce la nación a través de esta etapa difícil que atraviesa toda Europa.’ 21 ‘Admiremos una época: un polaco perentoriamente ciudadano ruso, que puede primero navegar en barcos franceses y llegó a ser capitán de la Marina inglesa. Ello ya no era posible, ni antes de la presente guerra. Si hoy apareciera, en las circunstancias personales de Conrad, una vocación como la suya, se truncaría fatalmente. ¡Dichosa edad aquella en que se viajaba por el mundo sin papeles! Era ayer y, sin embargo, la época nos parece remotísima. ¡El mundo ha progresado tanto que es casi imposible salir de casa! ¡Si supiéramos lo que hemos perdido!’

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Europe that Conrad’s early readers in Spain associated with his works, in 1926, an article in Revista de Catalunya referred to Joseph Conrad’s last unfinished novel, Suspense, and cited the critic Aynard to observe that with ‘this finished work we may have the double image of Europe as the great Englishman perceived it in 1814 and as we perceive it today’ (M. F. 1926, 223–4).22 Pla guides the reading of Conrad’s work by distancing it from the adventure novel, reviewing the adventure novel’s place in the contemporary literary system and outlining the risk of being misunderstood that Conrad took in his writing. Thus Pla warns Destino’s readers, ‘The genre of the novel in which Conrad wrote is enormously dangerous. The adventure novel is mostly a trivial and insignificant gimmick, based on the interest that some melodramas generate against an exotic and distant background. The French have tried to write the adventure novel and have never succeeded. The genre has not even been attempted here’ (Pla 1943, 6).23 A few months later, in a review of Un hermano de la costa (The Rover, published by Destino, 1943) in the same magazine, a critic likewise insisted that conceiving Conrad as an adventure novelist would be a mistake. As the returned, exiled critic Eugenio Nadal asserts: ‘The author has reached a point that comes very close to a pure dramatic dialect of feelings, the most distant possible point from the adventure novel; this is an intense and soberly great work’ (Nadal 1943, 10).24 In his 1943 article in Destino, Pla goes further than Estelrich in relating Conrad’s English literature to French and Spanish literature with regard to the adventure-novel genre. After suggesting that, in France, there is no desire to look beyond that nation’s own empire and no interest in adventure whatsoever, he states that, in Spain, there is even less and that, when the writer is not just a cardboard rhetorician, he falls for the ferocious realism of the picaresque novel. In Spain lyricism, vagueness and a somewhat floating lifestyle – like a cork

22 ‘Amb aquesta obra acabada, tindríem la doble imatge d’Europa tal com la veia a l’any 1814 el gran anglès i de l’Europa tal com la veiem avui.’ 23 ‘El género de la novela que Conrad construyó es enormemente peligroso. La novela de aventuras es, generalmente, un truco pueril e insignificante, basado en el interés que producen los melodramas sobre un fondo de exotismo y de alejamiento. Los franceses han probado la novela de aventuras, y no han acertado jamás. Aquí no se ha intentado el género siquiera.’ 24 ‘El autor ha llegado muy cerca de una pura dialéctica dramática de sentimientos, lo más lejano posible a toda novela de aventuras, es esta una obra intensa y sobriamente grande.’ We find a similar reading in the foreword to the 1943 Destino inaugural edition of El hermano de la costa (The Rover), translated by J. G. Luaces (probably also the author of the foreword). The editors translate the title, The Rover, as ‘A brother of the coast’, taking the term from Conrad’s text, rather than using an alternative such as ‘The Pirate’ in an attempt to distance Conrad’s works from the genre of adventure novels. As they argue, ‘The translation of the English title of the novel is justified by the dedication to Conrad’s friend, the French translator M. Jean Aubry, which did the same. It reveals that the novel tells the story of the last days of a Brother of the Coast, that is, of a representative of a curious association of sailors that infested the Indian Ocean, living off their own efforts and the unconditional help that members lent each other. Among the various translations of the word “rover,” Conrad’s clarification invites us to use the version we selected for our edition. This formulation is at least more specific and, overall, more exact than those of pirate, privateer, or freebooter that our dictionary might offer us and that would have led, in our language, to innumerable misunderstandings.’ ‘La traducción del título inglés de la novela, viene justificada por la dedicatoria que de la misma hizo Conrad a su amigo y traductor francés M. Jean Aubry. En ella se indica que su obra no es otra cosa que el relato de los últimos días de un Hermano de la Costa, o sea, de un representante de una curiosa asociación de marinos que infestaban los mares de la India, viviendo del propio esfuerzo y de la asistencia que se procuraban incondicionalmente todos los asociados. Ante la serie de posibles traducciones que podían darse a la palabra inglesa “rover,” la aclaración de Conrad invita a utilizar la que hemos escogido para nuestro original. Fórmula en todo caso más concreta y, sobre todo, mucho más exacta que las de pirata, corsario o filibustero que podía ofrecernos el diccionario y que se prestaban, en nuestra lengua, a innumerables equívocos’ (Conrad 1943, 13).

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on the waves – is absolutely unheard of, but, in England, on the other hand, there is a tradition of this: there is a cosmopolitan mentality, and, above all, ‘all windows look out to the sea, towards the horizon, towards the Empire’ (Pla 1943, 7).25 Paradoxically, for Pla, Conrad’s description of the sea is the key to gauging his literary superiority. Conrad’s sea is a real sea, that of seamen, which is located, as Pla writes,‘between the ridiculously sublime and the sublimation of ridicule’ (Pla 1943, 7).26 As Pla notes, Conrad’s early reception in Spain was not framed within the genre of the adventure novel per se, but the later framings of his work as universal sometimes misconceived the author, and, because of these misrepresentations, Joseph Conrad’s work was subjected to a restricted and uneven reception.27 The representation of the sea is key to Pla’s interest and understanding of Conrad because both writers share a similar perspective on the oceanic. Conrad’s concerns about the maritime profession and its development of specific lexicons and practices that reflect experience, training and professionalization are central to Pla’s works. Pla, who is a major canonical writer in Catalan literature, mostly writes non-fiction – moving easily between memoirs, diaries, journalism, travel literature and chronicle writing. Part of the development of his non-fictional literature has to do with his fine observations and his impulse to examine acutely his immediate reality, both natural and social. His interest in everyday working life – also manifest in Conrad’s repeated reflections on his daily work as a writer – leads him to write literary passages that are strikingly similar to some in Conrad’s fiction. For example, in Aigua de Mar, Pla devotes a number of essays to his knowledge and experiences with maritime smuggling on the northern Catalonian coast, the Empordà, where he lived. With the necessary caveat that Pla’s output is extremely vast (his collected works runs to thirty-eight volumes), a couple of passages in this volume show an obvious affiliation between the two writers. First, like Conrad, Pla shows himself to be very well versed in relation to the winds, the sea and sailing. Among many other examples, in a passage reminiscent of Conrad’s The Mirror of the Sea, in his essay ‘En mar’ (‘At sea’) he describes an episode navigating a small boat, the Rufi, during which he observes the effect of the north and north-western winds: With a Northerly or North-Western wind, the sea’s appearance is unmistakable. On the surface, the speed of the wind gives the waters a river-like current – tingling, living, effervescent. Below the current, to put it in words, a deep, long wave structure, with pronounced depressions and high crests, takes hold. The waves rock the boats, thrusting them up and down like seesaws in the balance. The ocean’s current and the wind’s power keel them over to one side or the other, depending on the direction of the gusts of wind. Thus, with the prow windward bound, ships sail forth in an oscillating manner, like a wheel falling first to one side, then the other. With the rudder in his hand, Martinet tried to get the Rufi through one of the sharpest and most uncomfortable of batterings, but the

25

My paraphrasing and translation of ‘todas las ventanas dan al mar, al horizonte y al Imperio’. ‘entre el ridículo de la sublimidad y la sublimidad del ridículo’. 27 Several critics have mentioned Conrad’s uneven reception in Spain. In a notable essay that discusses Conrad’s language as anticipating a cinematic style, for example, the writer and translator Ramon Esquerra says that nobody reads Conrad anymore or they think of him as an Emilio Salgari, the Italian writer of popular adventure fiction (Esquerra (1936) 2006). 26

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buffeting of the wind and the sudden, drastic pounding of the sea made everything creak with the pressure of the unleashed elements. Pla (1966) 2010a, 41528 Secondly, in this same essay, an incident takes place with which Conrad’s readers would feel quite at home in terms of its attention to specific details about the sea and to professional attitudes. In this passage, Pla narrates a disagreement between Pla and the captain regarding the different strategies with which to proceed, since it is not clear whether the boat will manage to reach the harbour of Barcelona safely because of the strong wind conditions. ‘Martinet’ – I said. ‘What?’ – he replied, drying the splashed water that dripped down his face. ‘Will you get through the Martell straight on, facing the wind and the sea?’ ‘Of course. What else would you have me do?’ ‘I see, but we could also dock, seek refuge on the coast.’ ‘Oh, no! I won’t hear of the coast. Boats want water.’ ‘Alright. But the closer we are to land, the less we’ll feel the wind and the sea.’ ‘No, no! I don’t want to risk the boat. I don’t know these sandbanks. I want these waters.’ ‘Alright. You decide. Keep in mind, however, that if we head toward the coast and the engine stops, we could get past the Martell if we sail near the shore.’ ‘You are proposing we do what fishermen do – he replied, coldly. – But I am not a fisherman, as you know.’ Pla (1966) 2010a, 41729 This recalls, for example, the navigational disagreements in Conrad’s ‘Typhoon’ between Captain McWhirr and his mate, Jukes. In this case, however, Pla presents his nautical experience as more modest and local: it is an argument between a sailor and fisherman which arises from their differing sailing strategies. As the episode unfolds, echoing Conrad in a minor key, the 28 ‘Amb tramuntana o mestral, la mar agafa un aspecte inconfusible. A la superfície, la velocitat del vent dóna a les aigües una correntia de riuada, formiguejant, vivíssima, efervescent. A sota de la correntia, per fer-nos entendre, hi ha una estructura d’onades profundes i llargues, de depressions pregones i de crestes altes. Les onades fan capcinejar les embarcacions, les alcen i les abaixen com en un moviment alternat de balança. La correntia de la mar, la força del vent, les escora, sobre una banda o sobre una altra, segons la direcció de la ratxa. Així, navegant de proa a aquest vent, els vaixells avancen en un moviment d’oscil·lació, com una roda que cau ara d’un cantó, ara d’un altre. Amb la canya del timó a la mà, Martinet tractava de fer passar el Rufi per ull dels embats més secs i desagradables, però els xocs del vent i de la mar eren molt sobtats i dràstics i tot cruixia una mica per la pressió dels elements desfermats.’ 29 ‘Martinet!’ - que jo li vaig dir.  ‘Digui!’ – contestà eixugant-se un escalitxot que li queia cara avall.  ‘Penseu guanyar el Martell de dret, donant tota la cara al vent i a la mar?’ ‘És clar. Què faria vostè en el meu cas?’ ‘Ja ho veig. Però també ens podríem aterrar, buscar l’empara de la costa.’ ‘Oh, no! No em vingui pas amb la costa. Els vaixells volen aigües.’  ‘D’acord. Però com més aterrats fóssim menys sentiríem el vent i la mar.’  ‘No, no! No vull pas perdre el vaixell. No conec pas els secs del platjar. Jo el que vull són aigües.’  ‘Molt bé. Vostè mana. Pensi, per altra part, que, guanyada que tinguéssim la costa, si el motor es parés podríem guanyar el Martell navegant amb una mica de drap al fil del litoral.’  ‘Vostè proposa una cosa que fan els pescadors! – digué sec –. Però jo no sóc pas un pescador. Ja ho sap.’

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ship’s engine fails and the Rufi ends up at the wind’s mercy. Dangerous situations and shipwrecks recur in Conrad’s fiction and in Pla’s writings, and, as we shall see, interested Juan Benet as well. Thirdly, Pla recalls Conrad in the use of shipwrecks to explore human nature. In studying the surviving documentation on local shipwrecks in his essay ‘Anàlisis d’uns naufragis’ (‘Analyses of some shipwrecks’), Pla observes that: They have served to lay bare, viciously and roughly, the most abject operations of human egoism, the preservation instinct, which is far stronger than all ethical principles and moral phraseologies – an instinct that permanently keeps people who were not born with a saintly vocation in the territory of potential, inexorable corruption. Often, people who have been unfortunate enough to experience shipwreck have committed wrongdoings during the catastrophe that they would have never done at an ordinary time, deeds we need to qualify as absolutely despicable, but which we might have committed ourselves, if faced with those very circumstances. Pla (1966) 2010b, 42630 This question underlies Marlow’s response to Jim’s account of his experiences on board the Patna in Lord Jim. In Pla’s essay, this leads to a reflection on imprudence: I am among those who think that, in life, we are constantly imprudent – perhaps, taken plainly, life is nothing more than a continuum of imprudence – and that, given this misfortune, people we deem prudent, cold, cautious people are not exemplary either. We are imprudent on land and at sea, but our imprudences are usually more spectacular and dramatic at sea, perhaps because there are always fewer people there than on land. I must acknowledge one thing fully: in this unfortunate affair, we have demonstrated absolute ignorance when it comes to our country’s meteorology and sea, a definitive, total ignorance. Pla (1966) 2010b, 42731 These observations on Josep Pla’s work as a critic and as a writer show the ways in which his own works and interests reflect Conrad’s and the ways in which his criticism helped promote readings of the Polish-English writer that steered Conrad’s reception away from that of a popular adventure novelist.

30 ‘han servit per a palesar d’una manera nua, violenta i grollera els més abjectes moviments de l’egoisme humà, de l’instint de conservació, que és un instint molt més fort que tots els postulats ètics i tota la fraseologia moral – un instint que manté permanentment les persones que han tingut la desgràcia de naufragar han comès, en el curs de la catàstrofe, accions que mai no haurien realitzat en moments normals, actes que hem de qualificar d’absolutament vituperables, tot i que potser si nosaltres ens hi haguéssim trobat hauríem reaccionat igual.’ 31 ‘Jo sóc dels qui creuen que en la vida es cometen imprudències constantment – potser la vida ben mirades les coses, no és més que una imprudència continuada – i que, d’aquesta fatalitat, no en són pas exemples les persones tingudes per més prudents, fredes i cautes. Es cometen imprudències en terra i en mar, però aquestes últimes, potser perquè en mar hi ha sempre menys gent que en terra, solen ésser més aparatoses i dramàtiques. Una cosa he de reconèixer, sense cap reserva: en tot aquest lamentable afer hem demostrat un desconeixement de la metereologia i del mar del país, definitiu, total.’

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Third vignette: Juan Benet, a writer in the shadows The Mirror of the Sea (El espejo del mar) was first translated into Spanish in 1981 by Javier Marías, with a prologue by the major twentieth-century Spanish writer Juan Benet (1927–93). That same year, Montaner y Simón closed down. At the beginning of his preface to this translation, Benet recalls his first encounter with Conrad’s book. During his 1954 engineering internship in Sweden, Benet was captivated by Rachael Carson’s The Sea Around Us, in which the author recommended Conrad’s The Mirror of the Sea. After making great efforts to try to find a copy in bookshops in Stockholm, Copenhagen and Amsterdam, Benet finally bought a French translation in Paris. Benet also recalls in his preface that, ten years earlier, he had persistently read Conrad in Spanish, in his grandfather’s copies, published by Montaner y Simón. As Benet writes in his preface to the Spanish translation, The Mirror of the Sea left such an impression on him that it inspired him to write one of his theses on style. Collected in his monograph La inspiración y el estilo (1966, Revista de Occidente; 1973, Biblioteca Breve/Seix Barral), his essay ‘Algo sobre el buque fantasma’ (‘Something about the haunted ship’) suggestively points to the elaboration of an unresolved enigma in the novel of the sea as the birth of the modern novel. Benet notes that ‘the novel of the sea [. . .] has an aura – and I do not know exactly why – of a kind of permanent mystery, of subtle, vague silhouettes, perhaps fed by the dense, relentless movement of a medium that one peers into, “anxious to anticipate one’s own grave” ’ (Benet 1973, 145).32 This indeterminacy is intrinsic to the late nineteenth-century writer who faces the enigmas of life and humanity without necessarily tying mystery to the supernatural. Benet takes this hint from Joseph Conrad and asserts that Conrad is the only writer of the sea who not only avoided the topic’s seduction but also downplayed the supernatural. Viewing literature of the sea as an exploration of an environment that is not seen from ‘the most archaic ignorance and the most impertinent fantasy’, Conrad ‘never felt the need to draw on the mysteries of the sea because, being a unique connoisseur of it, he could simply illustrate and interpret what he had seen and felt, so as to surround the reader with an aura that, even if not supernatural, at least enjoyed all the virtues that produce enchantment’ (Benet 1973, 146).33 Benet reiterates Pla’s notion that the idea of life’s vagueness is unheard of in Spanish literature but characteristic of the English prose tradition in which Conrad’s style developed. Benet’s interest in Conrad’s specific treatment of the enigmatic is not simply curiosity. If there is a writer who pushed the enigmatic even further in Spanish peninsular literature, that writer was Juan Benet. This occurs in his best-known novel Volverás a Región (Return to Región), published in 1967, in which memory’s inability to recover the past leaves the enigmas in the story both unresolved and unresolvable.

32 ‘la novela del mar, en contraste, está con mucha frecuencia aureolada – y no sé muy bien por qué – de una suerte de misterio permanente, de vagos y sutiles contornos, acaso alimentado de esa impenetrable e incesante movilidad de un medio al que el hombre se asoma “ansioso de anticipar su tumba” ’. 33 ‘con la ignorancia más arcaica y la fantasía más pertinente. No tuvo nunca la necesidad de recurrir al misterio del mar porque, conocedor único de sus cosas, le bastó pintar e interpretar lo que había visto y sentido para lograr envolver al lector en un aura que si no era sobrenatural participaba por lo menos de todas las virtudes que producen el encantamiento.’

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In 1973, Benet published the novella Sub rosa. In the same year he republished the essay ‘Algo sobre el buque fantasma’ (‘Something about the ghost ship’), with Conrad’s work as a starting-point for his reflections on the myriad possibilities of style in The Mirror of the Sea and the rich explorations of the enigma in Conrad’s sea fiction. Sub rosa is practically a rewriting of Conrad’s ‘Typhoon’ and Melville’s Benito Cereno, fused together in a colonial narrative hinged on a single idea: that what happens in the open sea is irrecoverable and that the human tragedy of those who find themselves trapped at sea is unfathomable. The novella tells the story of a voyage on board the Garray, a nineteenth-century Spanish merchant ship travelling from Cuba to Seville on a secret mission. The ship is blown off course toward Brazil by a typhoon after a harsh disagreement between the captain and the first mate. When the storm subsides, the sailors revolt against the captain. In response, near Cape São Tomé on the Brazilian coast, the captain kills his two mates and is, in turn, attacked by a mysterious, freed prisoner before the vessel is finally shipwrecked. The novel’s mystery connects the secret mission, which supposedly concerns a slave revolt, with the mutiny against the captain on board. The trial in Cadiz, the hub of Spain’s colonial traffic, never fully explains the events that took place at sea. The narrative revolves around the mystery of this fatally stranded colonial ship in an extraordinarily convoluted style, with various rumours filtered through an unreliable voice that further precludes finding a solution to the enigma. In this story, the disagreement about the appropriate navigational strategy in the event of a typhoon clearly recalls Conrad’s novella ‘Typhoon’. At the same time, in a passage of Marlovian reflection, the narrator warns of the unsatisfactory nature of his attempt to tell the story: From time to time, gradually decreasing, the contradictory traces of an event that will forever lack truth emerge, just as a miracle will never look the same to its various witnesses, until oblivion and indifference forever swallow it, like the waters of the Atlantic [. . .] sealed once more in the black-foamed whirlpool where the hull of the Garray disappeared. Benet (1973) 1998, 18534 Benet’s later reflections in the preface to The Mirror of the Sea strongly suggest that his style has similarities to Conrad’s in terms of the slippery relationship between reality and language. (Edward Said discussed this aspect of Conrad’s work in ‘Conrad: The presentation of narrative.’)35 Benet describes Conrad’s style as a ‘spiral, convoluted, always high in tone and slippery, as slippery as it is dangerous. A style that the English people very graphically call convoluted, which can push the careless translator toward the ridiculous, as the men in Montaner y Simón

34

‘de tiempo en tiempo, y con frecuencia decreciente, van surgiendo los contradictorios vestigios de un suceso que carecerá para siempre de verdad, de la misma manera que un portento no presentará nunca el mismo cariz a los diversos testigos que lo presenciaron, hasta que el olvido y el desinterés se cierran definitivamente sobre él, como las aguas del Atlántico [. . .] se soldaron y cerraron de nuevo sobre el remolino de espuma negra donde desapareció el casco del Garray’. 35 ‘Conrad: The presentation of narrative’ was collected in The World, the Text, and the Critic (1983). Two of Said’s books containing key critical essays on Conrad, Culture and Imperialism and The World, the Text and the Critic, were translated into Spanish by Nora Catelli (Cultura e imperialismo, 1996) and Ricardo García Pérez (El mundo, el texto y la crítica, 2004) respectively.

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duly demonstrated’ (Benet (1981) 2007b, 31).36 Benet finds the climax of Conrad’s ‘pure’ style in his memoirs and shorter fiction, believing that this was sacrificed, in Conrad’s longer pieces, for the sake of other narrative demands. Benet’s appreciation of Conrad’s style is so profound that his critics recognize in his words a description not only of Conrad’s style but also, and probably even more so, of the literary style of Juan Benet. Indeed, Benet drew on his understanding of Conradian narration to push his own even further. He left out the conventional devices that he believed Conrad sometimes used to satisfy some of his audience’s expectations. By allowing himself to do what Conrad did in The Mirror of the Sea, Benet achieved a high degree of complexity and impenetrability, most impressively in his narrative voices, in his management of time and space and, above all, in his creation of the narrative enigma. At the same time, in opposition to the virtuosity that he attributes to Joyce’s style, as he argues in his provocative essay ‘James Joyce: Una separación’ (2007a), Benet sees in Conrad’s convoluted style a powerful wish to understand human nature that moved other writers and critics, among them Estelrich and Pla. In a later essay entitled ‘La ciudad invisible’ (‘The Invisible City’, (1990) 2010b), Benet goes even further in his reflections on mystery. He reads Conrad’s literary move from life at sea towards the city as complicating the outcast figure. To Benet, the city, in Conrad’s view, is the site of double outcasts, of those who ‘inhabit the very environment that is the origin of all their conflict’ (Benet (1990) 2007c, 17).37 This perception of the city as the site of the outcast attests to Conrad’s constant alertness to the unexpected in everyday life, revealing how far his contemporaries were from understanding the true nature not only of far-off colonies but also of the very European and British modern cities from which they wrote (Benet (1990) 2007c, 16). This double marginalization, reflected in the experience of an exile that can only be expressed in an unresolvable, convoluted style, lies at the core of Benet’s own novels. And yet, as Pla observed, that narrative style was unknown in Spanish literature in the 1940s and even in the 1980s. As a result, Benet’s superb works, like the early translations of Conrad, only partially found the recognition they deserved.

36 ‘espiral, enrevesado, siempre alto de tono y escurridizo, tan escurridizo como peligroso. Un estilo que los ingleses llaman de manera bastante gráfica convoluted, y que al traductor poco precavido le puede hacer caer en los mayores ridículos, como demostraron – asaz cumplidamente – los hombres de Montaner y Simón.’ 37 ‘viven el propio medio que es origen de todo su conflicto’.

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CHAPTER 15 THE RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD IN LATIN AMERICA María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia

The novel as a literary genre involves a constant exchange and circulation of ideas, ones which, in the case of European literature, flow not just within the continent but around the world. Thus it is with the novels of Joseph Conrad, in which nations and cultural areas appear as dynamic and interrelated systems (Even-Zohar 1999; Hermans 2014). His texts depict emerging and decaying empires and the colonization of certain countries in America, Asia and Africa at the turn of the twentieth century, and he presents a highly hierarchized Europe with dominator versus dominee relations, as reflected by Pascale Casanova in The World Republic of Letters (2010). This is one of the reasons why Heart of Darkness was so widely influential in Spanish-speaking countries. The Nobel Laureate for 2010, Mario Vargas Llosa, is a self-declared admirer of many European and American writers, such as the French authors Gustave Flaubert (Vargas Llosa 1975), Victor Hugo (Gladieu 2018, 77), Marcel Proust (Martin 2012, 35) and Jean Paul Sartre (Vargas Llosa 2010, n.p.), the English novelists E. M. Forster (Vargas Llosa 2019, 225) and Virginia Woolf (Vargas Llosa 1990, 81–90), the Irishman James Joyce (Vargas Llosa 1993, 34, 148) and the Americans William Faulkner (Gladieu 2017, 277–82) and John Dos Passos (Martin 2012, 24). Among writers in English, Joseph Conrad occupies a notable place at his literary altar, to such an extent that he has followed the path trodden by the Polish writer into the Congo, both personally and in his fiction. Indeed, his devotion to Conrad as a writer leads Vargas Llosa to turn Joseph Conrad into a character in one of his recent novels, El sueño del celta (2010), translated into English as The Dream of the Celt (2011). However, this debt to the Polish novelist is present not only in this relatively recent work. As the Peruvian writer acknowledged, the influence began in his early childhood, when he first read Conrad’s novels. As early as in 1948, when he was twelve years old, he confessed his desire to become a merchant marine officer, as he states in El pez en el agua (A Fish in the Water) (Vargas Llosa 1993, 75), and in his eighties he continues to read and admire the author of Heart of Darkness, as he makes clear in the interview that follows this chapter. In fact, Conrad is one of the few writers mentioned explicitly in his speech to the Nobel Committee in 2010, entitled ‘In Praise of Reading and Fiction’ (Vargas Llosa 2010, n.p.). The books by Conrad that Vargas Llosa might have read in his early years are those issued by the publishing house Emecé in Buenos Aires (Kristal 2019, n.p.), following guidance given to the company managers by Jorge Luis Borges and Adolfo Bioy Casares, directors of the collection La Puerta de Marfil (The Ivory Gate). In that series, the following works by Conrad were published in 1946: Bajo las miradas de Occidente (Under Western Eyes), Freya de las Siete Islas (Freya of the Seven Isles), El negro de Narcissus (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’), Cuentos de inquietud (Tales of Unrest), La locura de Almayer (Almayer’s Folly), La línea de sombra: una confesión (The Shadow Line: A Confession), Gaspar Ruiz and Nostromo: Relato de un litoral 243

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(Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard). In the following year the same publishing house would issue Victoria (Victory: An Island Tale), Lord Jim (Lord Jim: A Tale), Un vagabundo de las islas (An Outcast of the Islands) and El agente secreto: Una simple historia (The Secret Agent: A Simple Story) in 1948. As Ian Watt has noted, Borges was one of the writers in Latin America who revered Conrad and who wrote texts directly influenced by the Polish writer. Among these is a poem in English entitled ‘Manuscript found in a book by Joseph Conrad’ (Watt 1988, 90). Two of Borges’ tales rewrite two of the novels by the Polish author. The first of these tales is based on Lord Jim: ‘La otra muerte’ (‘The other death’), published in La nación 9, no. 1 (1949) and subsequently included in El Aleph (1949). The second is ‘Guayaquil’, based on Nostromo, which appeared in the magazine Periscopio 4, no. 8 (1970) and was later incorporated into El informe de Brodie (The Brodie Report, 1974). Borges’ interest in Lord Jim was due to his obsession with honour and the question of shame for cowardice and treason. It was also because, in 1956, he had taught a course at the University of Buenos Aires in which Conrad was one of the main authors on the syllabus (Borges and Vázquez 1965, 49, 69). Broadly speaking, we can say that Borges was a key figure in the reception of Conrad in Latin America, in that he encouraged, albeit indirectly, the writers of the so-called Latin American boom (Gabriel García Márquez, José Donoso and others) to read the Polish author. Other Argentinian editions of Conrad’s texts which might have been accessible to Vargas Llosa include Tifón (Typhoon) and El Colono de Malata (The Planter of Malata), issued, in 1945 and 1946 respectively, by the publishing house Siglo Veinte; El negro del Narciso, issued by Ayacucho in 1946; and El corazón de las tinieblas (Heart of Darkness) published by La reja in 1954. Additionally, El solitario de Samburán: Victory was in print as early as 1941, published by the Mexican company Editorial Lemuria. Emecé in fact would publish most of Conrad’s works for the whole Latin American market, republishing the Spanish translations made for the Barcelona publishing house Montaner y Simón from the 1920s onwards; thus, for example, La locura de Almayer (Almayer’s Folly), translated by Rafael Marquina in 1925, would be republished in Buenos Aires by Emecé in 1946. Vargas Llosa might have read Conrad in the Borges editions either in Bolivia, where he received his primary education until 1945, or back in Peru, where the family moved that year and where he undertook his secondary education. Moreover, according to Efraín Kristal, The Dream of the Celt (2010), his novel about Roger Casement, may also have been inspired by a Borges story, ‘Theme of the Traitor and the Hero’ (‘Tema del traidor y del héroe’, 1944), ‘in which an Irishman is remembered as a hero because his people want to remember him as such, even though he is deeply flawed’ (Kristal 2012, 141). Indeed, in The Dream of the Celt, the protagonist is a tragic hero in that he was both unable to represent the values of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland – while he served as a diplomat – and was also unsuccessful as a tentative leader of the Irish rebels that he decided to support. Vargas Llosa’s 1990 essay collection, La verdad de las mentiras (The Truth in the Lies), includes the article ‘El corazón de las tinieblas (1902), Joseph Conrad: Las raíces de lo humano’ (Heart of Darkness (1902), Joseph Conrad: The Roots of Humankind). The essay is divided into three sections, The Congo of Leopold II, Konrad Korzeniowski in the Congo, and Heart of Darkness (Vargas Llosa 1990, 35–49), and in it Vargas Llosa’s early impressions of Conrad were revisited by the novelist as a critic. He rejects F. R. Leavis’s criticism of Conrad’s English for its ‘adjectival insistence’ (Leavis 1977, 48), and, instead, praises the stylistic device as one of Conrad’s necessary attributes in order to ‘desracionalizar y diluir la historia en un clima de total 244

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ambigüedad, en un ritmo y fluencia de realidad onírica que la hagan persuasiva’ (48) (‘derationalize and dilute the story into a climate of total ambiguity, in a rhythm and fluency of oneiric reality that would make it persuasive’). Kristal argues that, from the time of his early fiction, Vargas Llosa had already ‘transposed aspects of Conrad’s African novel in The Green House, most notably in the character of Fushía, who was created by the fusion of a real-life character and Conrad’s protagonist’ (Kristal 2012, 142). Vargas Llosa expresses not only his admiration for the Polish author and a recognition of the harsh effects of his experiences in Africa on his writing, but also presents a thorough analysis of Heart of Darkness, in which he emphasizes the following: The extreme complexity of the story is perfectly highlighted by the complex structure of the narration, and by the narrators, settings and times superimposed within the novella. Communicating vessels and Chinese boxes that are brought into relief and overlap in order to build a narrative package which is both functional and subtle. [. . .] But, in this binary reality, in which there are two women associated with Kurtz –the black one, ‘barbaric and proud,’ and his delicate white girl-friend– there are also two narrators, since Marlow narrates within the narration of another narrator-character (who speaks about ‘us,’ as if he were one of the friends listening to Marlow), who is anonymous and furtive, and whose function is that of veiling the story, dissolving it in a mist of subjectivity. Or, rather, of subjectivities that cross and unravel in order to create the saturated atmosphere in which the story takes place. An atmosphere at times confusing and sometimes a nightmare, in which time becomes denser, seems to become steady and to jump later to a different moment, in a syncopated way, leaving intermediate empty spaces, silences, and implicit ideas. This atmosphere, one of the great accomplishments of the book, emerges from the powerful presence of loaded prose, at times grandiloquent and torrential, full of mysterious images and magic-religious resonances, one might say pregnant with vegetal abundance and with rainforest vapours.1 This long excerpt clearly indicates the depth and detail of Vargas Llosa’s reading of Heart of Darkness. However, as Gene M. Moore has argued, in The Dream of the Celt, Vargas Llosa seems to have been particularly influenced by The Secret Agent, since both novels involve ‘moral ambiguity, political intrigue and domestic squalor’ (Moore 2004, 234). As the previous chapters have shown, there are other Spanish writers who were influenced by Conrad, namely the Catalán Joan Benet, who read him in the 1940s in the first Spanish 1 La extremada complejidad de la historia está muy bien subrayada por la compleja estructura de la narración, por los narradores, escenarios y tiempos superpuestos que se van alternando en el relato. Vasos comunicantes y cajas chinas se relevan e imbrican para edificar un todo narrativo funcional y sutil. [. . .] Pero, en esta realidad binaria, en la que hay dos mujeres asociadas a Kurtz –la negra ‘bárbara y soberbia’ y su delicada novia blanca– hay también dos narradores, ya que Marlow narra dentro de la narración de otro narrador-personaje (que habla de ‘nosotros’, como si fuera uno de los amigos que escuchaban a Marlow), éste anónimo y furtivo, cuya función es la de velar la historia, disolviéndola en una neblina de subjetividad. O, mejor, de subjetividades que se cruzan y descruzan, para crear la enrarecida atmósfera en que transcurre el relato. Una atmósfera a ratos de confusión y a ratos de pesadilla, en la que el tiempo se adensa, parece inmovilizarse, para luego saltar a otro momento, de manera sincopada, dejando vacíos intermedios, silencios y sobreentendidos. Esta atmósfera, uno de los mejores logros del libro, resulta de la poderosa presencia de una prosa cargada, por momentos grandilocuente y torrencial, llena de imágenes misteriosas y resonancias mágico-religiosas, se diría que impregnada de la abundancia vegetal y de los vahos selváticos (Verdad, 47).

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editions of Montaner y Simón, which he found in his grandfather’s library (Benet 2002, n.p.), and Javier Marías, who includes Conrad in his gallery of ‘Artistas perfectos’ (perfect artists) (Marías 1992, n.p.). Among Latin American writers, Julio Cortázar followed Conrad in Los premios (1960) (The Winners, 1965) and Gabriel García Márquez, who included Conrad in a cameo role in Amor en los tiempos de cólera (1985) (Love in the Time of Cholera, 1988), was clearly influenced by Nostromo. Marie-Madeleine Gladieu in her article ‘Joseph Conrad et Mario Vargas Llosa’ goes as far as to argue that all texts dealing with Amazonia are ultimately inspired by Heart of Darkness (Gladieu 2017, 221). Vargas Llosa’s admiration for Conrad also extended to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, in that he follows ‘the art of fiction’ as depicted by the Polish writer therein. Moreover, in the public presentations of his novels the Peruvian writer indirectly reflects the artistic manifesto that Conrad had set out in the Preface to that novella, when he seeks to show his audiences how hard and steady his writing task has been, and how he struggles with words to create works of art for his readers. As Conrad put it: The sincere endeavour to accomplish that creative task, to go as far on that road as his strength will carry him, to go undeterred by faltering weariness or reproach, is the only valid justification for the worker in prose. And if his conscience is clear, his answer to those who, in the fullness of a kind of wisdom which looks for immediate profit, demand specifically to be edified, consoled, amused; who demand to be promptly improved, or encouraged, or frightened, or shocked, or charmed, must run thus: – My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel – it is, before all, to make you see. NN, Preface, xli–xlii; emphasis in the original All in all, Conrad is a key figure for many Latin American writers such as Jorge Luis Borges, Gabriel García Márquez and Julio Cortázar, and in particular for Mario Vargas Llosa, an admirer from his early childhood as he demonstrates in the interview that follows.

Acknowledgement This essay was supported by the following funded projects and institutions, which are hereby gratefully acknowledged: the research projects ‘The animal trope’ (PGC-2018-093545-B100) and ‘Migratory Cartographies’ (PID2019-109582GBI00); the Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness / ERDF-UE; and the Research Group of Modern and Contemporary Literature, CLIN, Universidade da Coruña.

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CHAPTER 16 AN INTERVIEW WITH MARIO VARGAS LLOSA María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia

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Good afternoon, Dr Vargas Llosa. Thank you for coming to A Coruña to tell us about your work, and for granting us this interview on El sueño del celta (2010) (The Dream of the Celt). My first question will be: when did you first read Joseph Conrad? I first read his novels when I was very young, at school. He left a strong impression on me from the beginning. Eventually, I read all his work in English. I was particularly impressed by The Secret Agent, by his description of the anarchists. That is a dazzling case. It is worth noting that Conrad did not really learn English until he was eighteen years old. He could speak Polish and French. When he joins the merchant navy, he has to decide whether to write in English or in French. It is certainly an extraordinary case, really unprecedented, I think. And he comes to write in an English of great, baroque, exuberant richness, as if he really were a native English speaker. Although Dr F. R. Leavis, a renowned English critic, always pointed out that surely no English writer could have handled the English language with such exuberance, diversity and the slightly exotic taste that is found in Conrad’s English (Leavis 1948). I consider him to be one of the greatest novelists of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, because he is halfway between the two centuries. Besides, I am indebted to Conrad in that through him I discovered Roger Casement, the main character of my novel El sueño de celta (2010) (translated as The Dream of the Celt [2011]). To me it was very interesting because I had always been intrigued as to why Conrad, who had signed a three-year contract to be captain of one of the ships of the company that administered the Congo, resigned and came back to England after just three months. What happened exactly? Why did he break his contract with the company so abruptly? His big dream had been to be a ship’s captain, and he had been given the chance. And what happened is that the first person he meets when he arrives in the Congo is Roger Casement, who had already been there for eight years and who was later the British Consul there, and who opens Conrad’s eyes to [. . .] the terrible violence being exerted by the Belgians on the poor Congolese indigenous peoples, confronting thus the prevailing mythology in Europe and the rest of the world, really, about the true reality of the Congo, which was by no means what it was believed to be, but rather a world where the native population was exploited in a particularly fierce, inhuman and savage way. So I found all this out, following somehow in the footsteps of Conrad, and I discovered that, in fact, it was Roger Casement who was already systematically keeping a record of the horrors perpetrated against the indigenous peoples, who opened Conrad’s eyes to the reality of the Congo, and probably also the one who

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encouraged him to step away, to leave this world of horror which was the Congo at the time. And then I found myself becoming very interested in the character of Roger Casement; I discovered that his life was like that of the hero of a novel, and thus it was that I embarked on the adventure of writing a novel about Roger Casement, which is The Dream of the Celt. Yes, a wonderful novel, and one which I feel ought to have been far more positively received than it was. His is a very mysterious case, very unclear. Because, objectively, he is a hero, a person who, over many years, documents in great detail, and very precisely, the horrors committed under Belgian colonialism in the Congo. While fulfilling his duties as consul, he secretly uses direct, first-hand information gathered by himself in the Congo to supply magazines and those people who were campaigning in Europe to expose the horrors committed in the Congo and who demanded that, for once and for all, the Belgian king should hand over the Congo to the Belgian state so that the Western powers might pressurize Belgium, something that had been impossible before, because the Congo had been given to the King of Belgium personally: he was given a country which was eighteen times bigger than the European country over which he ruled. Then there was this tale that he was a fighter for the Christianization of Africa and against the Arab slave traders who were kidnapping African natives to sell as slaves; whereas, in fact, the King of Belgium was the first perpetrator of genocide in the twentieth century. In truth, the first genocide took place in Africa, in the Congo, and was committed by the Belgian king, who never set foot in Africa. Then again, Roger Casement has been largely discredited due to the notorious diaries, apparently written by him, in which he relates terrible things related to homosexuality and paedophilia, which he would seem to have committed during those years. Well, as you surely know, there are many opposing views about these diaries; there is even some debate about their authenticity1 and the suggestion that it was the British police itself that forged them in order to discredit Casement for alleged treason against Great Britain. It has been impossible to reach a final conclusion on this matter, as the diaries could have been forged. Let’s say it wouldn’t be impossible, although it would be difficult, because in many ways the diaries match the autobiographical facts known about Roger Casement. There are discrepancies in many respects. I have this theory, which I think it is difficult to substantiate, that although he wrote those diaries, he did not live them; that those experiences, rather, he invented in order to live them, which is what novelists do. He fantasized, or . . . Well, I think that in this respect . . . because there are some testimonies; for instance, a very important testimony by an assistant he had while he was consul. And this gentleman, who later became a career diplomat, a British one, says that it would have been impossible, in that reduced, minuscule diplomatic world in the Congo, for Roger Casement to have lived out such adventures . . . That would have been known!

O’Sullivan 2014.

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News about such a thing would have spread. Thus, it is absolutely impossible. Either they invented it or he himself invented it to be able to play out fantasies which were probably haunting him. This will never be known, either way. But Roger Casement’s fate is a very tragic one: he was sentenced to death and eventually hanged. He was the only person that Great Britain hanged for treason over the course of World War I. In fact, for a long time, in his own country, for which he had worked so much as an Irish nationalist, there was great reluctance to acknowledge him, to grant him the merit he had justly earned as a great fighter against colonialism and for the independence of Ireland. I think that this reluctance has changed over time, and that nowadays there is a fairer vision on the matter, and that Roger Casement’s merits as a fighter against colonialism and in favour of Ireland’s independence has been recognized. Still, I think that, thus far, the homage has not been as complete as it should have been. Yes. Yes, I think in that respect I would agree with you. And, how would you define the relationship between The Dream of the Celt and Heart of Darkness? Well, there is, so to say, a common background, which is that atrocious phrase that summarises Heart of Darkness: ‘The horror! The horror!’ That is truly a description of horror. That horror was lived by Roger Casement: he saw it, he was witness to it and he kept careful records of those horrors. In this sense I think there is common ground between Heart of Darkness and El sueño del celta. One understands, after becoming aware of all of these things, Conrad’s decision to leave the Congo, as if he were escaping Hell. Because it was, in fact, Hell. I think the degree of cruelty with which the indigenous population working for the Belgian king’s company was exploited is unprecedented and it does not have . . . It has no emulators, either. Emulators. I think a monstrous record was established there: severing hands, arms and legs of the poor Africans who did not meet their quotas, punishing women and children when they escaped or tried to escape . . . Well, in truth, one is blinded by the magnitude of the cruelty, and by the systematic way in which it was applied, solely and exclusively for the sake of enrichment, to benefit from that horrible exploitation. Certainly. And . . . what about Nostromo? Nostromo . . . well, it is a . . . [laughs] it is a novel about Latin America in which there is a mixture, somehow an absurd one, of things taken from Venezuela, from Uruguay, from absolutely distant countries. But I think that, at the same time, there is something like an intuition – he did not spend much time in Latin America, Conrad, by the way – but about all of these places there is an intuition about the historical violence that has marked life there, the republican life, mainly, of Latin America. And there is also the presence of the landscape, exotic, exuberant . . . of that warm world. In the novel there is something like an atmosphere that has to do with the Caribbean and to do with those extreme climates of the tropics. And, at the same time, it is a novel full of colour, full of adventure. To me it is not one of his best novels, but I think all Conrad is attractive, magnificent. He described a world of adventure that is very similar to that reality of the Third World, so to speak, that he came to perceive from a close standpoint, through his experiences as a seaman. 249

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I think that you had already followed Conrad’s trail in The Green House and the character of Fushía, hadn’t you? Very likely, for sure, very likely. Already in The Green House there is a presence, because he is an author I have read a lot, so . . . We are not always aware of the authors that leave a mark on us as writers, are we? Sometimes it happens in a very unconscious way. But I think that with Conrad there is no doubt at all, because, as I have told you, I discovered him when I was still very young. And, since then, I have read and reread him many times. And I have some of Conrad’s novels, such as The Secret Agent . . . that seems to me to be an absolute work of art. Nobody has portrayed terrorism, for instance, like Conrad. The character of the professor in The Secret Agent is something wonderful. That anarchist who is like a bomb himself, because he was surrounded by explosives in case the police might come to arrest him and put themselves within reach of those explosions. [He smiles.] That character is absolutely wonderful. Yes, yes. When I was reading The Dream of the Celt I thought, ‘The driving forces of Eros and Thanatos are very well combined here.’ Oh, yes. Clearly. In that sense, that is a reality in Conrad . . . And in your novel, also. If he were to have been killed in the Congo, he would probably have said: ‘Well, I’ve done my part.’ Yes, I think that is so. And, I was thinking about jail, about the jail chapters . . . Oh, I see. Roger Casement’s? . . . those about Roger Casement, in your novel, connecting them with Nelson Mandela, when he was in jail. Well, you see, this may be, because I visited the island where Mandela was imprisoned in South Africa. I was even in the cell where he lived in solitary confinement for the first six months, and this may have been imprinted into my subconscious mind and may have had an effect on my writing. I was mainly referring to the idea that Mandela forgave, in a way. Oh, yes, indeed. That was the idea. The connection, as well, but also that idea of healing. Well, not really. Consciously, I did not . . . But I was so impressed by that visit and by getting to know Mandela’s world . . . It is a really extraordinary case of generosity. Furthermore, he is a man who was once a terrorist, who fell into that when he was young and who, later on, in the isolation of such long confinement, concludes that that is not the method, that the English must be retained in South Africa and that a reconciliation of the communities must take place. The incredible thing is that, from his cell, he manages to convince his own party first, and then the white people in South Africa, to stay. It is a really extraordinary case. Truly. By means of that well-known rugby match . . . Yes, yes. But he manages to imbue his party with those ideas – a party that had not previously shared those ideas at all. Indeed. It is a really extraordinary case, a statesman with a generous vision, deeply democratic. Extraordinary. And then I was thinking, when we were talking about Conrad, about the fact that he was Polish. But then again, Conrad was from what we now call Ukraine.

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Certainly. He was born in Russia. Ukraine belonged to Russia at that time. Exactly. His parents were persecuted. I have been in Gdansk recently, to the Emigration Museum in Gdynia, in the Baltic, to learn about his family, etc. and you can empathize with that person, someone who no longer had a homeland to return to, in that it was Russia then. It was not Poland or Ukraine. Ukraine didn’t exist . . . Poland did not exist, Ukraine did not exist. It was part of Tsarist Russia. And I was also thinking that Casement, at some stage, flees from feeling like a slave, and at a given point in time Marlow becomes a slave as well. Certainly so. Casement had to live a life of pretence. He had to live a life in which he fully disguised his true intentions, his true convictions. That is what makes him a hero. So, there is a parallelism . . . to avoid being a slave, in that sense. I was impressed by the degree of research which was evident in the novel. Yes. You know that I have been to the Congo, and seldom have I had such a negative impression of a place, to the point of believing that there was really no solution for that country. Because the devastation caused precisely by Belgian colonialism crushed the primitive indigenous societies to such an extent that they have never been able to recover from the fundamental damage they suffered through their contact with the European world, at the hands of the Belgians. Yes. And I was wondering . . . and perhaps it’s excessive, because we critics wonder too much, but Oscar Wilde came to my mind, too. Oscar Wilde? Why? What is the relation that you have found with him? In connection with the fact that Oscar Wilde was in prison in Reading. Oh, sure. In Reading Gaol. Because of the period, because he is Irish, too . . . Yes, and because of his sexuality, so repressed. Exactly. And the trial of Oscar Wilde. I saw some kind of parallelism there. Yes. A parallelism can probably be found there. . . . and because of his educated family. I am in contact with a well-known Catholic poet from Belfast, Medbh McGuckian. And when I told her, ‘Look, I have read this book by Vargas Llosa and I was so interested in the character of Casement . . .’ She said, ‘I grew up on Casement’s family estate.’ She is a Catholic, but I think her family must have been in the household of Casement’s family in some way. Interesting. She told me this, but I don’t think she knew all there is to know about Casement at that time. I believe that in Ireland there is not as much knowledge about him as there should be. No, there is not. He has been hidden. Not so much now, not so much now . . . I was given an award in Ireland for that novel.2 It is the least they could do . . . I think today there is a deeper understanding of Roger Casement, but he has not been honoured to the extent that would be right and proper.

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I even thought, in cinematographic terms, that The Green House was a prequel to The Dream of the Celt. Oh, really? Well, maybe in some way. Evidently, an author cannot have that vision. But when a critic has such an overarching view, he establishes some parallelisms an author himself cannot establish – the author lacks the necessary perspective to do so. What I am fully convinced of is that Conrad has had a great influence on my work. Of that there is no doubt. I was reading this morning, before coming here, in La verdad de las mentiras (The Truth about Lies), the chapter on Conrad. That is where you mention F. R. Leavis . . . Indeed. Yes, for sure, because Leavis admired him deeply. He always defended him greatly. And there are testimonies now about Conrad in which it is stated that he spoke incomprehensible English. How curious! Someone who wrote such marvellous English, when it came to speaking . . . Well, the English are rather chauvinistic. Maybe it was just a matter of accent. He had a rather marked accent. [Laughs.] . . . and just because of that they called it ‘incomprehensible’. I dare say. [They both laugh.] Well, when Roger Casement was convicted, a group of writers signed a manifesto, and Conrad refused to sign it. And that must have really hurt him. In your novel, Casement asked whether Conrad had signed a letter of support for him or not. Because he had a great admiration for Conrad. He admired him; he was a dedicated reader of Conrad. So this must have really hurt him. But one can understand it: Conrad had obtained British citizenship, but he was surely in a very unsafe situation, in case . . . because it was wartime. There was a war at stake. And he had nowhere to go back to. He had nowhere to go back to, nowhere to go. Conrad’s case was dramatic. Certainly so, because his family had suffered greatly. His whole family, yes. Fine. I do not want to take up any more of your time. Just one thing, the book in which this interview is to be published is called The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Europe. So, just one final question, do you consider yourself to be a European writer, an international writer, a transnational writer or . . .? I believe I am a transnational, international writer . . . because although I was born in Peru, I have both Peruvian and Spanish nationality. I feel at home. Wherever I have lived, and I have lived in France, in England, in Madrid, in Barcelona . . . I have always felt at home wherever I’ve been. And literature cannot have borders. Literature has to be international, or it simply cannot be. I think literature cannot have a homeland. It has to be within everybody’s reach. If not, it is not literature. It is folklore, it is ethnology. But literature is universal. It must be universal. We must be able to read an author. If an author is great, we can read their work no matter where we are from, or where the author is from. This is the case with Dostoevsky, with Tolstoy . . . and then with Cervantes, Balzac . . . with Dickens, Victor Hugo . . . with all the great authors, anyway. Thank you so much for your time.

CHAPTER 17 BORGES AND CONRAD Evelyn Fishburn

Borges and Conrad are two authors who on first impression might appear to have little in common. Borges is known for succinctness: he famously never wrote a novel and according to him, he seldom read novels, though his vast critical output casts doubt upon this assertion. As regards Conrad, Borges unquestionably read his novels extensively, imaginatively and productively. In his Introduction to English Literature (1965), he names Conrad as ‘one of the greatest novelists and short story writers in English Literature’ and analyzes briefly no fewer than nine works: Almayer’s Folly, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, Lord Jim, Chance, The Secret Agent, Heart of Darkness, Youth, The Duel and The Shadow Line, though without drawing any overarching conclusions (Borges 1979, 848–9).1 Nevertheless, it is interesting to note what he has to say about them. For example, he considers Lord Jim Conrad’s best novel, identifying as its central theme the interplay between an obsession with honour and the disgrace of cowardice.2 I shall come back to this. His summary of Chance is similarly suggestive: ‘two people meet a third, and proceed to reconstruct, by speculating, this person’s life’.3 This is also telling in that the themes and procedures here identified can be said to resonate in some of Borges’s own fictions, though it is interesting to note the absence from this list of the short story ‘The Secret Sharer’, perhaps the most Borgesian in the bond established between one man and another, his other self. Other points of commonality between the two authors are dualism and the idea of the Doppelgänger; the confusion of opposites such as between hero and traitor, or concepts such as civilization and barbarism (a foundational dichotomy in the consideration of Latin American identity). Anecdotally, the first present Borges gave to a particular lady-friend after a romantic night out was a copy of Youth, which, incidentally, does not seem to have been appreciated and may have led to their drifting apart (Canto and Williamson 2004, 277). He had problems in enthusing his sister, Norah, too, but Borges’s own devotion to Conrad remained steadfast. He refers to him repeatedly as one of his favourite authors, the others being Voltaire, Stevenson and the great Portuguese novelist Eça de Queiroz (Christ 1995, 273–4).4 In a list of ‘best fiction writers’, Conrad is placed alongside Cervantes, Defoe, Dostoyevsky and Flaubert.5 Elsewhere, he is set up as a benchmark of excellence, so that Henry James is criticized because ‘unlike Conrad’, he is not interested in characters. Similarly, ‘Among the great novelists, Joseph Conrad

1

‘uno de los mayores novelistas y cuentistas de la literature inglesa’ (Borges 1979, 848). ‘Lord Jim, su obra maestra, cuyo tema central es la obsesión del honor y la vergüenza de haber sido cobarde’ (Borges 1979, 349). 3 ‘En Azar, de 1913, emplea un procedimiento curioso: dos personas han conocido a una tercera y van reconstruyendo , a veces sin mayor certidumbre, la vida de ésta última’ (Borges 1979, 849). 4 In another interview, Borges famously stated, ‘I’ve read very few novels in my life; for me the foremost novelist is Joseph Conrad’ (Borges 2008). 5 Conrad was included in Borges’s list of his seventy-four favourite authors at number twenty-one (Borges 1985, 49). 2

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was the last, (until Faulkner) perhaps, who was as interested in the procedures of the novel as in the destiny and personality of his characters’ (quoted in MacAdam 1987, 61). He also, according to Manguel, thought Conrad had greater psychological understanding than Flaubert.6 In ‘Fame’, a poem written towards the end of his life, Borges wonders which aspects of his life might have contributed to his inexplicable ‘fame’, and among these, ‘being a devotee of Conrad’ (‘ser devoto de Conrad’) ranks high, almost next to ‘being blind’ (‘ser ciego’) (Borges 1981).7 In a rather tongue-in-cheek apocryphal obituary for himself, Borges mentions laconically that ‘he liked Conrad’s novels’. In Atlas, one of the last books he published (it is the atlas of his memories), he recalls his adolescent years in Geneva, and thanks the city where he chose to die for ‘the revelation’ of Conrad (Borges and Kodama 1984, 38, 62). In another recollection in Atlas he gives thanks to the delta of the River Tigre, to the north of Buenos Aires, for allowing him to imagine the river scenery in Conrad’s novels set in Malaya or Africa. This association is turned around in ‘Poesia gauchesca’ when he alludes to the sea in Conrad’s novels as ‘the Pampas of the English’ (Borges 1957, 16). At the same time, he sets the popular image of Conrad as a writer of the sea and adventure against his own wider, deeper appreciation: I am not saying that it [Conrad’s work] has been forgotten, since it has been translated to all languages, but I do not think it has been sufficiently appreciated. He is read in connection with the sea and with adventures. There is so much more. There is a sense of honour, the complexities of the human soul, fate, love, loneliness. He is perhaps the only novelist who inherits the virtues of the epic, mother of the novel. The happiness that his pages bring to us, even if they are tragic and terrifying, reflects the happiness he must have felt when he wrote them.8 As for more specific reason for Borges’s admiration of Conrad, there is also a personal one, namely, the fact that Conrad wrote in English. This is something to which Borges, brought up to be bilingual until the age of eight, had always aspired.9 And yet, when it came to his becoming a writer, he realized that his destiny was not ‘the verbal music of Shakespeare’ but ‘the bronze of Quevedo’, a reference to the perceived rigidity of the Spanish language.10 Conrad had also had a choice regarding language, but he had gone the other way. He did not write in his native Polish and reach just a limited audience. He could opt for either French or 6

‘Para Borges, Conrad era mejor artesano que Henry James, mas universal que Faulkner, tenía más humor que Wells, era más profundo en la comprensión psicológica que Flaubert.’ ‘For Borges, Conrad was a better craftsman than Henry James, more universal than Faulkner, had a greater sense of humour than Wells, was more profound in his psychological understanding than Flaubert’ (Manguel 2012). 7 ’La fama’ (Borges 1981, 79–80). 8 ‘No diré que ha sido olvidada, ya que ha sido traducida a todas las lenguas, pero creo que no ha sido justipreciada. Se lo lee en función del mar y de la aventura. En él hay tantas otras cosas. Hay el sentido del humor, las variedades del alma humana, el destino, el amor y la soledad. Es acaso el último novelista que hereda las virtudes de la epopeya, madre de la novela. La felicidad que nos depara sus páginas, aunque sean trágicas y terribles, refleja la felicidad que él debió sentir cuando las escribió’ (quoted in Gigena 2020). 9 For Borges’s conflictual relationship with English, his first language, and Spanish, see Monegal 1978, 15–20 10 ‘Por la música verbal de Inglaterra’, from ‘Otro poema de los dones’, El otro, el mismo, Borges 1979, vol. 2, 315. For ‘the bronze of Quevedo’, see ‘Mi destino es la lengua castellana, / El bronce de Franciso de Quevedo / ‘El idioma alemán’, from El oro de los trigres, Borges 1979, vol. 2, 492.

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English, as he was equally proficient in both languages. However, as we know, he decided upon English, and, Borges, a great admirer of his style, praised him for writing not exactly like a native, but ‘with that care and occasional pomposity proper to French prose’ (Borges 1979, 848). Conrad was an outsider to English culture. In her obituary for him, Virginia Woolf speaks of Conrad as ‘our guest’ (Woolf 1925), while Leavis refers to him as ‘deracinée’ (Leavis 1967, 32), and MacAdam, focusing on the Latin American context, describes him as ‘an interloper’ in the Western tradition (MacAdam 1987, 65). But for Borges, this is a great advantage. In his essay ‘The Argentine Writer and Tradition’, today an unavoidable point of reference for post-colonial studies, Borges discusses the importance of the margins and the advantages of looking at a culture from the sidelines rather than being immersed in it: Jews are prominent in Western culture because they act within that culture and at the same time do not feel bound to it by any special devotion; therefore, [. . .] it will always be easier for a Jew than for a non-Jew to make innovations in Western culture. We can say the same of the Irish in English culture. Borges 2000 And the same can be said of this Pole, ‘his senses not dulled by traditional thought’.11 In an article pointedly named ‘Partial Magic in the Quixote’, Borges refers to Conrad’s refusal to ‘put the strain of the Supernatural’ on his narrative The Shadow-Line (SL, ix). In his ‘Author’s Note’ to that story, Conrad asserted that ‘The world of the living contains enough marvels and mysteries as it is’ and that he is ‘too firm’ in his consciousness of the marvellous to be ever fascinated by the mere supernatural’ (SL, ix). Borges notes Conrad’s refusal to bring the supernatural into his work, because reality itself includes the magic (Borges 1964, 65), and he subsequently offers his own paraphrase of Conrad’s words: ‘the world is so strange, so magic, that to try, deliberately, to seek out the fantastic would show a lack of sensitivity’.12 If for Conrad, there is no separation between reality and the marvellous, a similar ambiguity can be sensed in Borges’s fiction, whether in his dealing with reality or with fantasy. In their complex approach to reality, both writers seem to coincide in the belief that it can never be apprehended in its totality. Borges’s statement ‘If I’m rich in anything, it is in perplexities and not certainties’ might be thought equally valid for Conrad (Burgin 1969, vii), for a tendency to problematize all absolutes is one of several affinities between these two writers. Other Conradian stylistic devices noted by Borges concern his treatment of time. In a review of Priestley’s Time and the Conways, Borges asserts that Conrad was the first to ‘play with chronology, as he puts it “shuffling” the past and the future’ (Borges 1936, 109–10). In a study of Borges’s manuscript annotations, Daniel Balderston notes two references to Conrad both linked to the problem of time (Balderston 2016, 7, 235). Such playing with chronology is a device frequently found in Borges’s own fiction, and most radically, in ‘La otre muerte’ (‘The Other Death’), where the question arises as to whether the present can alter the past, erase its mistakes, rewrite it. In addition, two Conrad characters are mentioned, Razumov and Lord Jim, without any reference to their origin: they are simply described as being ‘more memorable than Martin Fiero’, the eponymous gaucho protagonist of Argentina’s canonical epic poem 11

John Rodker in The Little Review (1920: 19), quoted in Gómez and Castro-Klarén 2012, 9. Quoted Piepenbring 2014 (from an original interview in Jorge Luis Borges, The Art of Fiction Nº 39 1967).

12

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(Hernández 1997). Their relevance will be obvious to Conrad specialists: the story deals with a man remembered alternatively as ‘the brave man who died at in the battle of Masoller in 1904’ or as ‘the kid who fell apart under fire’, ‘the coward who died as an old man, in 1946’ (Borges 1979, vol. 1, 572). One explanation for this confused memory is the hypothesis that the protagonist is trying to correct a shameful moment of weakness in his past. This clearly relates to Borges’s interpretation of Lord Jim. Obviously, much separates this story from the two Conrad novels in which the named characters appear, but ambivalence and remorse are unmissable links. However, it is in ‘Guayaquil’ that Borges pays the most prolonged and overt tribute to ‘his favourite author’, not, of course, by too direct or obvious an allusion to the name by which he is known, but by reference to his real name and title, Captain Jósef Korzeniowski, who is intriguingly described in the story as ‘the most famous historiographer of some Caribbean republic’.13 Readers of Nostromo will immediately recognize, in the opening paragraph, the allusions to the Placid Gulf, the Western or Occidental State, the peak of Higuerota as a reference to the high shadowy Sierra of the province of Sulaco, and perhaps even the echo of Conrad’s voice in what the Borges-like narrator terms ‘its tone at once melancholy and pompous’. While Borges’s readers may or may not get the oblique reference to Conrad, his South American ones would immediately associate the title to it historical significance. Guayaquil is the name of a coastal town in Ecuador made famous as the site of the meeting between two rival generals, San Martin and Bolivar, South America’s iconic heroes of independence. The proceedings of this encounter were never officially made known, and each of the countries represented has traditionally given its own nationalistic version. Borges’s story is a retelling of this rivalry, here transposed to a present-day contest between two eminent historians. The story continues to be framed by further allusions to Nostromo, the plot being triggered by the discovery, in the Caribbean town of Sulaco, the capital of Costaguana, of some letters by Bolivar: one of these is said to contain some revelatory details about the abovementioned encounter. In a subtle replay of the episode in Guayaquil, a new contest arises, now in Argentina, as to which one of two rival historians will be nominated to travel to Sulaco to recover the relevant letter for a fresh assessment of the historic event. The candidates are unnamed but one is the unmistakeably Borges-like narrator, an establishment figure whose family history is bound up with that of his country, and the other, a newcomer, is an eminent historian who fled from his native Prague as a refugee from Nazi persecution. The one link between them is their common admiration for Schopenhauer’s philosophy. We are told that the letters that set the plot into action had been lost and have now been recovered in the archives of a Dr Avellanos, a respected historian. Like his namesake in Conrad’s novel, he was the author of an as yet unpublished manuscript entitled A History of Fifty Years of Misrule. In his Author’s Note, Conrad claims that ‘his principal authority for the history of Costaguana is his venerated friend Don Jose Avellanos, [. . .] in his impartial and eloquent History of Fifty Years of Misrule, a work that was never published’. Conrad here cites, as the authoritative source for his narrative, his own invented character and an entirely fictitious work, a metatextual narrative device more immediately associated with Borges, who is here very clearly paying tribute to his celebrated predecessor. The point of this observation is not

13

For a penetrating discussion of ‘Guayaquil’, see Balderston 1993, 115–31; 175–83.

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simply to signal a shared stylistic device, the use of false erudition as authoritative, but to suggest that this ploy introduces the deliberate interplay between history and fiction in both works. In Conrad’s novel, the ‘facts’ of history are invented but presented as givens, while in Borges’s story, a factual, if enigmatic, historical encounter is reinvented and mythified, and used to suggest a recurring cycle of rivalries. Thus, the truth-claim of history is subtly undermined.14 Conrad is not referred to by name in any other story but figures prominently, and enigmatically, in the title of a poem, ‘Manuscript Found in a Book of Joseph Conrad’. This poem has lately become well known as Borges’s voice reading it can be heard in a number of websites and YouTube videos – a mark of its importance. It was first published in 1943, but the readings are by an ageing Borges, in a somewhat declamatory manner, his voice laden with emotion and wistfulness. However, to my knowledge, the poem has never been discussed with reference to its title. In fact, one critic has suggested that ‘it had no connection to the writer’, and the two extended analyses of it that I have found failed to address the Conrad connection. Needless to say, such an omission misses an essential dimension of the poem, by which I mean the all-pervading imprint of Conrad’s tone and aesthetic. A lost manuscript as the pretext, or pre-text, of a story is a well-known narrative device, used both in Nostromo and in ‘Guayaquil’, and the poem could refer to either – perhaps referring to a manuscript found in the archives of Dr Avellanos’s papers, like that unpublished text of Fifty Years of Misrule. But to my mind the closest and most personal association would be to Heart of Darkness, the work Borges chose for inclusion in his Personal Library, and admired as ‘perhaps the most intense story ever wrought by the human imagination’ (Borges 1988, 49). He thought its magical and mysterious resonances anticipated Kafka. While I would not wish to tie the poem down to specific details in too close a reading of Conrad’s novella, there are a number of clear allusions echoing in its lines. These are more pronounced in the original, which talks of ‘tierras’, lands rather than countries, dispelling any link to a particular setting. The day ‘made invisible’ by the (whitening) dazzling intensity of the heat recalls the ‘white fog, warm and clammy, and more blinding than the night’ (HD, 101) mentioned in Heart of Darkness. In both poem and novella, light permeates the air, and although the fever of the poem relates to the intensity of the heat, while Marlowe’s ‘perhaps I had a little fever’ (HD, 105) points rather to sickness and fear, the association of the two works cannot easily be dismissed. The ‘canoes’ of the poem echo the glimpse Marlow is given of Kurtz in his ‘small dugout with four paddlers’ turning back to return upriver to the Inner Station (HD, 90), while the line ‘Man marks the limp time with a cigar’ conjures up the image of Marlowe smoking his pipe quietly ‘by my dismantled steamer’ (HD,76). Significantly, the smoke of the cigar blurs any identifying features of the landscape and introduces a suggestion of primordial time. The poem’s concluding line, ‘The river is the original river. Man, the first man’, is a possible mythified allusion to the Congo as the original river, and, more pointedly, an allusion to Africa as the birthplace of civilization. Or, as Conrad puts it in the novella, ‘Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings’ (HD, 92–3). Highlighting these specific details illustrates the way the poem captures Heart of Darkness’s nightmarish penetration of the

14

For a discussion of Nostromo and its Latin American context, see Niland 2014, 30–2.

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Congo, presented, as so well put by one critic, ‘as a regression to the beginning of time, to a time beyond the recall of memories’ (McClintock 1984, 46). The poem ends on an epiphanic note. In Borges’s fiction epiphanies are usually presented ironically, with an aftertaste of scepticism, but, in this case, the epiphany possibly sums up his understanding of the Conrad’s novel and its principal trope – time and life as the flow of a river. However, the meaning of the poem may run deeper than this: in private email conversation, my colleague Jason Wilson, a poetry and Borges specialist, offered the following: ‘Conradian topics are desolation, heat, tropical heat, a primordial river. Could it [the poem] be Borges’s own manuscript written in the fervour of reading Conrad and momentarily becoming Conrad, and then forgetting he’d written it and rediscovering it in a Conrad book?’ This wonderfully inspired reading addresses Borges’s admiration for Conrad and offers a convincing engagement with the title. It encapsulates the transcendence of Conradian aesthetics, conveying an epiphanic encounter with nature, with self and with the beginning of time. I cannot think of a worthier tribute.

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PART 4 CONRAD’S RECEPTION IN OTHER EUROPEAN COUNTRIES

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CHAPTER 18 CONRAD’S ARTISTIC RETURNS: A BULGARIAN STAGING OF HEART OF DARKNESS Margreta Grigorova and Petya Tsoneva Ivanova

Yet why Heart of Darkness here and now? Is it because of the colonial crises then or the migrant crises of today? Joseph Conrad questions the existential foundations of human nature. We need to flesh them out in an appropriate way, even though Conrad was convinced that the human quest for answers has always been haunted by an anxious anticipation of the answers. Valeria Valcheva, Heart of Darkness (advance publicity) In 2007 the Embassy of Poland and the Polish Cultural Institute of Sofia took the initiative to honour and popularize Conrad’s 150th anniversary by organizing a variety of events in both the capital and the bigger cities: a thematic biographical exhibition, Between the Land and the Sea, was staged at the Library of Sofia and the Festival and Congress Centre of the coastal city of Varna; other commemorations and academic lectures followed. Though the press provided only brief reports on these events, 2007 marked the beginning of the first comprehensive researches on Conrad. The period after 2007 can also be identified as the time when Conrad entered the Bulgarian cultural space once again, and in an outstanding and unprecedented fashion. The particular return on which this chapter focuses is both one of the many occasions of the writer’s re-emergence through the critical and creative reassessments of his life and work in Bulgaria and also a one-off innovative appearance that marks a significant stage in Conrad’s Bulgarian reception. Coincidentally, this period overlaps with Bulgaria’s accession to the EU, which, in turn, exerts its effect on the periodization of Bulgarian cultural development and, in particular, on the role of Bulgarian theatre. Since 1989 (and the fall of Communism) the performing arts in Bulgaria have undergone a long process of transition which, as Camelia Nikolova puts it, was dominated by an ‘intensive negotiation between the quest for freedom and renovation, and the quest for survival’ (Nikolova 2013, 247). The early twenty-first century was burdened with traumatic terrorist attacks and the haunting anxiety of ‘untrodden paths of freedom’, but Nikolova refers to the period after 2007 as the time when ‘theatre puts an end to the artistic indulgence of borrowed forms’, when innovative poetic devices were more and more eagerly developed (Nikolova 2013, 256, 258).

Conrad returns . . . on stage Within this context, and contributing its own perceptive reading of Heart of Darkness to Conrad’s Bulgarian reception, on the eve of the vigorous celebration of Conrad’s 160th anniversary in 2017, Valeriya Valcheva’s theatrical adaptation represents a remarkable rendition 261

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of Conrad’s fiction. Her idiosyncratic, creative, poetically recognizable approach gave a new form to Conrad’s recurrent relocations in modern and contemporary Bulgarian art; and this creative endeavour becomes even more recognizable as it focuses on one of his canonical writings. Seen by Frederick R. Karl as ‘possibly the greatest short novel in English, one of the greatest in any languages’ (Karl 1960, 135), subject to multiple discursive paradigms and interpretations, Heart of Darkness is a work whose repercussions have spread far and wide across the world. Its phenomenal impact reverberates also in the proliferation of the creative responses it evokes, some of which are nonetheless conditioned by the spatio-temporal phenomenology of its initial formulation. The breadth of the critical and creative responses to Conrad’s work can be attributed to at least two major aspects of the text. The first one concerns the flexible articulation of the topos of the ‘heart of darkness’ which Conrad launched into a cultural process of endless circulation where the topos is constantly transferred across time and space, relocated to different situations and subjected to different critical interpretations, literary and other cultural rewritings. Notable examples include, for instance, Werner Herzog’s cinematic adaptation Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972) or Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1974). The novel’s spectacular resonance also articulates the specific political conditions of the Belgian Congo which provoked international protests against King Leopold II’s colonial rule. A number of Conrad’s contemporaries produced works that exposed his authoritarian regime – most notably, Roger Casement (Correspondence and Report from His Majesty’s Consul at Boma respecting the Administration of the Independent State of the Congo, 1904); Edmund D. Morel (King Leopold’s Rule in Africa, 1904, and The Black Man’s Burden, 1920); and Arthur Conan Doyle (The Crime of the Congo, 1909). And the Democratic Republic of Congo (what used to be the Belgian Congo) continues to be reimagined as the ‘heart of darkness’ across languages and cultures in, for instance, A. Moravia, A quale tribù appartieni? (1972); E. Guevara, Pasajes de la guerra revolucionaria: Congo (2009); R. Kapuściński, Chrystus z karabinem na ramieniu (1975); Claus Hugo, De geruchten (1996); and Mario Vargas Llosa, El sueño del celta (2010).1 Most importantly, as Peter Firchow observes, Heart of Darkness is today ‘still read and remembered whereas Casement’s and Morel’s works are forgotten’ (Firchow 2015, x). The contemporary Bulgarian artistic platform which will be the subject of this chapter reaffirms that, though it is overly exploited in critical debates, Conrad’s masterpiece continues to expand through periodical ‘returns’. The theatrical adaptation in question is one of its most recent creative interpretations. ‘I am convinced that Conrad’s work “flows” with the flow of time and the longer we spend time with him, the deeper we see,’ Valcheva states in a conversation with the authors of this chapter, adding, ‘Conrad was right in many of his views. His writing is amazingly compatible with today’s world. The text is “contemporary”.’ The contemporary return of Conrad in Bulgaria comes with a deeper awareness than he previously enjoyed; it is now further situated within the context of the critical research into Conrad’s Bulgarian reception, initiated to a large extent by the authors of this work as part of a

1

The novel’s reception along multiple discursive lanes and its prolific rewrites are discussed in two chapters of Grigorova’s monograph (Grigorova 2011) and her paper ‘Where Does the “Heart of Darkness” Lie? A Yet Unfinished Account of a Journey to the Heart of Africa and Belgian Congo’. The fictional modifications of the Congo River are the subject of Tsoneva 2014 and Tsoneva 2015.

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team made up of scholars in Polish and English studies (academic teachers at the University of Veliko Tarnovo) in collaboration with other Bulgarian researchers and artists.2 Our interview with stage director Valeria Valcheva, which informs the current chapter, also testifies to the larger collective experience of Conrad’s work which was triggered by her production. In fact, the performance bound spectators, intellectuals and scholars in a very particular, spontaneously formed society of Conrad followers. Initially, the research team attempted to locate Conrad’s work within the Bulgarian context, and then we worked to present Conrad’s Bulgarian reception within a larger international context, prompted mostly by foreign organizers of events honouring Conrad.3 A significant amount of research into Conrad’s Bulgarian reception has been carried out over the past ten years in the period between the two major anniversaries of Conrad’s birth. Initially, our study of Conrad’s Bulgarian reception was focused mainly on the reception of his work through translations and reviews. From there we started our further critical investigation of Bulgarian maritime literature prior to and after the Second World War to explore Conrad’s impact on this field. This period of research witnessed the first appearances in foreign publications of the critical interpretations and analyses that constituted another aspect of Conrad’s Bulgarian reception.4 These were supplemented by other research articles related to Conrad’s works, which were published in both Bulgarian and foreign publications.5 A special anniversary edition of the leading paper for literature in Bulgaria – the Literature Gazette – was published in 2017.6 In 2018, following an editorial entitled ‘The Pole of the World’, a set of translated critical articles was published in the journal Literature from Sofia State University.7 Normally, where a writer of such stature is concerned, the anniversary year cannot contain all the events dedicated to him, and the celebratory year extends beyond its calendar limits. Such was the case regarding the performance about which we write.

2

We would particularly like to thank Associate Professor Asparuh Asparuhov (Asparuhov 1996) and Stefana Roussenova (Roussenova 2010). We are likewise particularly indebted to Ludmilla Kostova, Professor of English and Irish Studies at the University of VelikoTarnovo, for her expert advice and evaluation of our work. Our further investigation of Conrad’s reception was greatly assisted by contacts with contemporary writers and sailor writers who acknowledged turning to Conrad both in their choice of profession and in their writing. These include the 102-yearold Captain Vassil Valchanov (1915–2017), author of memoirs, and the maritime writer Georgi Ingilizov (1955–2018). Our interviews with them have recently been published. 3 The direction of our research was substantially shaped by our meetings with Polish researchers at the Jagiellonian University Centre for Conrad Studies, chaired by Professor Jolanta Dudek, as well as by our membership of the Polish Society for Conrad Studies presided over by Zdzisław Najder. We have also found very rewarding our collaboration with Stefan Zabierowski, Agnieszka Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Magda Hejdel, Professor Wiesław Krajka from the University of Lublin and others. At a later stage of our work, Professor Krajka, as the General Editor of an international academic series dedicated to Conrad, invited us to publish our work in one of its volumes in the series Conrad: Eastern and Western Perspectives. The editorial team encouraged us to focus on Conrad’s Bulgarian reception and connected us to foreign scholars of Conrad such as John Peters, Anthony Fothergill and Stephen Donovan. The assistance of the Polish Institute in Sofia was also indispensable. 4 Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013; Grigorova and Tsoneva 2018; Tsoneva 2013; Rike 2013. 5 Grigorova 2013; Grigorova 2015a; Grigorova 2015b; Ivanova 2014; as well as more than ten thematically diverse articles on Conrad authored by M. Grigorova and published in Polish and Bulgarian editions. 6 Grigorova. 2017 The issue, published at the initiative of the Polish Institute in Sofia, contains articles and academic works by over sixteen scholars from Poland, the UK, the US, Slovakia, France, and Iran. 7 Literature magazine, no. 18, published by the Faculty of Slavic Studies of Sofia University and edited by Prof. Ivan Nikolov, features John Peters, Robert Hampson and three Polish Conrad scholars. Professor Amelia Licheva, who took an active part in the events and initiatives in honour of Conrad, was in charge of this thematic series.

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Our research into the literary works produced in response to Conrad’s life and fiction has led us to the conclusion that his Bulgarian reception is intricately linked with the development of Bulgarian maritime literature, which is itself conditioned by the shifting political and economic role of the sea.8 The beginning of this process can be traced back to the time of Conrad’s death and coincides with the publication of the first issue of Morski Sgovor (Marine Conversation) magazine (1924), which collected some works by Conrad’s early translators as well as articles and writings inspired by his life and work (works by Dobrin Vasilev and Bistra Boshnakova, for instance). Morski Sgovor subsequently published translations of ‘Youth’ (six instalments, translated by Boshnakova, in 1929) and ‘The Sinking of the Tremolino’ (in three instalments, translated from the German by Vasilev, in 1937). It also published a number of translations – ‘The Lagoon’ (translator unnamed); ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ (translated by Yuli Genov, 1937); ‘Karain’ (translated by Evgenia Spasova, 1938) and ‘The Return’ (Evgenia Spasova, 1939) – which are ‘better described as summaries than translations’ (Asparuhov and Gregorova 2013, 50). Conrad’s influence was likewise evident in the maritime fiction produced after the Second World War by writers like Varban Stamatov (born in the year of Conrad’s death, he passed away in 1998), Boris Aprilov Ahoto (1921–95), Nikola Radev (1940–2016), Todor Valchev Koruev, who was nicknamed the Sea Wolf (1935–2010), and Georgi Ingilizov (1955–2018). Conrad’s life and work also informed the memoirs of long-distance sea captain Vasil Valchanov (1915–2017) and Vasil Dachev (1932–). Conrad’s influence is discernible in the authors’ concern with the sea and sailing, in their use of their life experiences and also in the poetic specifics of their works. Typhoon, Conrad’s first book published in Bulgaria, turns out to be one of the most widely influential of Conrad’s works. It has gone through multiple editions. Rusi Rusev’s initial translation in 1928 was followed in 1966 by Svetoslav Piperov’s version, which was republished in the first volume of Conrad’s Collected Writings in Five Volumes, edited by Hristo Kanev and published by Georgi Bakalov Press in 1987.9 Typhoon is crucial to Conrad’s Bulgarian creative reception as it re-emerges in Varban Stamatov and Vasil Valchanov’s works in fascinating relocations of certain situations (like the extreme weather and the human efforts needed to harness it) and the restating of Conrad’s conclusion that direct confrontation rather than circumvention is the right way to handle a storm. The artistic reception of Heart of Darkness occurred at a later stage, apparently triggered by the release of Coppola’s Apocalypse Now in the 1980s (and its extended 2001 version), which shook Bulgarian viewers and prompted new or, in some instances, first readings of this masterpiece by Conrad. The news of the recent Bulgarian stage adaptation of Conrad’s work came as a pleasant surprise to us, confirming the importance of Francis Ford Coppola’s film for Conrad’s creative reception in Bulgaria. Based on historical retrospection, but directed at the current context of the reception of Conrad’s work, our research registered the existence of a continuously evolving community of scholars and artists sharing a variety of commitments to the works of the seafaring writer. The formation of this community has resulted in a number of meetings, discussions and interviews. In our firm belief in the importance of the interview as a form and as a means of gaining

8

This is the subject of Grigorova, Tsoneva 2017. Piperov’s translations of The Secret Sharer and ‘Falk’ were published in the same year (1966), reinforcing the reception of Conrad as a writer of the sea. For details of the contents of the Collected Writings in Five Volumes, see Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 52.

9

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insight into certain authorial decisions, we decided to include extracts from our conversation with Valeria Valcheva, the Bulgarian stage director of Heart of Darkness, throughout this chapter. The names of some of the members of the community whose formation was inspired by the play are given below, and their comments on Conrad’s stage adaptation are used to explore further Conrad’s more recent reception: Professor Pravda Spasova, PhD, Professor of Philosophy at the National Academy of Arts, Sofia; senior research fellow, DSc at Bulgarian Academy of Sciences: Joseph Conrad is not among the authors best known to the Bulgarian audience. Even Coppola’s film Apocalypse Now was not widely recognized as being inspired by Conrad’s most famous novel, Heart of Darkness. That is why I watched Valeria Valcheva’s performance with curiosity, and I was very pleased with her directorial reading. Employing music and an impressive visual repertoire, the spectacle eventually put in front of the viewer the deep existential questions posed by Conrad, leaving no room for any minor interpretations inclined toward racism or criticism of imperialism, which are often presented as the only approach to this novel. Ivayla Radulova, film and TV scriptwriter; translator: Travel with this crew to the ‘Heart’ of ‘Darkness’ and you will feel enlightened! The unique combination of classical literature, modern stage direction, skilful acting, ingenious stage and costume design, plus the original music (live playing, singing and dancing) turns this theatre into a sublime and provocative experience for the audience. Yasen Vasilev, theatre stage director; writer: The performance, set in the alternative space of a contemporary art museum, starts with an unexpected cabaret-like musical presentation with a band entirely formed by the actors in the piece. After the music ends the audience is invited to follow the actors into another space as they now start to embody Conrad’s characters, and we all enter the world of the novel. The following long-lasting performance is a dramatization of the novel presented within a fascinating and constantly changing stage form of dream-like effects. The performance unrolls as slowly and moodily as Conrad’s prose and allows a full immersion into the ‘heart of darkness’. Maria Kostova, English studies researcher: I was really impressed by how the performance encompassed Conrad’s fictional world. It seemed to me that I was going through its pages, it was an epic experience in the literal sense! Visually it was stunning: rough, and yet sophisticated especially the set and props, Kurtz for example. On the other hand, the cabaret start made me expect something more in that mode, and I really wanted it to last longer, or to be repeated throughout the performance. This would have meant, probably, less Conrad in all.

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Valcheva herself is convinced of the power of Conrad’s works to bring people together. She was pleased to see how her dramatization of Heart of Darkness promoted the rise of a Conradian community even among the audience of the performance. Valcheva’s concern for this sense of community was one of the reasons for her decision to introduce the ‘Secret Society Club’ at the beginning of her adaptation. This is a definite sign that Conrad’s reception is consistent with his own programmatic conviction that a community is an entity established by universal experiences and values. As stated in the original Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and quoted in the performance poster, the need for collective experience determines the course of the performance through to its end.10 It is likewise worth noting that this novella emphasizes the idea that the team (the crew) wins recognition through testing experiences and through care for the salvation of those who need it. The motif of salvation, though intertwined with a radically dissimilar, diabolic and multi-notional plot (it is not an accident that this text is seen as an instance of codified modernity) is also one of the thematic concerns of Heart of Darkness. (‘Save me, Save me!’, is the outcry of Kurtz who, having lost his soul and been transformed into ivory, implores salvation from his confessor Marlow.) Valcheva’s play presents that particular thematic aspect as well. Valcheva’s stage adaptation of Conrad was first performed in 2017–18, almost at the same time as the adaptation staged by the British theatre company Imitating the Dog, which was announced as ‘a visually rich, multi-layered work which fuses live performance with digital technology’,11 and alongside the Polish dramatization of Conrad’s work as The Darkness (Ciemności), produced by Monika Strzępka and based on Paweł Demirski’s screenplay, where Marlow and Kurtz are each represented as a pair of doubles – two Marlow figures ( a woman and a man) and two Kurtz figures (a nineteenth-century one and a contemporary one, respectively).12 The coincidence of three adaptations within such a short time period and the dialogue between these interpretations this co-occurrence encouraged (evidently stimulated by the anniversary commemorated in 2017) prompts further attention. The common ground of these three performances is the contemporary appeal of a work by Conrad that seems able to raise questions and provoke ideas in almost any historical period including the existential, cognitive and political context at the turn of the twenty-first century. The particular idea to which Heart of Darkness keeps us alert is the problematic and absurd nature of humans and the human world. Imitating the Dog’s adaptation is presented as an experimental and modernist rendition, in a production that combines videographic techniques (an animated Cinemascope graphic novel is projected on the hanging screens) with live acting. By comparison, both the Polish and the Bulgarian productions were inspired by Coppola’s cinematic adaptation. Valcheva notes that she had considered the doubling device used in the Polish play as a possible dramatic tool for rendering the interrelated characters of Marlow and Kurtz, but she wanted to work out her own approach to this. She also adds that Conrad’s anniversary created the opportunity for her creative reconnection to the author rather than just being the administrative framework for celebrating his memory. 10 The idea of the ‘abiding mystery of the sublime spectacle’ that people experience in a subconsciously similar way underlies Conrad’s programmatic preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’. The preface lays out Conrad’s concept of the communicative aspect of art. For more on this, see Modrzewski 1992, 14. 11 Advance publicity for Imitate the Dog at http://www.imitatingthedog.co.uk/heart-of-darkness/. 12 Advance publicity at http://artmundus.pl/2018/01/16/premiera-ciemnosci-monika-strzepka-i-pawel-demirski-wteatrze-imka/.

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The third edition of the only Bulgarian translation of Heart of Darkness came out in 2018. Translated by Grigor Pavlov, it provided the textual basis for the screenplay of the performance. The subsequent dramatization of the novel is a reminder of several previous attempts to stage the text which placed a particular focus on the vocality of Conrad’s work, as captured in the brilliant voice of Orson Welles, who initiated the first dramatized interpretation of the work in his radio theatre broadcast.13 The dramatic potential of Conrad’s works and their inherent stagecraft14 can therefore be seen as an important implicit dimension of his heritage, particularly in the case of his masterpiece, Heart of Darkness. Apparently, it was this latent aspect of dramatic expression that motivated Valcheva in her decision to stage Conrad: ‘I sensed it and said to myself that the text somewhat better fits the stage.’ Conrad’s Heart of Darkness lends itself to staging for a couple of other reasons. Unlike his maritime works, which project the expanse of ocean as both benevolent and hostile, the serpentine line of the muddy river invites us on a claustrophobic journey through the heart of the monstrous jungle. It presents a dark curtain behind which horror awaits to engulf those who take a look (as we will later see, this idea of a dark curtain is one of the scenographic representations of the jungle in this performance). In Dantean mode, the journey goes through concentric circles till it reaches the bottom of Hell or the end of the world, each circle being a location where Marlow encounters yet another mediator on his way to Kurtz until he arrives at Kurtz’s deathbed. (This is another pattern reproduced in the screenplay and activated by the performance.) The absurdity of the situation, which the author of Heart of Darkness must have felt involved in, escalates in the text, and this artistic record of Conrad’s insights comes to life intact in the contemporary Bulgarian adaptation. His work is also remarkably suitable for the stage because of its clearly delineated figures, situations and dialogue. The intricate connection between internal and external space, between actual and symbolic worlds; between myth, ritual and reality; the journey as quest; the dynamic interaction of monologue, dialogue and event; the exceptional importance of vocal and verbal expression; the presence of a dramatic plot centred on the main character and demanding an actor capable of personifying and reflecting this extreme mode of existence – this all makes Conrad’s masterpiece very suitable for the stage, and Valeria Valcheva’s production has found an appropriate representation for each of these aspects. What inspired the present discussion of her stage adaptation is a video recording of the performance,15 followed by conversations and an exchange of emails with the producer and then a close reading of the playscript. Our observations focus on the artistic ideas, decisions and practical implementation of the producer’s vision as realized by stagecraft, music, scenery and props. All of these components are constituent elements of a single analytical and creative paraphrase of the work and its author. We begin with a translation of the advance publicity for the play since it contains some of the principal grounds for both analysis and interpretation. Heart of Darkness is an emblematic work in European modernism, inspiring poets, composers, philosophers and film and theatre producers. Its text is a story narrated in the

13 Orson Welles’s radio dramatization was carried out in 1938 but his planned cinematic interpretation was thwarted by the Second World War. 14 For a more detailed critical reading of One Day More, Victory and The Secret Agent, see Hand 2005. 15 See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSsarVgOIqk.

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first-person singular by a sea captain, Marlow, in which he relates his bizarre experience on a boat travelling up a wide yellow river, deep into the continent of Africa, stopping at trading posts involved in the ivory trade. At the end of this journey the protagonist finds and meets Kurtz – a dying European, who has become a deity for the natives whilst for us his character embodies a prophetic presentiment (from 1899) of the rise of the great dictators of the twentieth century. The English writer Joseph Conrad, whose background is that of a Polish aristocrat, was indeed a ship’s captain who had navigated the River Congo some nine years before Heart of Darkness appeared. Most of his characters have real prototypes and stories behind them. Kurtz is the only composite character in the book. Conrad himself formulates his goals in this way: ‘My task is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel – it is, before all, to make you see.’ By adhering to the writer’s credo, the producer Valeria Valcheva has created a miniature ‘Conradian community’ consisting of a musician, a stage designer and five actors: seven persons in all on the stage, who will play as a modern company of actors relating the story of Heart of Darkness by way of farce, cabaret and ritual theatre in order to make the spectators ‘hear’, ‘feel’ and ‘see’. The company seems enchanted by the spirit of mysterious adventure that encompasses everything in this book apart from, or rather along with, the profound thoughts. Yet why Heart of Darkness here and now? Is it because of the colonial crises then or the migrant crises of today? Joseph Conrad questions the existential foundations of human nature. We need to flesh them out in an appropriate way, even though Conrad was convinced that the human quest for answers is always haunted by an anxious anticipation of the answers. That is exactly what happens with his enigmatic character Kurtz. ‘I think he realised it right at the end, but only then. The jungle had discovered it early on and had taken its revenge on him for the invasion he was part of. It whispered things to him, things about himself that he didn’t know until he was out there alone. That whisper echoed loudly inside him because he was hollow.’16 This preamble to the performance foregrounds some of the most appealing properties of the play. These motivate the direction of the stage work and show the breadth of the goals the performance team intended to pursue. At the same time, something of Conrad’s thought, as found in the Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ that has often been cited as the basis of his creative agenda, appears in the director’s deep conviction of the necessity of seeing Conrad on stage: ‘My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel – it is, before all, to make you see. That – and no more, and it is everything’ (NN, x).

Conrad translated The first Bulgarian translation of Heart of Darkness became available fairly late. It was completed by Grigor Pavlov in 1971. (By this time, twelve of Conrad’s works had already been published in Bulgarian, and eight of these came out before the Second World War.) It was published as a separate book with an introduction by the translator himself. The second edition (which came 16

See the English version of the play’s advance publicity at http://sofiaarsenal-mca.org/en/events/heart-darkness.

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out with some minor corrections) was included in the above-mentioned 1987 five-volume collection compiled by Hristo Kanev. Bulgaria’s postwar Communist government had an impact on Conrad’s reception. While it restricted the translation and circulation of some of his works, others enjoyed a ready welcome and were embraced as literary evidence that helped expose imperialism and colonialism and helped formulate the individual’s social responsibilities. The year 1971 turned out to be one of Conrad’s most prolific in Bulgaria. In addition to Heart of Darkness, Grigor Pavlov also translated and edited Nostromo, while Hristo Kanev completed his translations of Nostromo, Youth and The Shadow-Line. As Asparuhov points out, ‘Hristo Kanev has translated more of Conrad’s works than anyone else in Bulgaria’ (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 51). (Kanev had published a translation of Lord Jim in 1968.) However, Pavlov has an equally impressive reputation as one of Conrad’s most prolific translators. Asparuhov offers the following more detailed assessment of Pavlov’s translation of Heart of Darkness: ‘Wishing, no doubt, to bring Conrad’s text closer to the contemporary reader, the erudite translator Grigor Pavlov – lecturer in American literature at Sofia University – sometimes breaks up Conrad’s longer sentences into shorter segments and compresses some of his phrases’ (Asparuhov and Grigorova 2013, 51). It is this very segmentation and compression of Conrad’s text that lends vigour to the theatrical adaptation. Pavlov was a prominent intellectual who actively participated in Bulgarian cultural life, mediating between literature and the theatre. Along with his academic career as a lecturer in English and American literature at Sofia University, he was one of the directors of the department for translation of fiction in the Bulgarian Translators’ Association, a translator for the UN mission in New York and a renowned translator of drama. His published translations include works by Edward Albee: he translated Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1972, first staged in 2006) and The Zoo Story (1959) (staged in two performances directed, respectively, by Kirkor Azaryan in 1974 and by Leon Daniel in 2005). He also translated Long Day’s Journey Into Night (1941) by Eugene O’Neil (performed in 1956); Two for the Seesaw, a Broadway play by William Gibson performed many times in Bulgaria both on stage and as a radio play; and The Ballad of the Sad Cafe (1951) by Carson McCullers (co-directed with Lyuba Madjarova, 1984). Pavlov translated mostly drama – and his translation of Heart of Darkness certainly underlines the dramatic potential of the text that Valcheva taps into and develops in her performance. Pavlov was apparently impressed by Conrad’s work since he also wrote a critical article and a foreword to the first edition of his translation. Though these necessarily bear the imprint of communist ideology (in relation to bourgeois individualism), they are nevertheless worth considering as they offer insights into the perceived message and the poetic vigour of Conrad’s words whose particular properties become most apparent in the process of translation. The most substantial conclusions he draws refer to the relationship between the characters of Marlow and Kurtz: In no time the author begins to arrange the scene of the volcanic confrontation between Marlow and Kurtz, and the denouement of the dramatic conflict follows suit. . . . Marlow is confounded by the possibility that he might have also fallen into the grip of Kurtz’s magnetic attraction. This is an ominous and mysterious perception which determines his commitment to Kurtz’s fate. Actually, both of them originate from the same cultural and historical context, don’t they? Pavlov 1971, 9 269

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Pavlov’s comments on the paired identities of Marlow and Kurtz, which concentrate the inward dynamics of the play, are particularly relevant to the stage adaptation. The first publication of Heart of Darkness in Bulgarian in 1971 coincided with the growing popularity of certain critical paradigms about Conrad’s work that were available to Bulgarian readers. Published the same year, Tzvetan Todorov’s French edition of Poétique de la prose contributes an interpretation of Conrad’s fiction by this prominent scholar of Bulgarian origin. Poétique de la prose discusses Conrad’s novella in a chapter entitled ‘Knowledge in the Void: “Heart of Darkness” ’. Here Todorov argues that the dominant plotline unrolls at the conceptual level of knowledge and interpretation rather than through direct action, and that to reach the ‘heart’ of ‘darkness’, one needs to journey to the unknowable void. This conceptual level of Conrad’s work is likewise problematized in the play and theatrically interpreted in a way that reveals how the quest for knowledge takes the shape of an extreme experience.

Some notes on the subject of theatrical translation The Bulgarian translation by Pavlov underwent the usual readjustments characteristic of any theatrical adaptation where the original language and ideas are further translated by the director’s and actors’ own interpretations of the scenes. The director has explicitly stated that her stage translations are always text-focused; nevertheless, some of the theatrical decisions necessitated certain transformations of the text – even at a verbal level. For example, Marlow’s description of the European city (presumably Brussels) as a ‘whited sepulchre’, with its implied reference to the Gospel of St Matthew (23.28), concentrates one of the guiding ideas of the play: ‘Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness.’ However, Pavlov’s translation of whited fails to do justice to the biblical subtext as the Bulgarian version of the Bible renders whited as whitewashed. For that reason, the phrase a ‘whitewashed tomb’ is substituted for ‘whited sepulchre’ in the stage adaptation. On other occasions, the adaptation involves an even clearer intervention in the original text. This can be illustrated by reference to the following passage: ‘but what thrilled you was just the thought of their humanity – like yours – the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar. Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough [. . .]’. The phrase ‘Ugly. Yes, it was ugly’ is replaced by ‘Scary. Scary?’ as better fitting the psychological mood of the play.

Conrad on stage Heart of Darkness was first staged in Bulgaria almost 120 years after its first publication and forty-six years after the publication of the Bulgarian translated edition. However, the dramatization of the novella was first discussed as early as the 1980s. At that time, it became necessary to read it through a new critical interpretive lens and to redefine Conrad’s position in what amounts, effectively, to a ‘discovery’. Valcheva recalls that her first impression of Conrad, formed during her schooldays, involved the naive assumption that he wrote adventure stories intended for children and adolescents – a view partially conditioned by the formal design of the published series that featured some of his works, such as the thematic series of 270

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More, bregove, hora (Sea, Coasts, People). (Lord Jim, similarly, was included in the Teenagers’ Library of adventure stories.) As we have seen, Conrad’s return in the 1980s was accelerated by Coppola’s film Apocalypse Now. This can be seen as the cultural event that offered new angles on Conrad’s work and challenged the blinkered critical vision that had so far dominated Conrad’s Bulgarian reception. Deeply impressed by Coppola’s cinematic interpretation (with its music by Wagner and The Doors), and growing aware that the film was inspired by Heart of Darkness, the Bulgarian audience was keen to read or reread the novel and know more about Conrad and his other works. This wave of revived interest spread most quickly among students born in the 1960s. Valeria Valcheva belongs to that particular generation of young admirers of Conrad. She first read Heart of Darkness in the Five-Volume Collection of Writings edited by Hristo Kanev and embarked on her research into the theatrical potential of the text in the 1990s. In her adaptation, she has reclaimed the spectacular appeal and evocative power of Coppola’s film. She has also taken it as a point of departure in her attempt to draw a distinction between the theatrical and cinematic approaches to Conrad’s novel. Two basic authorial conceptual decisions steered her interpretation away from Apocalypse Now: first, Valcheva’s firm belief in the text’s affinity to theatre and, secondly, her determination to foreground the Europeanness of its thematic concerns. These are most substantively concentrated in the character of Kurtz (‘All Europe contributed in the making of Kurtz’ (HoD, 117)) and in the European ‘scramble for Africa’ which provides the context. Valcheva’s critical appraisal of Coppola’s version does not ignore its obvious focus on the American war in Vietnam. She foregrounds, instead, the universal message of Conrad’s text, signalled, among other things, by the lack of toponyms – the nameless river and the anonymous city – which also turns out to fit the theatrical conventions of conditional representation. Cinema, on the other hand, is more tightly bound to the specificities of geographical or historical locations – as is the case with Apocalypse Now or with Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, the Wrath of God. Ironically, the fact that Coppola’s film represents a particular reading of the work’s universal message actually assisted its worldwide popularity due to the role of the US in contemporary globalization. What was Valcheva’s professional background that put her in a position to carry out this long-term project? She graduated from theatre studies with a major in stage direction in 1997. Having worked for seven years for state-funded theatres, she shifted to the independent theatre sector when she co-founded the Teatar Vyatar (Wind Theatre) Association. Valcheva has directed over thirty performances based on Bulgarian and world classic works by Shakespeare, Chekhov, Kafka and others, and her deep interest in folklore underlies her experimental technique. From the early years of her artistic career, she was willing to take theatre from the conventional space of its development and to transplant it into less typical settings like art galleries, museums and parks. The interaction between the performance and its setting is one of the defining characteristics of the productions she directs. Thus, the first seven productions of Heart of Darkness took place inside the Museum for Contemporary Art in Sofia (MCAS) and in the museum grounds; the next two performances were staged in the Red House of Culture and Debates Panaret 7 in Sofia. Valcheva combines various types of theatre in her productions depending on the particular performance and the intended effect: in addition to the expressive means of the ritual/sacred theatre, she employs realistic and psychological techniques, and she borrows from Brecht, the 271

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puppet- and musical theatre. Such various modes of expression likewise constitute the technical means of her interpretation of Heart of Darkness. She readily admits that her projects need plenty of time to ‘mature’ – she committed over twenty years to her Kafka Quartet performance (staged in 2014–15), and it took her even longer to stage Conrad. The long pre-production period is needed for all the elements, ideas, visualization, cast, production design and music to evolve till the moment when this concatenation will turn into symbiotic interaction with each element an irreplaceable cog in the machinery of the performance. For Heart of Darkness, this process began with the decisive appearance of Marlow. Valcheva gave the role to Yavor Kostov, after his outstanding performances in Samuel Beckett’s plays. Kostov’s achievements include the translations of two plays by Beckett – Stirrings Still and Imagination Dead Imagine – and taking part many times in their performance. Like Marlow, the protagonist of Stirrings Still can be seen as the author’s alter ego undertaking an extreme self-questing journey beyond the limits of identity. The advance publicity describes the play as follows: ‘[A]dopting a third-person narrative perspective, he embarks on a final journey beyond the end of despair and reaches the very limit of the narration [. . .] A zero-degree narrator guides his audience along this journey within an exceptionally limited space of unlimited opportunities experienced in the here and now.’17 The publicity for the joint performance of the two plays describes Imagination Dead Imagine as an enigmatic visualization of the author’s consciousness, a hermeneutic synthesis of verbal and visual representation, character and author, instantaneity and eternity, man and woman. The publicity piece continues: Ascetic and multi-dimensional, unhomely and yet familiar, the play raises the unanswerable question of human destiny. Stirrings Still comes instead of an answer to invite us to a journey beyond the story itself which enables us to hear the inaudible and see the unseen in Beckett’s last story.18 The perception of a subtle, intrinsic relationship between Heart of Darkness and Beckett’s drama has apparently influenced both the director’s choice of cast and her interpretation of Marlow’s role. The comparative lens implicitly refocuses our attention through the optics of Beckett’s plays. Valcheva’s project was also influenced by her choice of production designer. After seeing Martin Tabakov’s work for his sculpture graduation examination, Valcheva invited him to make the Kurtz doll. In addition to preparing props and masks, he also took an active part in the performance as actor and singer, while also playing the double bass and self-made percussion instruments as part of the Heart of Darkness Band. The performance was accompanied by live music improvised and produced on stage by percussionist Branko Valchev. Valcheva’s cast includes some of the best-known freelance actors from a diversity of professional areas such as drama, puppet and dance theatre. Five of the seven members of the ensemble have taken part in Valcheva’s earlier stage productions.

17 See the schedule of the performances of the Sfumato theatre workshop for 2014, http://theatre.art.bg/novina. php?news_id=3246&city=20. 18 The advance publicity for ‘Beckett x 2’ is published on the website of Plastelin Studio, http://www.atelie-plastelin. com/2016/04/2.html.

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The entire team had to read Conrad’s work and was required to share in its collectively experienced reconstruction. To this end, they undertook extensive research into Conrad’s life and work, studied a number of critical responses to his fiction, read through detailed information on the novel itself and its wider context, examined the debates it prompted, considered Africa and the Congo, and browsed through documentaries, films and images. The production design was based on pictures of the Chapman Lighthouse on the Thames, a landmark location at the beginning of the novel, and Marlow’s steamboat, constructed for Orson Welles’s uncompleted cinematic adaptation of Heart of Darkness. The latter is represented by a two-storey wooden construction, initially covered by rugs in muddy colours, which later turns into a tower, a river and a shack. Once uncovered, it becomes Marlow’s steamboat. The European borders are marked by a white-lace curtain while Conrad’s jungle is represented by a black curtain whose openings reveal parts of moving human bodies, masks and so on. The production team likewise examined Conrad’s attachment to his cousin’s widow, Marguerite Poradowska. She appears in Heart of Darkness in a lightly sketched silhouette, belonging to Conrad’s critically represented realm of femininity (the stage director regards this particular paradigm as consistent with the commonly held patriarchal views in Europe at that time). Drawing on Conrad’s biography, Valcheva gives this figure a more prominent part in her adaptation. There she is frequently addressed as ‘cousin’, not ‘aunt’, and, based on Conrad’s correspondence with Poradowska, parts of Marlow’s Congo narrative take the form of the letters she eagerly reads. Besides such details drawn from Conrad’s biography, Valcheva also considered how Conrad’s work interacts with that of other authors, some of whose texts she includes in the puzzle-like structure of the performance to enhance the suggestive intensity of its message. These include Edgar Allan Poe,19 T. S. Eliot, Vachel Lindsay, Tom Waits and even Pushkin, whose poems come to life in the songs of the performance. The play thus combines a variety of distinctive poetic utterances with the dramatized poetics of Conrad’s work. Fragments from Poe’s ‘The Raven’ and ‘Eldorado’, Lindsay’s ‘Congo’, Waits’s ‘I’ll Be Gone’ and ‘Temptation’, and Eliot’s The Hollow Men, performed at the end of the play, contribute their particular tonalities to produce the polyphony of the play. A sense of mystery and nightmare activates the vocal harmony of Poe, Conrad and Lindsay, which modifies the initial effect of the cabaret repertoire (which also includes the children’s song ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’). The Raven’s dance is followed by poems about the late-coming night visitor, after which the cabaret (which also operates as a secret society) admits a grotesque Lady from the Society for Suppressing Barbarous Rites (the role is performed by a bearded man), who insists that she should be allowed to perform for the sake of charity. This series of performances concludes with a verse taken from Lindsay’s poem ‘Congo’. The air of fatality which Lindsay creates as part of Conrad’s representation of Africa, and the pulsating rhythm of the rhymes and refrains, consciously chosen to echo Conrad’s work, match the rhythm and atmosphere of the performance and enhance their effect through the characteristic imagery of the river and Hell (whose fires engulf the Belgian king, Leopold

19

Jeffrey Meyers sees Conrad as one of Poe’s disciples as regards not only the literary effects of horror and mystery, but also his sceptical response to the ideas of progress and the moral underpinnings of the human world. See Meyers 2000, 292–3.

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himself).20 Even though the repertoire of the European cabaret contains adaptations of poems by American poets, they do not divert the overall European focus of the production but rather serve to prove the works’ universal implications. Music contributes significantly to the communicative power of the play which stems from the continuous interflow of the above-mentioned poems adapted to songs and performed with a remarkable stylistic polyphony that brings together macabre, farce-like and almost mystical moments of revelation, along with ‘jungle motifs’ composed of exotic speech and drum beats. ‘We are so happy that we came across the ethnographic record “Тalking Drums of the Upper Сongo,”21 the director explains in our correspondence; the band’s percussionist studied them ‘and then trained the “African” actors how to articulate this Congolese rhythm’. The contrastive transitions within the audio-verbal imagery generate additional effects. The screenplay itself consists of a total of twelve acts, the first three of which are introductory (they precede and anticipate the narrated journey). The opening scene introduces us to the Heart-of-Darkness Secret Cabaret Club where the songs based on poems by Poe and Lindsay help attune the audience’s mood in preparation for meeting Marlow and listening to the ‘unbelievably horrible story of Captain Charlie Marlow’s adventures among the African Blacks (there are African Whites as well) along the Congo river at about the end of the nineteenth century, culminating in his encounter with the extraordinary, astounding, genius, tall Kurtz’. Marlow’s entrance is followed by a drinking scene at the cousin’s house (Marlow standing against the map of Africa talks about his childhood longing to explore its ‘heart’; and his cousin, convinced of the validity of the ‘civilizing mission’, realizes that she can use her connections to help advance his career there). The scene is accompanied by Verdi’s ‘Drinking Song’ from La traviata, whose parodic implications suggest that the jubilant event needs its own ‘ode of happiness’. Act Three, entitled ‘The Whitewashed Tomb’, presents a demonic female ritual of spinning black yarn that wraps the entire space of the performance where Marlow is now the central figure. Standing beside him is a farcically represented doctor who sends him on the absurd mission. The action then moves, along with the audience, to another place. Marlow’s journey now unrolls in nine acts which correspond to the nine circles of Dante’s Inferno, in a comparative juxtaposition that aims to do justice to the thematic logic of Conrad’s work. The acts are entitled as follows: ‘Journey to the Heart of the Earth’, ‘Jungle of Death’, ‘Outer Station’, ‘Caravan’, ‘The Central Station’, ‘Journey to the Beginning of the World’, ‘A Voice’, ‘Kurtz’s Station’ and ‘The Heart of Darkness Speaks’, the last of which recreates Kurtz and Marlow’s crucial conversation. ‘This is a European story,’ Valcheva argues, and the performance enacts this view. The opening scene introduces the symbolic topos of the early twentieth-century European cabaret where ‘Africans’ would traditionally appear in blackface, that is, white actors whose faces were

20 In a letter published in the Boston Evening Transcript (6 February 1915), Lindsay explains: ‘I hoped to imply Joseph Conrad’s fatalistic atmosphere in his story “Heart of Darkness,” I reached for the spiritual African fever he had in there that is the sure death to the soul. In my devices and setting for such phrases as “Mambo Jumbo will hoo-doo you” I often had him consciously in mind.’ See Mallios 2010, 187. Mallios sums up the relationship between the two works as follows: ‘ “The Congo” thus offers an ideological “vision” of Conrad – that is, itself reflexively interprets Heart of Darkness in the attempt to re-create it – precisely as in each of the poem’s three sections, the poem proffers a series of demotic, carnal, generally angry African-American bodies, only spiritually to “reveal” them through a “vision” of a fantastically attavised “Congo” ’ (188). 21 See ‘Talking Drums of the Upper Congo’, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Dl0qcKOkKI.

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painted black. Apart from being a culturally inscribed place, the European cabaret enters Valcheva’s adaptation as a site of the subversive re-enaction of colonial practices. The mask is an indispensable tool in Marlow’s narration. It helps relativize the conceptual distance between imperial England and colonial Congo, while challenging the authority of the verbal articulation of empire. Thus, Marlow’s story is ‘masked’ by the darkness that settles down over the Thames; Kurtz’s ethnic ‘whiteness’ as well as the ‘white’ idealism he embraces are persistently compromised by the pervading darkness of his practices. Darkness itself is not synonymous with ‘blackness’; rather, it forms a transitional stage of visual perception that refers to ambivalence, ambiguity and lack of orientation. This transitional aspect of the novel destabilizes certain imperial and colonial conceptual structures that we may be tempted to see in the racial connotations of Conrad’s writing. Read through the lens of Franz Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks, however, Conrad’s narrative is suspicious of both the ‘white’ and ‘black’ façades: they are masks that both reveal and conceal problematic identities. ‘Our intention was to stage Heart of Darkness as a collective European story,’ Valcheva states. ‘Kurtz is a collective European figure as well. Marlow is not the only narrator in the play. All characters join their voices to his. He remains alone on stage for only a couple of minutes.’ Valcheva reads Conrad’s narrative as a collectively told story where Marlow’s account is preceded by a narrative space navigated by a collective narrator. Her adaptation’s most intensive section includes Marlow’s encounter with Kurtz who operates as his demonic, shadow self in an ambivalently structured chronotope. However, Marlow has many other shadow selves in the novel – the Russian sailor, for instance. ‘I’m strongly convinced that the Russian is modelled after young Conrad,’ Valcheva states in our correspondence. She continues, ‘When the Russian meets Marlow (Conrad’s principal double, Kurtz being another one), Marlow actually encounters his adolescent self.’ Valcheva grounds her interpretation in this character’s appealing personality, which Coppola borrowed to produce his cinematic counterpart, played by the American actor Dennis Hopper. ‘Actually, the character whose eulogy of Kurtz is Marlow’s final signpost on his way to Kurtz’s fortified dwelling, had to be Russian – Conrad needed the emblematic Russian type, well-known from classical Russian literature for being able to feel a certain extreme, even religious awe at the wonder of being (significantly, the Russian trader’s father is a priest) which he believes Kurtz embodies.’ According to Valcheva, the narrative of Heart of Darkness points therapeutically to Conrad’s recollected self. Having gained release from his traumatic memories of Russia that haunted him for so long, he adopts a European perspective and regards Russia as a cultural participant in European politics from a critical angle. Apart from such political implications, the performance seeks to render every single element of the story as a collectively experienced moment, which, in turn, enables the experience of existential loneliness as a common human state. The question of existence finds its most intensive articulation in Marlow’s conclusion that ‘We live as we dream – alone.’ In the adaptation, this conclusion is placed in the mouth of the female Cousin who pronounces it as a sacred heartfelt thought.

The jungle, Kurtz and Marlow In Valcheva’s adaptation, the topos of the jungle is represented as a multilayered space – it takes shape as a vocal and symbolically-visual setting projected by means of music, stage design and 275

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choreography. Referred to as the ‘Jungle of Death’ in the screenplay, it is technically staged as a dark, two-tiered perforated curtain, whose openings serve to hold African masks expressing human suffering to illustrate Marlow’s narrated encounter with the dying Africans. In this context, one of the infernal circles in the play (which Valcheva calls the ‘Circle of the Shriek’) is also represented as an expressionist mask that symbolizes the ‘horror’. Most importantly, the jungle setting of the play is closely linked with Conrad’s text from where its dramatic realization borrows the psychological dimension of its representation as a dark, alien, primordial world, whose all-consuming vacuity gapes open, having engulfed Kurtz and his ‘torch of progress and civilization’, and exposes the lie that conceals greed and a thirst for power and possession. ‘Kurtz is an exceptionally demanding character and finding a stage equivalent for him was a challenging task,’ Valcheva explains in her response to one of the most relevant questions asked about the dramatization of the text. Her opinion is that no human actor would be able to play his part adequately. Instead, she opts for a marionette. Having emerged from his mostly spectral existence, as the subject of others’ descriptions, Kurtz is only briefly allowed to breathe and act on his own. The design of the doll follows his physical description in Conrad’s text – he is over six feet tall, lean, with a hollow chest. The marionette, designed as a string-doll, is, accordingly, put together as a long wooden skeleton with a huge, pronounced skull. Significantly, these characteristics also recall the actor who plays Marlow’s part. The play stresses the paired identities of this theatrical couple in yet another way as Kurtz the doll can speak only through Marlow’s voice. In the decisive scene of their final conversation, the actor who plays Marlow’s part supports Kurtz the doll and speaks for him in a changed, wheezing voice. For the purposes of this dialogue (which actually happens as a split monologue) his utterances, pronounced in English, are left untranslated. In conclusion, Valcheva’s play is one of the most memorable creative reconstructions of Conrad’s work in contemporary Bulgarian culture. It not only demonstrates the need for experimental space in the context of a rapidly growing cross-cultural awareness, but also relocates certain aspects of Conrad’s literary reception onto a wider plane of thinking. Thanks to an assemblage of creative strategies and the performance of talented actors, singers, dancers and musicians, Heart of Darkness comes fully to life in a performance that lends maximum eloquence to every single detail of Conrad’s work.

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CHAPTER 19 WITHIN THE TIDES: THE CZECH RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD Zdeněk Beran

He was a widower; but in the months of July and August he ventured to cross the Alps for six weeks on a visit to his married daughter. He told me her name. It was that of a very aristocratic family. She had a castle – in Bohemia, I think. This is as near as I ever came to ascertaining his nationality. His own name, strangely enough, he never mentioned. A Set of Six, 272 This passage from Joseph Conrad’s short story ‘Il Conde’ indicates what Bohemia or any other Czech-speaking territory (including Moravia and a part of Silesia) of the Austro-Hungarian Empire or later Czechoslovakia meant for the author: hardly more than a region of romantic castles, old aristocratic families and – maybe – deep forests, a picture not too remote from that given in, and perhaps inspired by, the novels of, for example, George Sand. From this account, we can only guess the nationality of that rather enigmatic figure of ‘Il Conde’, the Count, whether Czech, German or something else.1 Other Slavonic characters appear in Conrad’s writings more distinctly (the Russians in Heart of Darkness, The Secret Agent or Under Western Eyes, the Poles in ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘Prince Roman’); Czechs, however, stand on the margin of Conrad’s spectrum of attention. It is hard to decide if this evident lack of interest in the nation closest to his own relates to Conrad’s personal experience. One might, in fact, expect the opposite: the political situation of the Poles during the nineteenth century bore considerable resemblance to that of the Czechs, both nations being incorporated into larger imperial formations and struggling, in their own ways, for autonomy and independence. Yet the political atmosphere in the Habsburg monarchy was much more tolerant than that in Conrad’s native Russian Empire,2 as the ten-year-old Józef Teodor Konrad was to learn after the death of his mother, when he and his father moved to live in Galicia, the Austrian-held part of Poland. On the other hand, his application to become an Austrian citizen was turned down repeatedly, perhaps due to the Tsarist authorities’ refusal to grant him a permanent stay outside of Russia. We also know that the grim experiences of his childhood made this son of ardent Polish nationalists suspicious of other Slavonic nations; but with the Czechs it seems to have been a matter of indifference rather than distrust. Another factor that accounts for this absence of Czech traces in Conrad’s life is a lack of evidence. As Zdzisław Najder puts it:

1 The original was Count Zygmunt Szembek, a Pole whom Conrad met in Capri in 1905. The narrator’s vagueness here is, presumably, Conrad’s attempt to conceal the identity of his model. 2 Najder comments, ‘for Konrad, whose childhood had passed in a climate of persecution, Galicia must have appeared a country of freedom’ (Najder 1983, 36).

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[W]ars and revolutions have destroyed most of the documents relating to his early years and Polish connections. Such a loss as the burning of letters written by Konrad Korzeniowski to his uncle Tadeusz Bobrowski between 1869 and 1894 [. . .] can never in any way be made up for. And later, in his ‘literary’ three decades, there are obscure spots. Conrad did not live within a community. He was not a member of a group or a coterie; he stayed in the country, led an almost isolated and atypical life, without a stable social environment until his last years. Discreet about himself, he did not keep a diary, destroyed all his notes and most letters to himself, and in his autobiographical statements carefully (albeit not consistently) framed his own past. Najder 1983, ix Nevertheless, it would seem that the Czechs are simply not part of this past. Conrad’s personal experience with the Czech-speaking territory was also limited: he made only one visit there, in July and August 1883, when he came to see his uncle in Marienbad (Mariánské Lázně) and Teplice, the health resorts in which Tadeusz Bobrowski used to take cures regularly. As the Marienbad Curliste show, ‘Thaddaeus von Bobrowski, Gutsbesitzer aus Kiew’ (landowner from Kiev), checked into the Goldene Krone Hotel on 24 July. His nephew must have come on a visit a few days later, if he followed the instructions Bobrowski had sent him in a letter: ‘We shall meet in Marienbad, where I am sure to arrive not later than the 10th/22nd July. You shall arrive on the 12th/24th of the same month, so that I shall have had time to settle in and get our lodgings ready’ (Najder 1983, 78). The meeting was very important for both of them, since they were meeting for the first time after five years of separation caused by Conrad’s naval journeys. However, if the young Korzeniowski made any contacts with other people there, it was mainly with Polish guests and clients, not with the native Czechs, who were a minority in the Sudeten region at that time (see Najder 1983, 78–80). To be absolutely accurate, however, it is necessary to add that Conrad in fact crossed the borders of what is, today, the Czech Republic at least twice more: first, when he travelled, as a boy of sixteen, to Marseille to start his naval career; second, when he was returning hastily to England from his visit to Poland at the outbreak of the First World War via Vienna and Milan. There is no evidence, however, that these train journeys left any impression on him. They certainly do not figure in his fiction. On the other hand, Conrad (as a metonymic expression for the author’s literary output) has been present among Czech readers for more than a century, and nowadays, perhaps more than ever before, his presence seems to be deeply ingrained in the cultural life of the country. His work has been continuously translated, a number of academic articles have been written about him, and Conrad the writer was also designated as a central figure in several histories of English literature written by Czech scholars. Nevertheless, the history of Conrad’s Czech reception is rather peculiar, a narrative of repeated contextualization and recontextualization, full of curious gaps, uncertainties and question marks. The rest of this chapter will try to address this history. Conrad was first presented to Czech readers as a storyteller. In a tiny volume called Povídky z tropů (Tales from the tropics), a selection of three stories from Tales of Unrest – ‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ and ‘Karain’ – we find the following note by the translator: ‘I present this selection to introduce into Czech literature Joseph Conrad, an artist of the grand style, whom critics the world over compare to Kipling and Jack London and who – surprisingly – has 278

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so far escaped attention here.’3 The translator was Karel Weinfurter (1867–1942), a well-known expert in theosophy and occultism, and also a devoted translator of modern English and American fiction. There are two elements worthy of note in these words. First, in what claims to be Conrad’s first introduction to Czech culture, he is immediately contextualized by reference to Rudyard Kipling and Jack London, two writers immensely popular with the Czech readers of that time. But when exactly was this? This is the second point: the book has no date of publication, as was often the case with popular editions. Nevertheless, the National Library in Prague registers the book as being published in 1917, and this may very well be true because the publisher, František Jiroušek, made it the second volume of his series ‘Knihovna moderních autorů’ (Library of Modern Authors), the first volume of which had been issued in 1916. However, if this is indeed the case, the translator’s other statement is untrue. Five years prior to the publication of Weinfurter’s translation, in 1912, another selection from the same work was presented under the title Laguna a jiné povídky o nepokoji (The Lagoon and other tales of unrest), translated by Ivan Schulz (1871–1935) and published by Kamilla Neumannová. This volume also contained three texts, but instead of ‘Karain’ there was a tale called ‘The Idiots’. The selection here is almost identical with Weinfurter’s Povídky but the context is strikingly different. Kamilla Neumannová, unlike Jiroušek, a publisher of mostly psychological and parapsychological literature, focused on the modern writers favoured by the critics around the magazine Moderní revue, writers who were in some way or other connected with Romanticism, aestheticism and decadence. These writers included Keats, Browning and, above all, Walter Pater. It is true that Conrad opened his first novel, Almayer’s Folly, with a quotation from Amiel, a Swiss diarist, whom Pater had reviewed; it is also the case that ‘The Idiots’, the first short story he published, appeared in Leonard Smithers’s ‘decadent’ magazine The Savoy; and it might be recalled that, in Lord Jim, he called the sea a vampire, a typical fin-de-siècle topos. Nevertheless, this is still strange company – and very different from the exotic or adventure story context of Weinfurter’s translation. (We can presume that Conrad was recommended to Arnošt Procházka, the publisher of the Moderní revue, by Stanisław Przybyszewski, with whom he corresponded regularly.)4 Thus, these first two Conrad volumes posed Czech readers with a dilemma: should they read Conrad, ‘an artist of the grand style’, in the same way as, for example, they read Stevenson, another artist of the grand style, or should they rather read him as they read Pater, the father of what was known as English ‘stylism’?5 Perhaps a better formulation of this dilemma would be: is Conrad to be regarded as a great storyteller in the best traditions of English writing, or is he an artist who subordinates plot to virtuosic experiments in style and as such one of the moderns? The next five translations of his work indicate that the general publishing policy tended towards the first alternative and that, perhaps, Weinfurter had not overlooked the earlier

3 ‘Těmito ukázkami uvádím do české literatury po prvé Josepha Conrada, umělce velikého stylu, jejž světová kritika porovnává jedině s Kiplingem a Jackem Londonem a kterýž – ku podivu – ušel až dosud u nás pozornosti’ (Conrad [1917], 4). 4 Stanisław Przybyszewski (1868–1927) was a Polish decadent and expressionist poet, novelist, playwright and essayist, writing both in Polish and German. He was in close contact with various Czech writers, particularly the literary circle around the magazine Moderní revue. 5 The key figures in English stylism are Walter Pater and A. C. Swinburne. The inspiration came from France: Gautier, Baudelaire and Flaubert. For more details, see Dowling 1987.

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volume but rather was deliberately attempting to erase what he saw as a false start in order to make a new one. There are two short works among these early editions – Almeyerův blud (Almayer’s Folly, 1919) and Dohráno (The End of the Tether, 1920; the Czech title meaning, literally, The game is over), the first published by František Topič, a major Prague publisher of fiction, the second, curiously enough, by Ústřední tiskové družstvo soc. strany českosl. lidu pracujícího (The Central Printing Cooperative of the Socialist Party of Czechoslovak Workers). The case of the second publisher is less curious when we remember that 1919 also saw the first publication of a longer novel, Očima západu (Under Western Eyes), which defined Conrad as a writer with particular political interests. The remaining two publications are again selections from Conrad’s tales – one from ’Twixt Land and Sea (1921), the other from A Set of Six (1928). Neither of these collections presents a complete volume of texts as Conrad designed and arranged them. Where both Schulz’s and Weinfurter’s translations included three tales out of five, these last two collections each have one story missing. The tendency seems to be towards even more careful selection and towards brevity – with the exception of Under Western Eyes, none of the books published before 1928 exceeds 205 pages. All of them are more or less cheap paperback editions, with the possible exception of Kamilla Neumannová’s typographically neat one, but even her tiny volume of ninety-six pages came out only as a paperback. The year 1929 marks a turning-point in the history of Conrad’s Czech reception. With the publication of Milada Nováková’s translation of Victory, what might be seen as the ‘infancy’ of Conrad’s translation history in Czech seems to be over. Her Vítězství inaugurates an interest in Conrad’s novels that was sustained in the following decade. The publisher this time was Melantrich, a new big company specializing in good, professionally prepared editions of modern authors. Before too long, they would issue most of Conrad’s works. The 1930s would see the publication of The Secret Agent, Lord Jim, The Rover, Chance, The Arrow of Gold, Nostromo and The Rescue. Of these, Čeněk Syrový’s translation of Lord Jim came out first in the daily newspaper Lidové noviny (People’s Newspaper) in 1930; the second printing, however, was taken over by Melantrich in 1933. In that same year, in May 1933, Melantrich launched its family magazine Ahoj na neděli (Hello for Sunday), which, from the fifteenth number of the first volume, started serializing another Conrad novel, Romance, under the more attractive title Postrach Ria Media (The terror of Rio Medio), each instalment illustrated by Zdeněk Burian, one of the most popular artists of the day (altogether, Burian provided thirty-five gouache pictures). This is, in fact, the only novel by Conrad whose Czech translation has never been published as a book. The last Conrad title put on the bookstalls before the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, Laichter’s republication of Under Western Eyes, is another exception in the publication history of Conrad’s work in the 1930s, being published by a company other than Melantrich. From the publication history of Conrad’s works in the 1930s, it is evident that the author’s reputation grew considerably over this period. The Melantrich volumes are good-quality hardback editions, and they received reviews both in daily newspapers (e.g., Právo lidu – The right of the people) and other periodicals (Eva, among others). At the same time, however, some prestigious magazines, such as Rozpravy Aventina (The discourses of the Aventinum), never mention Conrad. It is symptomatic that, when Otakar Vočadlo, a leading authority in the field of Prague English Studies and later a professor of English Literature at Charles University, launched his project, the Standard Library (modern Anglophone fiction in Czech translations), and publicized its programme in the first volume of the Rozpravy for 1925–6, he did not include 280

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Joseph Conrad. It was indeed Melantrich (and perhaps its first manager Bedřich Fučík) that, a few years after Vočadlo, discovered Conrad and presented him as one of the greatest English writers. Fučík himself clearly appreciated Conrad’s style. He wrote, in a brief review of The Secret Agent, ‘The condensation of his sentences is almost perplexing, and those who are used to reading easy texts, with phrases that say nothing or say things as they have been said a thousand times, will not digest him easily. Each sentence is a piece of the world, an as yet unknown, new world of Conrad, his own domain, which precludes access to the uninvited.’6 It was also Melantrich that started publishing Conrad’s collected works. Three of the Melantrich volumes are identified as such: Zlatý šíp (The Arrow of Gold, 1934) as Works, Volume 6; Věrný Nostromo (Nostromo, 1936) as Works, Volume 7; and Únik (The Rescue, 1937) as Works, Volume 8. One can readily imagine what prevented the continuation of this project – it was the Nazi cultural policy adopted in the new Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren (Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia) from 1939. Although the Melantrich publishing house continued its activities during the war years, English authors were excluded. While it appears strange that Conrad’s collected works began with Volume 6, the dustcover to The Rescue provides a clear answer: its back page offers a list of Conrad’s collected works published to date, and it is evident from this that the editor decided to subsume all the existing Melantrich volumes into the project, even if they had originally been included in other series (e.g., Victory was originally the third volume of the Úroda (Harvest) series). This rebadging of those earlier editions is, in fact, an act of reassessment. It is clear that, by 1934, Conrad has a new status, that of a classic. Melantrich published a number of collected works of fiction in the 1930s, but these were mostly by Czech writers. There were only a few exceptions to this rule: Thomas Mann, Dostoevsky, Maxim Gorky and Joseph Conrad. None of these projects was completed; none of the four writers was acceptable to the Nazi Kulturträgers. Yet again, the fact that Conrad was granted the special privilege of a collected works means that within a decade, for Czech culture, he had become one of the most important representatives of modern world literature. A note introducing the above-mentioned list of collected works provides a fitting coda to Conrad’s rapid rise: ‘Conrad was one of those artists who appear very rarely in world literature. His novels of adventure have restored the old glory of pure narrative in fiction. The greatest spirits of Europe stand in awe before his work.’7 As this suggests, despite his perceived status in world literature, Conrad had not yet shed the vestiges of that earlier reputation as a popular storyteller in the Kipling or London mould, as the strategies of the Ahoj editor, Vladimír Peroutka, show: an advertisement in Ahoj 14 announces Romance as a story of pure adventure, and Conrad’s novels are once more likened to those of London. The anonymous translation, though very good, is abridged, and the name of Conrad’s collaborator, Ford Madox Hueffer, is suppressed. It is evident that Melantrich’s policy was simply to make full use of Conrad’s potential to address both intellectuals and common readers in Czechoslovakia.

6

‘Hutnost vět až zaráží, a kdo je zvyklý na lehkou četbu, na věty, které nic neříkají, anebo něco říkají tak, jak bylo to řečeno již tisíckrát, nebude mít lehkou stravu. Každá věta je kus světa, světa dosud neznámého, nového, světa Conrada, jeho domény, do níž se nikdo nepovolaný nedostane’, Eva 2, no. 15 (1929–30): 25, in Fučík 1998, 300. 7 ‘Conrad byl umělec, jaký se vyskytuje v literatuře světové jen ojediněle. Svými dobrodružnými romány vrátil próze starou slávu čisté epiky. Před jeho dílem stojí v úžasu největší duchové Evropy.’

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The 1930s, unquestionably, saw the first high tide of Joseph Conrad’s reputation among Czech readers and publishers. The next two decades, however, marked a rapid ebbing of these waters. There is almost a twenty-year gap between the last pre-war publication (Under Western Eyes) and the moment Conrad’s work began to appear regularly again, the only exception in this period of silence being Schulz’s translation of ‘Youth’ in a cheap paperback edition, which was issued as an illustrated boys’ story under the more compelling title Oheň v podpalubí (Fire under the deck). Again, the history of this translation remains rather obscure: Schulz died in 1935, but there is no indication that his version had ever been published before 1947. It is indeed possible to surmise that he might have prepared his translation of ‘Youth’ for the volume Laguna in 1912 and that the tale was finally excluded, but this is of course no more than speculation. The reason why no works by Conrad were published from the year of the Communist coup in the country (1948) to the year of the 20th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party (1956) is not difficult to find: Conrad, a seemingly apolitical poet of the sea, was unacceptable to the Czechoslovak Stalinists of the early 1950s. First, his personal sentiments were clearly antiRussian, and not only anti-Tsarist but anti-Bolshevik as well, as is well known. During the forty years of Communist rule in Czechoslovakia, The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes were not published, and when mentioned in literary histories, they were always marginalized as his weakest works. Second, Conrad was not a realist of the Dickens or Thackeray type (or, as Marxist critics used to say, a ‘critical realist’), which means that he did not express openly and in a simple, clear way, his sympathies for the working class and his hatred of predatory capitalists and contempt for a moribund aristocracy. Last, but not least, his style was complex and demanding, which by the terms of Stalinist aesthetics verged on the crime of formalism. The situation radically changed in 1957, the centenary of Conrad’s birth. Between 1957 and 1984 no fewer than fifteen titles were published, of which thirteen were new translations and only two (Nostromo and The Arrow of Gold) were revised versions of the pre-war renderings. Seven of them were accompanied by introductory essays in the form of prefaces or afterwords (a practice which, surprisingly, had not been followed in the pre-war Melantrich editions), written by Aloys Skoumal, Květa Marysková and Magda Hájková. The earliest of them were rather cautious attempts to say something relevant about Conrad. For instance, here is what Marysková says in her essay on The Shadow-Line: Let us notice in what way Conrad transcribes [transforms] one of his strongest experiences in the purely autobiographic Shadow-Line. It would be a mistake to seek the real meaning of his work in the hints of something profound and fatal, which the author arranges around his situations and the behaviour of his characters. [. . .] Instead, let us turn to his own words and, without further search for a secret meaning, let us accept facts as they are presented to us!’ 1358

8

‘Všimněme si způsobu, jakým přepisuje jeden ze svých nejsilnějších zážitků v čistě autobiografické Hranici stínu. Bylo by omylem hledat těžiště díla v náznacích jakéhosi hlubšího, osudového smyslu, jimiž autor opřádá jednotlivé situace i projevy jednajících osob. [. . .] Svěřme se raději pouhému autorovu slovu a místo pátrání po utajeném smyslu příběhu přijměme fakta tak, jak je sám předkládá!’

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It is a methodological instruction worthy of Mr Gradgrind and is evidently addressed to the Communist censor. In her essay, however, Marysková does, indeed, go beyond mere facts, when, for instance, she points out the metaphysical function of certain motifs. This is a small, but significant, development. The later prefaces and afterwords are more ingenious and interesting, because they also include the broader cultural context, as when Skoumal, in his preface to Almayer’s Folly, interprets Almayer as a father figure reflecting Conrad’s uneasy relation to Apollo Korzeniowski and Nina as an inheritor of the tradition of Polish Romantic female characters, or when he suggests affinities between Conrad and Paul Gauguin, as far as their technique of representation is concerned. In short, after a period of silence, the history of Conrad’s reception between the late 1950s and the mid-1980s appears to be satisfactory – almost all his essential works were published in those years, in modern, relatively good translations, some of them twice. In spite of reservations about some of the critical comments, Conrad’s work was not misinterpreted in any drastic way, and last but not least, most of these editions were beautiful books, hardbacks mostly. However, among the fifteen titles there are significant omissions. The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, for example, was not translated in those years – nor earlier. Heart of Darkness, Conrad’s tour de force, was introduced to the Czech reader for the first time as late as 1980. Let us avoid simplistic and sensational speculations about whether this happened because the regime was afraid of the readers’ application of the title to the bleak situation in Communist Czechoslovakia (the fact is that the novella had also escaped the attention of publishers even before the war), but let us instead consider another curious coincidence. In 1980, Heart of Darkness was published in Jiří Munzar’s translation by the Vyšehrad publishing house (together with Jiří Sirotek’s translation of The End of the Tether), and the following year Panorama brought out another translation of the same work, well hidden in a selection of Conrad’s shorter fiction called inaccurately Neklidné příběhy (Tales of unrest).9 The translator was Jan Zábrana, a skilful and inventive interpreter of English and Russian poetry and fiction, who was probably inspired to translate the story by his close friend Josef Škvorecký, whose admiration for Conrad had always been great.10 It is almost certain that the idea to translate Heart of Darkness dates back to the late 1960s and that Zábrana had worked on this difficult text for several years.11 In the 1970s, he was persona non grata for the post-invasion regime, and translating fiction was the only way for him to make a living up to the time of his premature death in 1984. The simultaneous appearance of two different translations of the same book provides an opportunity to compare and analyse,12 especially as the two translators

9

This was a frustrating moment for Jan Zábrana. In a letter of 18 February 1981, he complained to his friend Antonín Přidal, another distinguished translator, that the Vyšehrad edition seemed to be the result of Aloys Skoumal’s scheming, because he had wanted to have his translation out first. The translation, however, was not made by Skoumal, and Zábrana’s assumptions have not been proved correct. See Opelík 2018, 277. 10 In his autobiographical sketch, ‘I Was Born in Náchod . . .’, Škvorecký writes: ‘Joseph Conrad, one of the very best modern writers, introduced “deliberate confusion” into psychological portrayal, aiming for greater verisimilitude, greater realism. [. . .] I thought about Conrad, and then I pondered the inexpressible, surreal atmospheric change I experienced when, on board an Air India Boeing, I left Prague on a dark January afternoon, the day after the funeral of the self-immolated student Jan Palach’ (Škvorecký 1988, 60). 11 In February 1974 Zábrana noted in his diary, ‘Whenever I read the tale, I’m feverish, trembling all over. I’ve longed to translate it for years’ (‘Kdykoli tu povídku čtu, jsem jak v horečce, celý se třesu. Léta ji toužím přeložit’), Zábrana 1992, 293. 12 Such a comparison was attempted by Matouš Hájek and myself in Kalivodová and Eliáš 2017, 168–79, 195–203.

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were of such different backgrounds and indeed natures: Jiří Munzar was a Brno University professor of German, and translating English fiction was unusual for him; on the other hand, Zábrana was a poet and the experienced translator of a range of authors: Bunin, Pasternak, Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg and Sylvia Plath, but also Ed McBain, Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie and others. These three decades were also a period marked by a new contextualization of Conrad’s works. While, on the one hand, Conrad was presented as one of the greatest modern writers, there were also two tendencies that worked to reduce his stature – first to an author of juvenile fiction and second to a writer of exotic stories that could be placed next to books of travel. Gaspar Ruiz a jiné povídky (Gaspar Ruiz and other stories) and Tajfun a jiné povídky (Typhoon and other stories), both selections from several volumes of tales, were included in the KOD, a popular series of ‘books of courage and adventure’ issued by a publisher who specialized in children’s and young adults’ literature. On the other hand, Mezi přílivem a odlivem (Within the Tides), Mezi mořem a pevninou (a selection from ’Twixt Land and Sea and Tales of Unrest) and Neklidné příběhy (a selection from various books of tales) all testify to the latter tendency, because they were published by companies who, for the most part, specialized in travel books. The last phase of the publishing history of Conrad brings us to the present, to the period of a new political system and, eventually, to a new political formation, the Czech Republic. In the 1990s and 2000s the tide has ebbed again, a tendency curiously corresponding to that following the previous period of deep political and social change in the country. In fact, between 1984 and 2009 there were almost no new translations or newly conceived editions of Conrad’s works. With the exception of new printings of old editions (Lord Jim, Heart of Darkness and The End of the Tether) and even more reduced selections of tales, the Czech reader received only one new Conrad book in that period, and its status is more than problematic. In 2005 the Slovak publishing house Epos brought out an edition of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and ‘Typhoon’ in Czech translation. The problematic aspect is that the text was very probably not translated from English at all (in spite of what the book expressly claims), but from Slovak. Not only is the euphemistic Czech title (Černoch z lodě Narcissus) identical with that of the Slovak edition published by Tatran in 1975, but one of the translators, the late Eduard Castiliogne, is also the author of the Slovak version. Such a case is indeed unprecedented, since Conrad, difficult as his English may be, was always in the past translated from the original, and to make a translation of his text from Slovak, a language not very different from Czech, without acknowledging it, must be counted as a case of literary fraud. It is all the more deplorable when we realize that it was actually the only attempt to present an as yet unpublished Conrad text to Czech readers for twenty years. Fortunately, Czech readers can now enjoy a new, more competent translation of the same novel, which was issued recently. The following decade has seen a turn in the tide of Conrad reception, and this is unquestionably good news. First, another great debt was paid by the publication of new translations of Conrad’s two ‘anarchist’ novels, The Secret Agent (2010) and Under Western Eyes (2011). Slightly later, the first Czech translations of Conrad’s non-fiction appeared: The Mirror of the Sea, a selection of Conrad’s essays called Poznámky o životě a literatuře (Notes on life and letters) and the first part of his Congo Diary. Among the people active in carrying on the Conrad legacy were Petr Onufer (prompted mostly by another Conrad enthusiast, Terezie Pokorná, editor of the Revolver Revue), who specializes in translating and commenting on 284

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Conrad’s essays, and Petra Martínková, who had newly translated The Secret Agent, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and ‘The Duel’. However, Conrad lives on not only in books (and recently also e-books), but also on the stage. In 2011, David Jařab’s dramatic adaptation of Heart of Darkness saw its première in the Prague Divadlo Komedie (Theatre of comedy) and received much deserved acclaim for a fascinating, breathtaking performance showing man’s descent to the darkest recesses of the soul, inspired also by Coppola’s Apocalypse Now and passages from C. G. Jung’s Red Book. *

*

*

At this moment, it is necessary to turn our attention to yet another mode of Conrad’s presence in Czech culture, that of critical writings on him and his books. Magda Hájková, in her 1974 afterword to Lord Jim, maintains that critics are quite unsure about how to assess Conrad’s work and where to place it (297). She means English critics, but if she had said ‘Czech critics’, nothing could have been truer. Out of a number of more or less relevant texts, let us focus primarily on those published in academic periodicals and written by Czech scholars (with the solitary exception of Ian Milner, a New Zealander domiciled in postwar Czechoslovakia since the 1950s). It is quite difficult to find a text of this sort before the Second World War. Neither Otakar Vočadlo nor René Wellek, to name the most distinguished Prague scholars, paid much attention to Conrad in those years, and the Brno professor František Chudoba favoured older literature (Wordsworth, Hardy and above all Shakespeare). The most important pre-war Czech critic, F. X. Šalda, could hardly avoid Conrad but he was a professor of French and Czech literatures and wrote only occasionally about English or American writers. Yet in his 1927 article on the Czech poet and novelist Fráňa Šrámek he makes a brief comparison between Šrámek’s novel Tělo (Flesh) and Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, to show the superiority of the English writer over the Czech one, who, instead of representing an unfavourable situation in all its complexity, just ‘preserves apricots’ – that is, makes it unbearably ‘sweet’ and sentimental. This is a method typical of Šalda – he quite often uses great works of world literature to remind Czech writers of the smallness of their own achievement. Yet, however much Šalda praises Conrad, he adds almost in the same breath, ‘what little I know of him’, and he really does not seem to know more than Heart of Darkness. This means that Conrad serves him only as a kind of mirror, as an ‘aid to reflection’, to use Coleridge’s phrase. He serves simply as a foil; he is not studied or considered for his own sake. And this is an approach that would recur in Czech criticism with varying intensity over the decades. Nevertheless, with the edition of Conrad’s works from Melantrich in the 1930s the situation changed, and the year of the last Melantrich volume (The Rescue) also saw the publication of the first critical essay on Conrad in Czech. The text of Timotheus Vodička’s ‘Dílo Josepha Conrada’ (The works of Joseph Conrad) appeared in the fourth volume of the Listy pro umění a kritiku, a critical magazine also published by Melantrich. It was not the first item dealing with Conrad in the Listy: the first volume included Conrad’s own essay called ‘Knihy’ (‘Books’) and Ramon Fernandez’s short article on the art of Conrad (‘Conradovo umění’), both translated by Vodička, and there were occasional short reviews and announcements of English and Czech editions of Conrad’s books running through the whole five volumes of the magazine. Timotheus Vodička (1910–67) was a Catholic writer, one of several attached to Melantrich (including Fučík, Čep and others), and in part this influenced his assessment of Conrad. First of all, he claims in his essay that it is easier to approach modern artists and writers through their 285

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personal experience than through the form of their work, because the world they live in is no more the old, fixed one: it is a world of disorder and disintegration, and the artists, Conrad included, respond to this by fighting against negation. The negative force in Conrad’s novels is the sea, an element Conrad hates (as can be witnessed in his notes and autobiographical writings); the positive power counterpoising it is man’s faithfulness, his integrity. After making this preliminary statement, Vodička goes on to demonstrate it by an analysis of several of Conrad’s texts, especially The Rescue and Lord Jim. These two novels are, for him, the best representations of the nature of the conflict Conrad’s heroes have to face. Lingard fights not only with his destiny but also with his infirmity: he abandons a true ideal for a false one, and his story becomes a tragedy of betrayal, however unconscious of such a deed Lingard is. The conflict of Lord Jim is embodied by the narrator, Marlow, in whom Vodička sees the author’s own dilemma, his own ‘struggle for reality’, his own desires and scepticism. It is Marlow who fights for the truth of Jim’s story, who is a representative of the imperfect world’s attempts to reach for an ideal. Vodička’s conception of Conrad’s work thus provided an important interpretative guide for the pre-war Czech reader, and it also supplied him or her with a Conrad canon: among the books discussed in the essay, Nostromo is regarded as a less perfect novel, while Heart of Darkness and Under Western Eyes go unmentioned. Penetrating as Vodička’s interpretation is, there are still limits to it, which are due to the specific questions he asks of Conrad’s work. On the other hand, it is one of the rare attempts by a Czech critic to read Conrad conceptually and independently. After Vodička’s establishment of Conrad as one of the greatest modern writers, it comes as rather a surprise that the postwar history of Conrad’s critical reception moves along the old contextual lines. Zdeněk Vančura’s 1959 article, ‘The Negro in the White Man’s Ship’, promises a comparison of Conrad’s The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ with two other works of fiction, Prosper Mérimée’s ‘Tamango’ and Herman Melville’s ‘Benito Cereno’. The author even claims that ‘[t]his selection was inspired by the words of Joseph Conrad, who said (in a letter of his) that the complete isolation of a sea-going ship, “free from all land entanglements,” permits the clearer working-out of individual characters and their mutual conflicts’ (73). But while Vančura provides us with a brilliant analysis of both Mérimée’s and Melville’s stories, his treatment of Conrad’s text is disappointing, as if he, all of a sudden, were at the end of his own critical tether. What we get are mostly general statements such as ‘Conrad would scorn to embellish his genuinely honest and precise rendering of the world, as he sees it, with any trappings of intentional symbolism or mystical interpretation’ (89) or ‘He derives little satisfaction from a mere observation of the surface of things. [. . .] His individual experiment [. . .] is all the more severely bound to the aesthetic approach, as he looks for the value of the phenomena, not beyond them, but within them (89). Sometimes the critic even seems to contradict himself, as when he claims that ‘Conrad, avoiding the romantic symbolism of a Melville, returns to the conception of the immutable law which we have met in Mérimée’ (93), only to assert a page later that ‘in this way, Joseph Conrad continues the Romantic tradition which regards the universe as an embodiment of unfathomable mystery’ (94). All these statements are unsupported by textual evidence, and readers are simply left to decide whether they accept them or not. The reason why Vančura decided to treat the three tales in one essay is their common central motif, yet the difficulties he faces prove how problematic it is to place Conrad in such a simple context. Jessie Kocmanová’s treatment of Conrad in her critical essay ‘The Revolt of the Workers in the Novels of Gissing, James and Conrad’ (1959) is an even more blatant example of this 286

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tendency. She informs the reader right at the beginning that she is going to discuss ‘those writers, of middle-class or petty-bourgeois origin, unconnected with political theory or political organization, who nevertheless were obliged in the course of their artistic development to devote one or more novel to a theme related to proletarian revolt’ (121). Then she names the three writers and the works she will focus on – Gissing’s Demos, Thyrza and The Nether World, Henry James’s The Princess Casamassima, and Conrad’s The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes – and she adds: Of those writers, the two last are generally acknowledged today as having presented a profound picture of decaying bourgeois society in the period of imperialism, and are among the writers who have deeply influenced and still influence the novelist’s approach to his material. They have also been more adequately dealt with by critics, more is known about them, and hence I intend to refer to their work mainly by way of illustration. 121 And so she does – after a ten-page illuminating discussion of Gissing, she devotes two pages to James and one and a half to Conrad, only to discover that ‘Conrad does not strictly speaking ever deal directly with the revolt of the workers, but with the reactionary forces which are called into activity by that revolt,’ and that ‘the proletariat is still missing from his pages in these two novels’ (133). Kocmanová’s attempt to contextualize Conrad in this way is the most extreme: she quite evidently places him in a context where he does not belong. Marysková’s 1961 essay, ‘Personal Experience and Its Literary Expression in Joseph Conrad’s Youth’, is an attempt at a structural analysis of Conrad’s story, but even here she adheres to her above-mentioned belief that one must turn to the author’s words and nowhere else when interpreting a Conrad text. As a result, this contribution to the Czech criticism of Conrad is not as valuable as it promised to be. Ian Milner’s 1975 essay, ‘Image and Meaning in Conrad’s Fiction’, is a more complex work of criticism and also more difficult to assess. It focuses on Heart of Darkness, and the opening lines raise readers’ (contextual) expectations. Milner quotes from Conrad’s letter to H. G. Wells to illustrate how much Conrad emphasized the image (‘Since, O Brother!, I am but a novelist I must speak in images [. . .]’). He then quotes from another letter (‘you must search the darkest corners of your heart, the most remote recesses of your brain – you must search then for the image, for the glamour, for the right expression’) and finally from the Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’: ‘[Art] must strenuously aspire to the plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic suggestiveness of music – which is the art of arts’ (71). Several different contexts are evoked as a result of these quotations: Imagism (or Symbolism), Gustave Flaubert’s ‘le mot juste’ and Walter Pater’s ‘all art must aspire to the condition of music’. In his Romantic Image, Frank Kermode discusses Arthur Symons, T. E. Hulme and, most of all, W. B. Yeats. Conrad seems to complete this company. Milner’s concern, however, is different. In the following part he takes Roman Jakobson’s distinction between the use of metaphor and metonymy in literature to argue that Conrad’s application of the image is metonymical and that Conrad is thus a realistic writer of a new type, an heir to the English realistic tradition. He is partly right when he maintains that ‘[t]he norm of his art is that of the mosaic, in which the significant image, especially the recurring image which is “weighted” into thematic valency, is one of the most effective modes of artistic expression’ (78). In the second half of his essay, 287

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Milner demonstrates with copious quotations how the employment of imagery leads us to read the novel solely as a story of corruption. He concludes his analysis by observing that ‘Kurtz dies with “his” ivory piled on the deck before him, his face in death is ivory. The quest for Kurtz becomes the quest for what the ivory has done to him’ (88). Any other interpretation he rejects: Marlow asks us to see Kurtz’s dying ‘stare’ as being ‘wide enough to embrace the whole universe, piercing enough to penetrate all the hearts that beat in the darkness’. [. . .] He asks too much. Conrad’s artistic devices in unfolding the tale to this point have not prepared us for any such leap into the universal and metaphysical. Through Marlow he now seeks to transform the image of Kurtz’s stare into an all-embracing apocalyptic metaphor. And it does not work. What we have been prepared for, and marvellously persuaded to see, is the corruption of Kurtz. 88 Why was Milner so prescriptive? Why did he not discuss the metaphorical potential that is present in the story? Is it because he does not want to concede the fact that Conrad can see more than his images suggest? A brief Czech summary following the body of the text concludes with these words: ‘Even though Conrad tried to vaguely enlarge the semantic plane of the novella towards its end, its basic meaning rests on his masterful and uncompromising exposure of the imperialist exploitation and personal degeneration of those who serve colonialism’ (92).13 These words, one feels, were meant to address the Communist censor rather than the academic reader, and Milner was not so foolish as to repeat them in his English text, which might have been read by foreign scholars. Josef Škvorecký’s aforementioned admiration for Conrad culminated in his lecture ‘Why the Harlequin?’ (1982), in which he developed the idea, used for the first time in his novel The Engineer of Human Souls (1977), that Kurtz is a prototype of Stalin and other twentieth-century dictators, while the Russian ‘harlequin’ represents a subdued yet obedient and conforming nation. Škvorecký seems to be fascinated by the parallels between Conrad’s and his own situation (both were made to flee from territories occupied by Russian invaders) and sees a strong personal – and also prophetic – impulse in Conrad’s book. In his study Spisovatelé jako čtenáři (Writers as readers, 2006), Petr Poslední comments on Škvorecký’s reading of Heart of Darkness and compares it with Gustaw Herling-Grudziński’s reading of Under Western Eyes, which again provides a new context to consider. The history of the Czech critical reception of Conrad continues with Zdeněk Vašíček’s 2004 essay, ‘Conrad as Anthropologist, Malinowski as Writer’. Vašíček (1933–2011) was a Moravian archaeologist and historian who often wrote on literature and was apparently fascinated by Conrad (he published his short review of Heart of Darkness in the Kritická příloha Revolver Revue for 2000). In Heart of Darkness he sees the archetype of the journey which he reads as the ritual process of seeking one’s self, and he speculates on the extent to which Malinowski’s experiences in the archipelagos of Melanesian New Guinea reflect the experiences of Marlow,

13 ‘I když se ke konci Conrad sám snažil nejasným způsobem rozšířit významový plán novely, spočívá její hlavní význam v  mistrovském a nemilosrdném odhalení imperialistického vykořisťování a osobní degenerace těch, kteří kolonialismu slouží.’

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Kurtz and Conrad himself. The essay is the work of a philosopher trying to understand an anthropologist’s experience of a ‘heart of darkness’. If Vašíček finds new, viable Conradian contexts outside literature in other spheres of intellectual pursuit, Jiří Holý examines potential interactions within the world of literary production. In his 2006 essay, ‘K jednomu kontextu Holanovy básně Cesta mraku’ (On one context for Vladimír Holan’s poem ‘The Path of a Cloud’), he argues that, irrespective of whether Holan knew Conrad’s Lord Jim, Holan’s 1945 narrative poem shares the same basic conception of life as Conrad’s novel. The blacksmith, the shaper of forms, an archetypal figure in Czech poetry, seems to be analogical to the sailor, the conqueror of distant regions, who is an archetypal figure in English literature. The protagonists of the two texts, both men of great moral integrity, honour and what may be called noble hearts, are tested in an ordeal and both fail, which results in their fatal inability to restore the lost balance and their consequent death presented as some kind of sacrifice with a vague hope for redemption. Whether such a redemption is possible when the world is chaos and human life a katabasis, a descent to Hell, remains unresolved, perhaps more in Holan’s poem than in Conrad’s story. The affinity between their protagonists seems indisputable. Petr Onufer, another contemporary critic, also cannot resist the tendency to contextualize the work of Joseph Conrad. He opens the short afterword attached to his translation of Conrad’s essays by setting up a confrontation between the England-based Polish novelist and the England-based American poet T. S. Eliot. Eliot, who took the epigraph for The Hollow Men from Heart of Darkness and had wanted to do the same in The Waste Land, shared a similar understanding of the creative process with Conrad, based on an escape from personal emotions which tend to impede the artist’s journey to truth. The reasons why they prefer to be reticent about personal emotions are different; one sees it as a matter of form, the other as a matter of morals, but the resulting character of their work, with their keen critical view of reality, brings them close together (Onufer 2014). The work in which this process of contextualization and recontextualization of Conrad culminates is undoubtedly Petr Poslední’s recent collection of critical essays, Jiný Conrad (Another Conrad, 2016). Its subtitle, ‘Essays in Literary Culture’, indicates that the book should not be taken as a conventional monograph but rather as a series of essays on various topics inspired by Conrad’s work. The author confronts Conrad with other writers, such as William Faulkner, Virginia Woolf, Jerzy Andrzejewski, Tadeusz Konwicki and Josef Škvorecký (and sometimes he says a lot more about these writers than about Conrad), but he also introduces broader issues such as sensualism, literary authenticity, the role of literary criticism and the way literature is taught in schools. Poslední understands this kind of writing as an opportunity for the essayist to explore a hypothesis through various discourses and styles, employing concrete images, traditional tropes as well as universal topoi, and changing linguistic strategies to attract a broad reading public. Such a conception results in deliberate eclecticism and hybridity, whose actual purpose is perhaps to mask, first and foremost, the fact that the essays collected in his book were written at different times in the author’s career, with different intensities of engagement with Conrad. Complicating the matter further is Poslední’s professional specialization in Polish and Czech Studies and his reliance on translations rather than original texts. On the other hand, this also enables him to show how Conrad has been read in Poland and how his work has tended to be appropriated by Polish culture and incorporated into the Polish Romantic tradition. 289

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Though Poslední does not restrict himself to the Polish context, his knowledge of Polish literature provides him with an important clue to Conrad’s style and themes. He sees Conrad’s major contribution to world literature in two aspects: at the microstylistic (linguistic) level, it is the persuasive style, a narrative reflecting the narrator’s conviction of the correctness of his subjective judgement of reality and, simultaneously, his recurring doubts about the way he understands it, as exemplified by Marlow in Lord Jim; at the macrostylistic (thematic) level, it is the thematized idea of ‘faithfulness to an ideal’ or, more narrowly, ‘faithfulness to oneself ’. Poslední then contends that the idea of faithfulness to oneself does not apply to characters only but also, by extension, to the process of writing, acting as a means of authentication. The reader, attentive to the author’s specific strategies, should therefore be capable of identifying the ‘authentic Conrad’. The weakness of such novels as The Rescue, he argues, lies in the fact that they fail to consistently retain the characteristic features of Conradian narratives, especially the persuasive style. This argument is, however, not entirely convincing: it seems that Poslední ignores the contradictory position Lingard, the ‘focalizer’ of The Rescue, finds himself in, when he attempts, on the one hand, to be ‘faithful’ to the natives’ struggle and, on the other, cannot resist attachment, in an illusory, romantic manner, to Mrs Travis – a personal dilemma reflected in what may then falsely be judged as stylistic inconsistency. The section demonstrating the probable influence of Conrad’s innovative stylistic methods on various writers closes with a chapter devoted to the contemporary Czech writer Lubomír Martínek (b. 1954). Convinced that Martínek is a ‘Czech Conrad’, Poslední attempts to specify what the two novelists share and in what aspects they differ. There is no doubt that Martínek knows Conrad’s work and that he has been impressed by it, especially given that, like his subject, he himself has lived in exile in various countries. Beyond references to Conrad’s novels scattered in Martínek’s texts, there is also his distrust of cultural constructs such as ‘nation’ or ‘home’, his faithfulness to himself (i.e., his preference for individual rather than for what Poslední calls ‘cultural’ memory), and his own kind of persuasive style which may turn Conrad’s perspective topsy-turvy but which stands as an authentic hallmark of the author – the characteristics that clearly link Martínek and Conrad. Although these topics are only touched upon rather than analyzed in depth, this is an important and suggestive reading. Moreover, it indicates how Conrad continues to be an inspiring voice for Czech culture and how his legacy lives on in many forms.

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CHAPTER 20 JOSEPH CONRAD’S TRANSLATIONS AND RECEPTION IN DENMARK Ebbe Klitgård

In certain ways Conrad’s reception in Denmark is connected with his reception in the two other Scandinavian countries, Norway and Sweden. As far as Norway is concerned, this goes for more or less all the early translations, which were published for both the Danish and the Norwegian market. The connection to Conrad’s Swedish reception is of a different kind. Two of the most influential critical works from Sweden, Olof Lagercrantz’s Färd med Mörkrets hjärta (Voyage with Heart of Darkness) from 1987, and Sven Lindqvist’s Utrota varenda jävel (Exterminate all the brutes) from 1992 were both translated into Danish (see Lagercrantz 1989 and Lindquist 1993) and have often been referred to in subsequent Danish criticism. However, as both authors are thoroughly treated in Claes E. Lindskog’s chapter in the present volume, I shall not include them further in this chapter. I have structured this chapter chronologically in four main parts, but in the spirit of Conrad I sometimes use both flash-forward and flash-back, as well as leaving gaps that make up blank spaces on the map. In each part I will discuss translations first, then the reception and (to a lesser extent) Conrad’s influence.

1897–1931 The first publication in Denmark to include writing by Joseph Conrad was the magazine Cosmopolis. Revue Internationale 18, in 1897. This reprinted an abridged version of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (from TU). This Copenhagen-based literary magazine, published in the years 1896–8, was highly unusual in not printing translations but original texts in three main European languages: English, French and German. In a country where some, but not many, people had competence in reading all three languages, this magazine must be characterized as oriented towards a small elite, which also explains its relatively short period of existence. An anonymous reviewer in the newspaper Politiken (13 June 1897) in fact complains that Cosmopolis is becoming too academic: after mentioning a few contributions, such as Edmund Gosse’s survey of modern French novels, he says specifically about the Conrad extract that ‘the English short story by Joseph Conrad is unreasonably short – only eleven pages – and moreover not finished. But it does seem promising.’1 I have compared the short review with the list of contents from that month’s Cosmopolis, and it seems that in fact the reviewer read only the first few texts – Conrad and Gosse are first and third – before passing a scathing judgement.

1

‘og den engelske novelle af Joseph Conrad er urimelig kort – kun elleve sider – og tilmed ikke afsluttet. Men den tegner dog godt.’

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However, the reviewer is right in complaining that Conrad’s short story was not well served by being reduced from approximately thirty to just eleven pages. ‘An Outpost of Progress’ did appear in an unabridged version seven years later, in 1904, when the first Danish Conrad translation (undertaken by Axel Halling) was included in a volume with the title Hvileløse historier, a straight translation of Tales of Unrest. This volume was republished in 1920 with a new title, Lagunen/En fremskudt Post, using the titles of two of the short stories: ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘An Outpost of Progress’. The translation is faithful with only a few adjustments, such as the division of long paragraphs into shorter ones. Halling, who was also the translator of a couple of later Conrad texts (including The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’), set a high standard for translation, probably with the help of his publishers. His decision to translate ‘nigger’ and ‘negress’ as ‘neger’ and ‘negerinde’ (‘negro’ and ‘negress’) was not problematic for the Denmark of his time, and he has generally taken care translating finer points of linguistic detail, which are, of course, important in the case of Conrad. I shall not go into a detailed analysis of the translation as I have done elsewhere (see, for example, Klitgård 2013), but I have sample-tested all the Danish translations, and, whereas there are of course slips and some debatable points, the standard is unusually high. However, this high standard is not something that can be taken for granted. Many Danish literary translations from before, during and even after Conrad were heavily edited, abridged and in other ways manipulated, a case in point being the first five of the seven Jane Eyre translations that have appeared to date, as I have demonstrated in a forthcoming article (Klitgård 2022). There was a time gap of twelve years between Halling’s first translation of Tales of Unrest published by V. Pio and the next translation, Almayers Daarskab (Almayer’s Folly), translated by Peter Holm and published by Martins Forlag. However, in the period between that publication in 1916 and 1931, no fewer than eighteen other translations appeared, covering most of Conrad’s works. These nineteen publications were marked as official translations for Denmark and Norway and were all published by Martins Forlag, who had their main office in Copenhagen, but also, for most of the period, a second office in Oslo. The translations are all distinctly in the Danish language, but, with Norway having gained independence from Denmark in 1905, the two languages and cultures were not then as far apart as they are in the present day. I have not looked further into the Norwegian reception than this, but it does appear as though Norway in Conrad’s own lifetime, and for a little time beyond that, was served mainly by these Danish translations. A more detailed investigation of the eighteen translations from Martins Forlag shows that the titles were mainly translated directly, such as Sejr for Victory and Tilfældet for Chance. However, there are some exceptions, most notably Forlis (Shipwreck) for Lord Jim, Ruslands Skygge (Russia’s Shadow) for Under Western Eyes, and Almayers gæst (Almayer’s guest) for An Outcast of the Islands. In nearly all cases the publisher provided only a translation of the novel or story without prefaces, notes and commentary, but in one case, Sejr, Conrad’s own preface is translated. This is perhaps because Conrad’s remark about finishing it before the First World War began was considered important. From 1926, in Planteren paa Malata (translations of stories from A Set of Six), the volumes included price lists and brief introductions to earlier publications, but otherwise the translated texts are left to stand alone. A list of translators and works translated reveals that Martins Forlag distributed the translations among several translators: Peter Holm, Almayer’s Folly (1916); Axel Halling, Lord Jim (1916) and The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1917); Halling and Holm, Typhoon (1918); Louis 292

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v. Kohl, The Secret Agent (1917); Jesper Ewald, Under Western Eyes (1918); C. Th. Meldal, ’Twixt Land and Sea (1919), Youth and Heart of Darkness (1921), The End of the Tether (1921) and, with Holm, An Outcast of the Islands (1919); Knud Poulsen, Victory (1920), The Rescue (1921), The Shadow-Line (1922), The Rover (1924), The Arrow of Gold (1925) and Chance (1931); and Tom Smidth, Within the Tides (1926), The Secret Sharer (1927) and The Mirror of the Sea (1929). The best known of these translators is undoubtedly Knud Poulsen (1881–1946), himself an author and for many years a reporter at the newspaper Politiken. Among the translations I have checked, Poulsen together with C. Th. Meldal stand out as extremely good translators of Conrad. It can be concluded that most of Conrad’s works were translated by 1931, with the striking exception of Nostromo. However, since there are no introductions, afterwords or commentary provided with the translations, Martins Forlag do not add anything to understanding the reception of Conrad. There are frequent advertisements from Martins Forlag in Politiken, perhaps because the newspaper includes no reviews of Conrad in this period. Nor does the other leading Danish newspaper, Berlingske Tidende, it seems.2 The very first substantial evidence of Conrad’s critical reception that I have been able to locate is an anonymous obituary in Politiken from 4 August 1924, the day after Conrad’s death. Conrad is here described as among the best if not the best modern prose writer in the English language. After a description of Conrad’s life, the obituary records the journalist’s own preferences among his books: Victory, Lord Jim, Typhoon and The Arrow of Gold. The whole obituary presents its author as an ardent Conrad reader. The following year there was an entry of about four pages on Joseph Conrad in Dansk Litteraturtidende (Danish literary newsletter) written by Iver Gudme (1893–1965), a Danish librarian who also held a law degree. The article provides a catalogue of Conrad translations in Danish, rather than a list of Conrad’s original publications, indicating what we know to be the case – that most foreign literature was then read in translation. There are fine presentations of four works: Lord Jim and Typhoon as in the obituary, but attention is then also paid to ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ and ‘Youth’. Gudme expresses the opinion that Conrad’s ‘style lacks Stevenson’s charm and naive attitude, and Kipling’s half journalistic, somewhat superior matter-of-fact way of narrating is far from his way, but in return he manages to hold on to his reader in his insistent, direct narration.’3 Many modern Conrad readers would agree with at least some of this, but Gudme’s way of including very personal judgements is taken a bit far later in the article: ‘A problem such as love does not really interest him, and women are by and large rare in his books’4 (Gudme 1925). Of course, it is a fact that there are more male than female characters in Conrad’s work, but does that mean women are not important in his fiction? In addition, it is an amusing thought, if hard to substantiate, that Conrad was not interested in love, but it is a remarkable perspective on love that it is a ‘problem’.

2

I have had the opportunity to search Conrad-related material in the Politiken archive from the 1890s to the present day, but Berlingske Tidende, and most other media, have newspapers electronically registered only from the late 1980s in the Danish Infomedia. Generally speaking, the tradition of newspapers offering book reviews got going only in the 1930s, when Berlingske Tidende had well-known reviewers. 3 ‘Hans stil mangler Stevensons Charme og Naivitet, og Kiplings halvt journalistiske, noget overlegne Matter of factMaade at berette på er ham ganske fjern, men til Gengæld formaar han at hold sin Læser fast ved sin indtrængende, direkte Fortællemaade’ (Gudme 1925). 4 ‘Et Problem som Kærlighed interesserer ham ikke dybere, og Kvinder er i det Hele sjældne Agerende i hans Bøger.’

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In a book written and edited by Bert Blom to be treated later in this chapter, there is a modern Danish translation of an article published in the London Mercury in 1930, written by the Danish sea captain Otto Lütken. He admires Heart of Darkness but argues that it is truly fictive and that Conrad was in the Congo for too short a time to really get to know it (Lütken 1930 in Blom 2006). Lütken was in the region for eight years, and, from his personal experience of meeting several of the individuals who appear under new names in Heart of Darkness, he believes that Conrad has been most unfair to many of the real-life characters and also generally unfair to the Belgians in the Congo. Lütken’s argument involves recording specific times and places when Conrad was demonstrably not present. I agree with the editor Bert Blom that Lütken may have a point about historical authenticity, but that he underestimates the power and truthfulness of Heart of Darkness as fiction.

1954–85 There is a gap between 1931, where the last section ended, and 1954, a period of twenty-three years when no new translations of Conrad’s works appeared, and where I have not found anything substantial at all published about Conrad. This does not mean that Conrad was forgotten in that period, since his books were still borrowed from libraries. Moreover, from the 1930s onwards (and especially after the Second World War), English took over from German as the number one foreign language in Denmark, and this meant that English literature was now also read in the original language. From the 1950s, literary anthologies became increasingly popular and two new Conrad translations appeared in such anthologies: Youth, translated by Lasse Egebjerg in 1954 for a ‘world’s classics’ volume, and ‘The Secret Sharer’, translated by Vagn Grosen in 1957 in the context of other sea narratives. By far the most important translation published in the 1950s was Mørkets hjerte (Heart of Darkness), published in 1956 by Aschehoug and (according to the cover note) translated by C. Th. Meldal and Inger Budtz-Jørgensen. As I shall demonstrate later, Heart of Darkness became the single most read and discussed story in the Danish reception of Conrad’s work, and until 1986, when the first of three new translations appeared, this version was the only option for readers wanting to read the work in translation. It has often been referred to as ‘the old translation’ (e.g., by Madsen 1988) and has been mentioned repeatedly as the first translation of Heart of Darkness.5 However, almost everybody has overlooked the fact that Heart of Darkness was included in the 1921 volume Ungdom (Youth) by C. Th. Meldal. This is understandable, because this translation is catalogued only under that title in the Danish library system. By checking the 1921 translation against the 1956 translation, it is clear that Inger Budtz-Jørgensen and her editor in 1956 used Meldal’s 1921 translation as a base text, changed the spelling following the Danish spelling reform of 1948 and made revisions here and there. In my estimate these revisions are not always improvements, and, although the spelling changes were needed for a 1950s’ publication, Meldal deserves to be recognized as a more accurate translator than Budtz-Jørgensen.

5

I have to plead guilty to also describing this translation as the first when I wrote the Conrad bibliography for Rigmor Bækholm’s writers’ encyclopedia entry on Conrad in Forfatterleksikon: Udenlandske forfattere. See Bækholm 1999.

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One of the most productive Danish translators ever, with more than 800 book translations to his credit, was Mogens Boisen (1910–87). Boisen became well known in Danish literary circles, and his work has been both admired and criticized (see, e.g., I. Klitgård 2007 and E. Klitgård 2013). Boisen became the first Danish translator of Nostromo in 1966, followed by a new translation of Typhoon in 1970 and one of Lord Jim in 1974, entitled Forlis (Shipwreck) like Halling’s 1916 translation. Like that translation, Boisen’s translation was reprinted with the new title Lord Jim in 2014. I have compared passages from these two Lord Jim translations, and, although both translations are good, Boisen has the edge over Halling. Boisen also includes Conrad’s 1917 afterword, and the 2014 edition has a fine new introduction by Kristian Bang Foss. Boisen’s Typhoon translation appears in a six-volume series, Berømte klassikere for unge læsere (Famous classics for young readers), in the same volume as Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn and James Fennimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans.6 As in the 1950s, anthologies like this were frequently published during this period. Conrad’s ‘The Informer’ from A Set of Six appeared in one such anthology in 1973, translated by Karen Mathiasen. This was a collection edited by the well-known Danish crime-writer Tage la Cour under the title Dødsmasken og andre historier om spioner og forrædere (‘The Death Mask’ and other stories about spies and traitors). The collection has attractive illustrations and, like Boisen’s Typhoon, seems designed to appeal especially to younger readers. Conrad’s critical reception in this period was largely confined to a few encyclopedia entries. However, in 1967 there was a twelve-page chapter on Conrad in Fremmede digtere i det 20. århundrede (Foreign authors in the 20th century), edited by the literature professor Sven Møller Kristensen (1909–91) and with contributions from Danish scholars and authors. Henrik Strandgaard, then an associate professor of English at the University of Copenhagen, gives a thorough introduction to Conrad’s life and works, then offers an assessment of individual works. He singles out Nostromo as Conrad’s major work, but also provides an insightful reading of Heart of Darkness, which he calls ‘a moving example of the writer’s art’ (‘bevægende skrivekunst’). A similar enthusiasm is expressed for Lord Jim, although Strandgaard agrees with those critics and readers who find the second part much weaker than the first. Strandgaard thinks Under Western Eyes is a better novel than The Secret Agent, and he calls The Arrow of Gold Conrad’s worst novel. He is more nuanced than that when he describes The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ as Conrad’s first important narrative and observes that, like many later tales, it uses a sea story to expose a particular psychological problem (Strandgaard 1967). It is significant that Strandgaard makes a point of looking at Conrad as a serious artist rather than as a writer of romantic sea tales. That Conrad was studied seriously at Strandgaard’s university as well as elsewhere in the country can be gauged from an increasing number of student papers and masters’ theses about him, especially from the 1970s. I have singled out just one example, a masters’ thesis by Claus Johanssen from 1973, ‘Symbolik i Joseph Conrads “Youth”, “Heart of Darkness” og Lord Jim’ (Symbolism in Joseph Conrad’s ‘Youth’, ‘Heart of Darkness’ and Lord Jim), submitted to the English Programme, University of Copenhagen (Johanssen 1973). This is a fine piece of analysis, discussing the three Marlow narratives and referencing (among other things) Conrad criticism by E. M. Forster and F. R. Leavis.

6

As a real-life illustration of the reception of this series, I can add the personal detail that I received the six volumes as a present from my parents when I was ten in 1971, and I read the eighteen exciting novels at probably just the right age.

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By the end of the 1970s, Conrad was certainly on the reading list at the University of Copenhagen: I read Heart of Darkness in my first year there in 1979–80. Coppola’s film Apocalypse Now from 1979 also sparked interest in Conrad, and not only at universities but among a wider public. Still, relatively little of substance was published in the 1970s. The last article to consider in this section is ‘Civilisationens skygger’ (The shadows of civilization), written by Peter Madsen, a professor of literature, and published in 1984 in the monthly magazine Samvirke (Co-op). The essay provides a very good introduction to Heart of Darkness for the general reader, based on historical contextualization and a particular engagement with colonialism.

1986–2000 No fewer than three translations of Heart of Darkness were published in the period 1986–2000, establishing Heart of Darkness as the dominant work in the reception of Conrad’s writings in Denmark. The first of these editions appeared in 1986, translated by Jørgen Sonne and including a ten-page afterword by him. Sonne (1925–2015) was a well-known poet, and he translated extensively from several languages. His translation of Heart of Darkness is very good, and the occasional footnotes as well as the fine afterword makes this a very reader-friendly publication. It serves modern Danish readers better than the somewhat outdated translation from 1921/1956. By comparison, the translation from 1995 by Erik Rosekamp is less successful, and the edition, with small print, no notes and no introduction or afterword, is not very appealing. The translation was published by a teacher’s organization, suggesting that it has mainly been used for teaching purposes. After its second edition in 1999, it was offered as print-on-demand. The third translation, from 1997 by Niels Brunse, is now the most read of all four translations and was reprinted in 2019 with a new afterword by the well-known TV reporter Mads Brügger. Brunse (born 1949) is probably the best-known living Danish translator, with translations of literary classics from German, Russian and English, including the formidable task of translating the complete works of William Shakespeare. Brunse is famous for never consulting earlier Danish translations: this means that his Heart of Darkness offers a fresh and independent alternative to Sonne. Some reviewers (e.g., Bredal 1997 and Levinsen 2019) offered brief comparisons of Brunse’s and Sonne’s translations, but a more thorough investigation is needed to establish more than a general impression of two highly competent translators offering alternative versions of a text that is no easy task for translators. In 1998 a new translation of The Secret Agent by Ib Christiansen was published, including a translation of Conrad’s afterword from 1920. This is a welcome replacement for Louis V. Kohl’s 1917 translation. The cover emphasizes the spy novel genre, and the inside cover briefly introduces the novel and Conrad, but apart from that, Christiansen’s fine translation is left to speak for itself. In terms of Conrad’s critical reception, two scholarly publications from the late 1980s deserve to be mentioned. Perhaps unsurprisingly, both were on Heart of Darkness. In 1988, Peter Madsen contributed an essay to a festschrift for Professor Johan Fjord Jensen, ‘Modernitet og melankoli: Fortælling, diskurs og identitet i Joseph Conrads Mørkets hjerte’ (Modernity and melancholy: Narrative, discourse and identity in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Madsen 296

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1988). As the title suggests, Madsen focuses on Marlow’s narrative and discourse, and discusses how identity and melancholy are foregrounded thematically. This is a thorough examination of Conrad’s work, although more inclusion of international criticism could have given Madsen’s reading more perspective and edge. The second article, ‘Conrads clairobscur’ by Frantz Leander Hansen, was published the following year in the well-known magazine Kultur og Klasse. It is a revised and abridged version of Leander Hansen’s masters’ thesis, offering a reading of Heart of Darkness with a particular focus on its role in modernism. Once again, more reference to international Conrad criticism would have improved the article. Two of the present-day Danish authors best known internationally, Carsten Jensen and Peter Høeg, have both been inspired by Conrad. Jensen began his career as a cultural journalist. As such, he wrote an article published in Politiken’s series ‘Yndlingsbog’ (favourite book) in 1986 (Jensen 1986). This offers a personal introduction to Conrad and to Heart of Darkness in particular, from which Jensen recalls a number of unforgettable scenes that have stayed with him. For readers of Jensen’s internationally acclaimed novel Vi, de druknede from 2006, translated as We, the Drowned in 2011 (Jensen 2006/2011), it is not difficult to see the inspiration drawn from Conrad, although Jensen in his tale of the sea writes in a different, though equally intense, narrative style. Jensen’s historical novel covers four generations and two world wars – and sea voyages from Newfoundland to Tasmania. Peter Høeg’s best-known novel is Frøken Smillas fornemmelse for sne from 1992, translated as Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow in 1993. Two years before that, in 1990, he published Fortællinger om natten, translated as Tales of the Night in 1998 (Høeg 1990/1998). This is a collection of nine fantastic tales clearly inspired by a fellow Dane, Karen Blixen, but in the case of the first tale, ‘Rejse ind i et mørkt hjerte’ (‘Journey into a Dark Heart’), also by Joseph Conrad. Indeed, one character introduces himself as Joseph Korzeniowski. He is subsequently referred to as just Joseph K., but he is clearly based on Conrad. The main scene in the tale takes place near the Congo river on 18 March 1929, when the railway line from Cabinda to Katanga was officially opened. A learned conversation takes place between David Rehn, a fictitious young Danish mathematician, and the equally fictious Russian general von Lettow and Conrad, who is also fictitious in the sense that he actually died some five years before this story is supposed to have taken place. Høeg’s piece of magic realism involves such counterfactual history writing, while the tale very successfully pays tribute to Conrad’s critical thoughts on imperialism and colonialism. There are also humorous effects when the old (and now slightly bitter and alcoholic) Conrad makes wry comments on his own works, especially Heart of Darkness. In the late 1990s there were a number of newspaper reviews of new translations and editions. In 1996, Bent Q. Holm, writing in Aktuelt, responded to the reprinting of Boisen’s translation of Nostromo, comparing it to Heart of Darkness. In 1997, Bjørn Bredal, writing in Politiken, compared Brunse’s translation of Heart of Darkness to Sonne’s, and also provided his own personal introduction to that novella (Holm 1996 and Bredal 1997). In 1998, Hans Larsen wrote a review of The Secret Agent in Ekstra Bladet, entitled ‘Agent-romanens moder’ (The mother of the agent novel), on the occasion of Christiansen’s translation of the novel and Christopher Hampton’s film adaptation (Larsen 1998). Two more substantial articles from the late 1990s also deserve to be mentioned. In 1998, Professor Svend Erik Larsen from Aarhus University pre-published a forty-page working paper, which does not seem to have subsequently appeared anywhere after this internal publication. It provided an insightful treatment of Lord Jim, which, according to its English 297

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abstract, took that novel ‘as its point of reference [. . .] to show how the novel reactualizes and confronts different conceptions of memory from the European history of ideas in philosophy, rhetoric and psychoanalysis’ (Larsen 1998). In 1999, Lasse Horne Kjældgaard (who was later professor at the universities of Roskilde and Southern Denmark) wrote an article in Kritik entitled ‘Attentat på tiden – en enkel historie om Joseph Conrad og Una-bombemanden’ (Assassination on time – a simple story about Joseph Conrad and the UNA bomber). The article takes as its starting point the so-called ‘Unabomber’, Ted Kaczynski, who allegedly took inspiration from The Secret Agent for his bombing campaign conducted across America between 1978 and 1995. Kjældgaard reports the case in detail, then goes on to analyze The Secret Agent carefully, establishing what Kaczynski was chiefly inspired by. In the process, Kjældgaard draws on various international critics and provides a close reading of Conrad’s novel (Kjældgaard 1999). Encyclopedia entries on Conrad have generally been excluded from this chapter, but Rosinantes forfatterleksikon from 1999 belongs to the genre of the more specialized writers’ encyclopedia. Rigmor Bækholm has written the Conrad entry, briefly discussing his main works in the context of his life, but also with reference to their literary merits. Bækholm emphasizes the enormous importance (‘kollosal[e] betydning’) of Heart of Darkness but also acknowledges Conrad’s other works and his general importance (Bækholm 1999).

2000–21 There have been no new Conrad translations since 1998, except for a revised version of Peder Holm’s 1916 translation of Almayer’s Folly, undertaken in 2013 by Paw Mathiasen. This revised version received a negative review from Lars Bonnevie in Weekendavisen (Bonnevie 2013); it provides another illustration of the fact that revisions of old translations often do not work well.7 The use of Conrad for educational purposes is apparently in Denmark something that begins at university level. As we have seen already, his works have been studied at Danish universities since the 1950s, but I have found next to no published material for educational purposes. One exception is my own book from 2001, British Narrative Prose 1700–1900: Ten Classics, which includes a chapter designed as an introduction to Lord Jim, with a ten-page extract, glosses and questions for discussion (Klitgård 2001). I have often used it for intensive reading before asking a class or group to read the full novel, but books of this kind are rare in Denmark, for some reason. It has also been used outside Denmark (for example, by academic contacts in the Czech Republic), but, although it sold out, it was never reprinted or digitalized. Conrad is widely read in Danish universities, especially Heart of Darkness, as indicated above, but most students will not only not buy a book version, they will also not read Danish translations or Danish criticism. Everything, more or less, is read in English, and it can all be accessed for free either via google or through library search engines. This is the main life of Conrad in Denmark today. For those who still read newspapers there have been frequent occasions to read about Conrad in the last twenty years or so. Bo Tao Michaëlis and Jes Stein Pedersen, two leading 7

This particular translation has also been poorly served by shoddy proofreading.

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cultural journalists at the newspaper Politiken for many years, frequently refer to Conrad. Substantial articles from their hands include ‘Filmatisering: Op ad floden, ind i mørket’ (Film version: Up the river, into the dark) (Michaëlis 2001) and ‘Klassikeren: Navnet er Verlock’ (Classic: The name is Verloc) (Stein Pedersen 2003), which offer insightful perspectives on Heart of Darkness and The Secret Agent respectively. Literary critics from other newspapers also seem to know their Conrad: for example, Bo Hakon Jørgensen from Kristeligt Dagblad, whose 2012 article ‘Oh at være en opdagelsesrejsende’ (Oh, to be an exploratory traveller) provides a good introduction to Heart of Darkness, and Lars Bonnevie, whose 2013 article in Weekendavisen, ‘Hvor de ti bud ikke gælder’ (Where the ten commandments do not apply), discusses The Secret Agent (Jørgensen 2012; Bonnevie 2013). Two grand old men of Danish literary criticism, professors Thomas Bredsdorff and the late Torben Brostrøm, both wrote extended introductions to Lord Jim in Information and Politiken respectively. Brostrøm suggested that Conrad has ‘The Pacific, literature, and the exotic heart as main areas of insight’, while Bredsdorff eloquently observes that ‘Heart of Darkness and Lord Jim are in a way each other’s mirror. In one Marlow travels up the great Congo river towards an unknown man who has gone berserk. In the other he follows a happy English boy, who, as the years and his flight pass by, turns darker and darker’ (Bredsdorff 2015; Brostrøm 2014).8 In 2006, the librarian Bert Blom published a book entitled Dagbøger og breve fra mørkets hjerte (Diaries and letters from the heart of darkness). Besides providing a Danish translation of Conrad’s Congo diary and some of his letters, Blom included other historical documents relevant to Conrad’s Congo visit, such as the already mentioned article by Otto Lütken from 1930 and diary notes by H. L. Duhst, Ludvig R. Koch and Hans L. Madsen. In addition, a long chapter of the book is devoted to Conrad’s letters to Roger Casement and Casement’s own diaries and reports. Blom’s highly praiseworthy effort to contextualize Heart of Darkness is enhanced by his perceptive and knowledgeable commentary and introduction. Blom’s intention was not to provide another reading of Heart of Darkness, nor was it, as he says, to analyze or pass judgement (‘analysere eller fordømme’) (Blom 2006, 6). Instead, with this book Blom has given us an insight into Conrad’s Africa by providing central historical documents about Conrad’s Congo, some of them not published before. Another Danish study of Conrad and the Congo is Frits Andersen’s Det mørke kontinent: Afrikabilleder i europæiske fortællinger om Congo from 2010, translated in 2016 as The Dark Continent: Images of Africa in European Narratives about the Congo by William Frost and Martin Skovhus (Andersen 2010/2016). At nearly 700 pages, this is a major study, which has been accepted for the Danish doctoral degree (habilitation) at Aarhus University. In Part III, Andersen reads Heart of Darkness in terms of ‘Modernist Form and Embodied Experience’, ‘Adventure Fiction’ and ‘Gothic Romance’, but while these readings are enlightening and informed by international Conrad criticism, Andersen’s chief interest is clearly the historical context and debates about the Congo. Thus, the treatment of Stanley is more substantial than that of Conrad, and many other travel accounts are also brought into play. I began this chapter with an example of Conrad criticism that travelled across borders without the English language as intermediary, my example being the work of Lagercrantz and 8

‘med Stillehavet, litteraturen og hjertets eksotisme som særlige kundskabsområder.’ / ‘Mørkets hjerte og Lord Jim er på en måde hinandens spejlbilleder. I den ene rejser Marlow op ad den store flod i Congo mod en ukendt mand, der er gået berserk. I den anden følger han en glad engelsk dreng, der som årene og flugten går, bliver mørkere og mørkere.’

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Lindquist translated from Swedish to Danish. Occasionally, this kind of cross-border transmission also happens within contemporary European academic networks. This is the case with Maria J. Calvo Montoro’s contribution to a 2009 festschrift for Lene Waage Petersen, associate professor of Italian at the University of Copenhagen. This essay was translated from Italian as ‘Joseph Conrads stemme: Calvino og havet’ (Joseph Conrad’s voice: Calvino and the Sea) by B. Grundtvig (see Montoro in Grundtvig, Jansen and Lausten 2009). All the festschrift essays are related to Italian studies, and Conrad comes into the picture only because Montoro is a specialist on Calvino’s indebtedness to Conrad. The story of Conrad’s reception in Italy thus enters, through Italian Studies, into the Danish reception of Conrad.

Coda With two major studies of Conrad placing Heart of Darkness in its context, and a cross-border dialogue with the Italian reception of Conrad, my chapter ends on an optimistic note. Together these affirm the contemporary international nature of Conrad studies, very appropriately too for an author who straddled so many languages, cultures and places. I have shown how the Danish reception until 1931 was characterized by translations of nearly all of Conrad’s works, and how, after a gap of twenty-three years, new translations emerged. Criticism of Conrad’s works in Danish newspapers, magazines and in academia emerged slowly from the late 1960s, then grew to be more prominent and have now reached the state where it can be said that Conrad for a small country like Denmark has been firmly established as a great author.

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CHAPTER 21 CONRAD IN GREECE: TRANSLATION, PERFORMANCE, POLITICS Nic Panagopoulos

Joseph Conrad is a fairly recent arrival on the Greek literary scene and still little known. Although in a Gallup poll conducted amongst sixty top Greek writers, Heart of Darkness figures at number fourteen on their list of 100 favourite books,1 the expatriate Pole who obtained British citizenship and wrote in English has not yet managed to reach a wide reading audience, a paradox familiar to Conradians and one which afflicted the author during his lifetime too. The underlying reasons for this may, in part, be cultural: Conrad was Catholic by birth and aristocratic by class and temperament, whereas Greece is a strongly Orthodox culture which has increasingly leaned towards the left, firstly as a consequence of the German occupation during the Second World War (1941–4), and secondly as a reaction to the military dictatorship from 1967 to 1974, the so-called ‘Colonels’ Junta’. Furthermore, it is tempting to speculate that Conrad’s pessimistic worldview and anti-heroic protagonists jar somewhat with the Mediterranean temperament of the modern Hellene, distant child of Aeschylus but also of Aristophanes. One recalls the Italian female reader who allegedly found the atmosphere of Lord Jim ‘so morbid’ that, in response, Conrad was forced to defend his novel in the Author’s Note by questioning whether she was Italian or European at all, since, as he argued, ‘no Latin temperament would have perceived anything morbid in the acute consciousness of lost honour’ (LJ, ix). In any case, although Greece has quite a large market for literature in translation, especially of modern American authors, many of whom were influenced by Conrad, the first translation of Conrad’s work (‘Typhoon’ and ‘Falk’) appeared only in 1951, followed twentyfour years later by the graphic novel translation of Lord Jim from the famous American ‘Classics Illustrated’ series. However, there was an increase in the number of translations in subsequent decades. From 1978 to 2015, there were about thirty-seven separate translations of Conrad’s work into Greek, most of which were published in inexpensive paperback editions or as newspaper supplements. More recently, the tide definitely seems to be turning with ten new translations, particularly of lesser-known titles (for example, ‘The Black Mate’, ‘An Anarchist’ and ‘The Planter of Malata’), appearing in slightly better editions since 2016.2 In this chapter, I focus on Conrad’s Greek reception from the point of view of translation, performance and politics. Besides reviewing recent internet and newspaper articles introducing Conrad’s life and work to the Greek reading public, I shall be analyzing a comparative study of two translations of Heart of Darkness, entitled ‘Race and Representation in Heart of Darkness’ (2013), which attempts to show how the novella’s anti-colonialist critique is rendered in a way

1

‘60 Έλληνες συγγραφείς επιλέγουν τα αγαπημένα τους  βιβλία’ (60 Greek authors choose their favourite books), Thessaloniki Arts & Culture.gr., https://www.thessalonikiartsandculture.gr/vivlio/60-ellines-syggrafeis-epilegoun-taagapimena-tous-vivlia/. 2 ‘Tζόζεφ Κόνραντ’, Biblionet: The Greek Books in Print, http://www.biblionet.gr/main.

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that reflects the changing political situation in Greece during the 1990s. Besides an increase in translations between 2017 and 2019, what is encouraging about Conrad’s Greek reception is the recent spate of theatrical performances and public readings of Conrad’s work. In early 2014, an adaptation of ‘The Return’ was staged by the Karolos Koun Art Theatre (one of the leading high-brow Athenian theatres), while in late 2013 there was a public discussion of Heart of Darkness in the context of the 28 October Annual Celebrations marking the Greek resistance against the Axis Powers during the Second World War, which included poetry readings, film screenings and folk dances. Like Byron’s, Conrad’s anti-imperialist message is not lost on the small and often beleaguered Greek nation, it seems. Thus, one recent anti-austerity post entitled ‘How to Destroy an Entire Country’ concludes, ‘The horror! The horror!’ (Grayson 2013). Together with some of the more accessible short stories (for example, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ and ‘The Shadow-Line’), Heart of Darkness appears to be Conrad’s most popular and frequently translated work, and we find many references to this novella as the inspiration behind Francis Ford Coppola’s film Apocalypse Now (1978), a far more familiar work for the cinephile Greek public. The fact that many of the translations have taken the form of newspaper supplements has meant that the shorter fiction has generally been preferred. Yet, besides translations of individual works or collections of short stories, Conrad is included along with other famous sceptics in a Greek translation of Christopher Hitchens’s The Portable Atheist: Essential Readings for the Nonbeliever (Hitchens 2012). Conrad’s work also appears in a Greek anthology entitled Inspiration and Creativity (Stathopoulou 2004), along with the translated work of such writers as Proust, Woolf and de Sade. This would suggest that there is a tendency for Conrad to be marketed in Greece as an avant-garde or iconoclastic author, but the 1994 translation of ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ listed under the category ‘children’s fiction’ or ‘books for young readers’ points to a generic confusion surrounding Conrad’s work that persists even in the English-speaking world. This same confusion (or misleading marketing policy) can be seen in the cover of the 2006 Greek translation of Lord Jim, which depicts a smiling child’s face next to what looks like a toy windmill, emphasizing the protagonist’s naiveté to a distorting degree, even as it recalls Conrad himself being likened to an ‘incorrigible, hopeless Don Quixote’ (APR, 44). Besides these various translations, in 2000 there appeared an illustrated English adaptation of Heart of Darkness, retold by the Greek-American teacher and novelist Peter Kipling (Kipling 2000). This was intended to expose Greek EFL students to some of the classics of English literature, and was accompanied by a cassette recording read by Duncan Skinner. Turning to this adaptation first (which is entitled The Heart of Darkness), one observes the typical problems of adapting any literary work, especially a slippery modernist text such as Heart of Darkness. Conrad’s novella seems to have been singled out for this purpose because of its briefness but also because of its ambiguous and evocative quality – an EFL teacher’s dream or nightmare, depending on how one looks at it. Nevertheless, the final product suffers from a subjectivity of focus and overemphasis on the storyline which recalls Conrad’s confession that, reduced to its ‘bare bones’, his stage adaptation of The Secret Agent ‘makes a grisly skeleton’ (SA, xv). If we add to this, Marlow’s famous disclaimer that the meaning of the narrative ‘was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze’ (Y, 48), then the difficulties of adapting this particular work must have been considerable. There are various factual inaccuracies or deliberate liberties taken with the source (for example, 302

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the Company headquarters is placed in Africa), combined with creditable attempts to reveal the subtext of the novella and bring out the essence of the story (for example, the strategic delay in rescuing Kurtz is made explicit, while ‘The horror! The horror’ is retold in a way which retains its irresolvable ambiguity). The expressionistic illustrations by Tim Wilson which accompany the text are interesting in themselves, yet even more potentially problematic than the rewritten novella since they crystallize images which are deliberately designed to be vague and suggestive, recalling the more or less failed cinematic adaptations of Heart of Darkness that attempt to stay close to the original (for example, Nicholas Roeg’s 1994 film, starring John Malkovich). A welcome exception is the image of horn-like branches protruding from the direction of the white man observing the chain gang. Like the narrative of Heart of Darkness itself, this illustration subtly associates the demonic element in the novella with the Europeans rather than the Africans. However, Tim Wilson has represented the indigenous peoples as generally Westernized, with Caucasian-type features and lightly-tanned skin in a way which recalls the Western appropriation of Africa and Africans which post-colonial critics have taken issue with in Conrad’s novella. In one image, the illustrator seems to differentiate between the style of the more primitive tribesmen in their natural state in the jungle, and the Africans used as slave labour by the company, as though they belonged to different races. But the greatest challenge faced by the illustrator was how to represent the mysterious and symbolic Mr Kurtz, who eventually turns up in only one image and looks like a diminutive, bald, Marlon Brando sitting at the back of a canoe. A stark contrast in illustration style and adaptation strategy can be seen in the graphic novel adaptation of Lord Jim from the famous American ‘Classics Illustrated’, which appeared in Greek in August 1975. The front cover shows a golden-haired Jim with a far-away-look in his eyes, clad like a naval officer, with an anxious-faced Jewel, on her knees, clinging to him in melodramatic fashion. The setting resembles that of a Second World War film set in the Pacific, and the same Orientalist style characterizes the first page of the graphic novel which depicts the storming of Sharif Ali’s fort, with Jim leading the charge uphill in Hollywood fashion. The Greek publisher is not responsible for any of this, of course, since the illustrations represent exact copies of the original American graphic novel, but what is curious is the rendering of the passengers of the Patna as ‘Chinese pilgrims on their way to the Holy Lands’ (LJ 1975, 3). This mistranslation can probably be accounted for by the fact that the word used for the pilgrims in the original graphic novel, ‘Asians’, is often a synonym in American English for ‘Chinese’, which was chosen by the Greek translator without checking the original. Be this as it may, this graphic novel is close to the source and quite effective, despite sacrificing the modernist ambiguity and temporal ordering of Conrad’s plot in favour of a conventional exotic romance with a tragic ending. What this graphic novel illustrates is that, in contrast to such works as Heart of Darkness and The Secret Agent, the story of Lord Jim seems able to bear the process of adaptation without incurring too many losses. This, in turn, would suggest that Lord Jim may be one of the most plot-based of Conrad’s major novels. Staying with the Greek translations of Conrad’s works, a specialized study by Anna Mangina, entitled ‘Race and Representation in the Heart of Darkness’, appeared in 2013 in an electronic journal published by the Faculty of English Studies, University of Athens, which hosts work by students who have finished the interdepartmental MA in Translation Studies (Mangina 2013). The subject of this particular study is the way two Greek translations of Heart of Darkness from 303

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1990 and 1999 represent the colonizer/colonized binary in the novella differently, emphasizing or toning down racial differences and stereotypes, not only with regard to the Africans but also the Europeans. Although the study repeatedly employs the definite article before the title of the novella3 (a recurring inaccuracy in the reception of Heart of Darkness found in other languages, no doubt) and misspelling Marlow’s name (‘Marlowe’), it does demonstrate the difficulties of translation, especially the dilemma of deciding between ad verbam and an ad sensum renderings, a factor crucial in the adaptation of literary works. It appears that the two translations analyzed by Mangina sometimes change from one strategy to the other, with varying results, suggesting that it is difficult to avoid introducing elements into the target text that are not to be found in the source because of the connotative nuances found not only in the same word across different languages but also in the same word across different historical periods. A case in point is the word ‘nigger’ used by Conrad in Heart of Darkness. Setting aside the much-discussed problems raised by the use of this term in The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, it is difficult to decide how to translate this word into Greek to differentiate it from the apparently less racist ‘negro’. This problem is compounded by the fact that the word ‘nigger’ has been appropriated by African Americans today in the process of transculturation and is arguably less loaded than the term ‘negro’, which evokes anthropological discourse and has been replaced by ‘black’ in common parlance. However, the word ‘black’ in Modern Greek (μαύρος) is more rather than less racist than ‘negro’ (νέγρος), and there is no separate word for ‘nigger’ except for the very negative αράπης which derives from the word ‘Arab’ and evokes Greece’s 400-year occupation by the Ottomans. A similar problem arises when one wants to translate the word ‘Englishman’ into Greek. When Marlow says to the doctor who examines him in Brussels that he was ‘not in the least typical’ (Y, 58), this has been rendered in the 1990 translation as ‘I hastened to assure him I was not the model of an Englishman’ (Mangina 2013, 181). As Mangina points out, there are two words for ‘Englishman’ in Greek, άγγλος and εγγλέζος, and the 1990 translation chooses the latter, more loaded term. The 1999 translation, on the other hand, offers a simpler ad verbam translation of Marlow’s phrase: ‘I hastened to ensure [sic] him I was not in the least a representative type’ (Mangina 2013, 181). Mangina speculates that the more alienating term for ‘Englishman’, εγγλέζος, may have been used in the 1990 translation because Greece had not yet become a full member of the EU at the time and saw its European partners from a greater distance, while the 1999 translation avoids explicit reference to Marlow’s Englishness because the ‘European consciousness of [. . .] Greek society is boosted’ (Mangina 2013, 186), so there is less need to stress cultural differences between member states. As Mangina concludes, ‘the study confirms that target versions of texts can register various narratives circulating in a target environment (e.g. the narrative of Europe as ‘self ’ or ‘other,’ of racism etc.) registering the position of [the] translator and the awareness sociopolitical conditions may have raised’ (Mangina 2013, 186). In contrast to Mangina’s essay, we find various misreadings of Conrad’s work in press reviews and internet blogs. Anastasios Vistonitis, in one of the largest daily newspapers in Greece, To Vima, writes in an online article reviewing a translation of The Shadow-Line, on 3

The exact title of Conrad’s novella seems to have challenged many a Greek reviewer. In a review of W. G. Sebald’s The Rings of Saturn, on a website called ‘The Degas Reading Club’, Vivi G. renders Conrad’s title as ‘In the Heart of Darkness’; http://lesxianagnosisbiblioudegas.blogspot.com/2013/03/blog-post_28.html.

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26 August 2007, that in Conrad’s lifetime, ‘he was exceptionally successful’ and that the predictions of many critics that Conrad’s ‘pessimism would dissuade many readers from reading his work’ have since been proved wrong (Vistonitis 2008). This review goes on to emphasize the coexistence of the ‘real and imaginary’ in The Shadow-Line, claiming that ‘many strange and magical’ events take place in the short story: an emphasis on the supernatural explicitly repudiated in the Author’s Note, where Conrad stresses that ‘The world of the living contains enough marvels and mysteries as it is’ (TSL, v). An anonymous critic who reviewed a translation of Heart of Darkness for a site called Cogito Ergo Sum in 2012 confuses Coppola’s Apocalypse Now with Conrad’s novella: Kurtz is said to burn the Africans’ huts, while Marlow is supposedly called upon to assassinate the renegade who, unlike Marlon Brando in the film, is said to be ‘puny’, as his name allegedly suggests. This review concludes in promotional style by claiming that, whether Heart of Darkness actually represents an ‘allegorical autobiography’ of the author, as some critics have argued, the translation in question allows us ‘to enjoy one of the most important books of English literature for less than 8 Euros’. Besides misreadings of Conrad’s works, we also find historical inaccuracies concerning Conrad’s life disseminated in some essays and reviews. For example, Theodoros Grigoriadis, in a 2007 article commemorating the author’s 150th birthday, calls Conrad ‘the founder of modernism’4 and claims that the Poles have only just discovered him. This critic goes on to refer to Conrad as ‘an Easterner who looked with Western eyes’: a description which accords with the view of some of Conrad’s early reviewers but which is known to have upset Conrad, who repeatedly allied himself with Western culture and values while playing down the Slavic part of his identity as one which tended to ally him to Russians.5 Worse still are some biographical errors to be found in an otherwise very well-researched introduction to Conrad’s life and work for the more discerning Greek reader, published in one of the oldest literary magazines, New Hestia. In ‘Joseph Conrad (1857–1924): A Great Novelist of the Sea’, Theodoros Kallitsas perpetuates the popular stereotype of Conrad as an adventure writer while claiming that Conrad was born in Mohilow, and lost both his parents in 1869 (Kallitsas 1994). Almost all reviewers praise Conrad for being an acknowledged expert user of a language which was his third, but some reviewers such as Babis Hadzidakis claim that Conrad was of Polish-Jewish descent (‘Ο Κόνραντ με πολωνοεβραική καταγωγή’) (Hadzidakis 2011), a view which, albeit promoted by the Nazis who banned Conrad’s books in Germany simply because he was a Polish writer published by a Jewish publishing house (Fothergill 2006, 146), has no basis in fact.6 Kallitsas generously compliments Conrad’s prose style, which he says puts to shame even native English writers (Kallitsas 1994, 296), while also defending Conrad against F. R. Leavis’s 4 Grigoriadis 2007. Elsewhere in the article, Grigoriadis tones down this exaggeration by calling Conrad a ‘protomodernist’. 5 See the Author’s Note to A Personal Record: ‘Nothing is more foreign than what in the literary world is called Sclavonism [sic], to the Polish temperament with its tradition of self-government, its chivalrous view of moral restraints and an exaggerated respect for individual rights: not to mention the important fact that the whole Polish mentality, Western in complexion, had received its training from Italy and France and, historically, had always remained, even in religious matters, in sympathy with the most liberal currents of European thought’ (APR, viii–ix). 6 Berdiciew, Conrad’s birthplace, was the second most important centre of Jewish culture in the Tsarist Empire, but Conrad was born in an estate in the environs and immediately baptized. However, he sometimes gave his birthplace as Zytomierz, the town where his baptism certificate was issued. See Najder 1983, 10. For the question of Conrad’s ‘Jewishness’ as well as his ‘anti-Semitism’, see Knowles and Moore 2000, 17–19.

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criticism of ‘adjectival insistence’ in Heart of Darkness (Kallitsas 1994, 298). This New Hestia article also includes a section entitled ‘Conrad and Women’, which relates the various trysts and romantic escapades of the otherwise impeccable ‘Polish nobleman cased in British tar’ (CL1, 52). At the same time, Kallitsas too easily equates Conrad with his main narrator and claims that, when the Marlow of ‘Youth’ says, ‘Ah! The good old time – the good old time. Youth and the sea’ (Y, 42), ‘everyone knows that it is Conrad himself speaking’ (Kallitsas 1994, 298). On a certain level, this is undeniable, but it conflates fiction with autobiography in a way that partially distorts the former; if Conrad had wanted to write directly about his own personal feelings for and experiences of the sea, he would have done so, and did so, in his letters or nonfiction. In his fiction, he is doing something more as well as something different. Reproducing the documentary fallacy often applied to Conrad, the critic observes that Conrad ‘had experienced all the stories he wrote about. He had known and loved all his characters, been distressed by their misfortunes, and shared in their joys’ (Kallitsas 1994, 297). The article ends with an interesting section comparing Conrad to Pierre Loti, a comparison which Kallitsas says is popular amongst critics of the fin de siècle, but tenuous, because, despite these two authors’ similar life stories and love for literature, ‘Conrad was primarily a seaman, a captain of the merchant navy, who was burdened with many responsibilities and had as his main duty to steer the ship, of which he was the absolute master after God, to its destination port’ (Kallitsas 1994, 300). Thus, we could say that ‘A Great Novelist of the Sea’ reflects both the strengths and weaknesses of the modern Greek critical tradition, displaying a classical clarity of thought while following the dominant art-appreciation paradigm which views literature as a more or less direct message from author to reader containing profound insights on life. An important part of Conrad’s reception in Greece is the recent spate of public readings or theatrical adaptations of his work, designed to celebrate various landmark events in modern Greek history but also to bring Conrad’s work to a more intellectual audience in the fashionable theatres of the capital. An example of the latter is a recent avant-garde adaptation of The Shadow-Line, written and directed by George Simonas and produced in late 2015 under the title ‘Borneo: A Nautical Adventure’ by the experimental theatre company Mannschaft Ensemble Groupe.7 This adaptation was not pure Conrad, but intended to represent an ‘aesthetic dialogue’ between The Shadow-Line, Wagner’s Libretto for The Flying Dutchman, Coleridge’s ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ and Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, the connecting theme being the coming of age of the actual master of the Vidar, Captain Craig, on whom Conrad modelled the protagonist of his short story (Jean-Aubry 1927, 94). The performance was divided into two acts. The first consisted of a psychologically realistic interview between Captain Craig and the Harbour Master at Singapore, Captain Ellis, in which the former explains his reasons for not returning to his family in England and accepting instead the command of the master-less Otega: a corruption of the name of Conrad’s first and only command, the Otago. This act was performed in the theatre foyer, with the audience huddled around the performers, and was quite Conradesque in its mood and register. However, the second act moved to the stage proper in which Captain Craig and various unlikely looking sea dogs, played by actors in Beckett-style costumes, put on an absurdist mêlange of nautical 7

‘ΒΟΡΝΕΟ – ΜΙΑ ΝΑΥΤΙΚΗ ΠΕΡΙΠΕΤΕΙΑ ΣΤΗ ΣΚΗΝΗ ΤΟΥ RABBITHOLE’ (Borneo – A Nautical Adventure on the Rabbithole Stage), Cityway Free Press Magazine, posted 3 November 2015, http://www.dreamlab/ cityway/2015/11/03/βορνεο-μια-ναυτικη-περιπετεια-στη-σκην/.

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clichés and improvised stage business that was supposed to represent a kind of meta-theatrical happening in keeping with the prevalent style of the production – the blurring of fantasy and reality. The second act was indeed virtually incoherent, while very little of the dream atmosphere of Conrad’s short story and hardly any of the text made it through this very loose adaptation, based largely on improvisation. A more successful theatrical rendering of Conrad’s work was Joanna Kleftogiannis’s adaptation of ‘The Return’, produced by the prestigious Karolos Koun Art Theatre of Athens in early 2014, which focused on the Conradian themes of miscommunication, existential angst and the battle of the sexes. This adaptation used period costumes and tried, in the words of the producers, to preserve ‘the atmosphere and great literary value of the original’ while making a genuine effort to bring Conrad to life on the stage ‘rather than put on a soap opera’.8 I did not have the opportunity to watch this production, but the favourable reviews it received not only commended the adaptation but also promoted the original work in a country where Conrad is far from being a household name: one review described ‘The Return’ as a ‘masterpiece’ written by one of the ‘most significant Anglophone authors of the previous century’.9 Conrad’s work has also been politically appropriated in connection with the perennial Greek struggle for independence. Thus, in December 2013, Heart of Darkness was one of the texts chosen to be publicly discussed together with a cinema adaptation of Albert Camus’s L’étranger in the context of the annual celebrations marking the Greek struggle against the Axis powers during the Second World War.10 In the following year, the beautiful coastal city of Kavala in Northern Greece hosted its 57th Annual Cultural Festival, ‘Filippon’, in memory of the Asia Minor Catastrophe of 1922, and included an adaptation of Conrad’s ‘Youth’, read outside the city’s famous lighthouse.11 The inclusion of Conrad’s work in such festivals no doubt testifies and contributes to the author’s growing prestige in Greece as well as his image as a transnational writer who has escaped the strict confines not only of his native Poland, but also of the English literary canon, speaking for liberty and self-determination across national and cultural boundaries. Conrad’s work has been found politically significant not only for the often tragic predicament of modern Greece, but also for the current global crisis and the modern condition in general. Not surprisingly, Heart of Darkness has been especially singled out in this regard. As a reviewer of one of the recent Greek translations of the novella remarks, the pilgrims are subject to ‘a loose Kafkaesque bureaucracy which is supposed to control them, but which at the same time promotes competition between them’, while Kurtz is deemed to be dangerous because ‘he eludes the typical corporate sensibility’ (Hatzidakis 2011). Heart of Darkness is thus said to illuminate the ‘game of power, ambition, and intrigue which takes place in any pyramidal hierarchical system’, or as Hatzidakis writes (quoting Julio Andreoti), ‘power corrupts those who do not have it’. This reviewer concludes that, although Heart of Darkness is set somewhere 8

‘The Return’, by Joseph Conrad, http://img.pathfinder.gr/clubs/files_3/116028/7.html. ‘Η ΕΠΙΣΤΡΟΦΗ’ του ΤΖΟΖΕΦ ΚΟΝΡΑΝΤ στο Θέατρο Τέχνης Κάρολος Κουν (The Return by Joseph Conrad at the Karolos Koun Art Theatre), http://www. athens24.gr/going-out/ theater/news_detail.html?id=26434. 10 AΜΑΡΥΣΙΑ – Δραστηριότητες Λέσχης Ανάγνωσης (AMARYSIA – Reading Club Events), posted 10 January 2014, https://amarysia.gr/irakleio/politismos/55298-2014-01-10-16-08-29/2. 11 Φεστιβάλ Φιλίππων 2014 – Από τα πεντακόσια στα χείλια, Σκηνοβασίες: Μια περιπλάνηση στον κόσμο του θεάτρου (Filippon Festival 2014 – From five hundred to the lips [a literal translation of a Greek pun], Τightrope Walking: A journey into the world of the theatre), posted 7 January 2014, http://theatreviewer.blogspot.gr/2014/04/2014_12.html. 9

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in Africa, ‘then as now, the centre of the darkness is potentially the evil which resides in the heart of our own civilization’. In Theodoros Grigoriadis’s celebration of the 150th anniversary of Conrad’s birth, the author of Heart of Darkness is said to have returned from the Congo devastated by the ‘awful treatment of the natives and the greed of the Europeans’, thereby attributing Conrad’s breakdown to disillusionment with the colonial enterprise when, arguably, it had as much to do with simple reasons of health. In Manichean tone, Grigoriadis claims that ‘Kurtz is the devil’ who ‘embodies all the evils produced by a ruthless capitalist system’, but the review ends on a high note by astutely connecting Heart of Darkness with the post-9/11 world in which ‘enlightened westerners manipulate “fanatical” and “incomprehensible” Easterners’ and ‘Kurtz is reborn through terrorizing narratives, lurking in the twilight of civilization’. The most iconic example of the political appropriation of Conrad’s work in the current socio-economic climate is Congressman Alan Grayson’s hard-hitting article, ‘How to Destroy an Entire Country’, which was translated and reposted in Greece a few days after it appeared in the Huffington Post, in December 2013. Grayson, quoting from a 188-page report by the World Health Organization about the devastating effects which the credit crisis had on Greece, writes that ‘Suicide rates rose 40 percent in the first six months of 2011 alone. Murder has doubled. 9,100 doctors in Greece, roughly one out of every seven, have been laid off ’ (Grayson 2013). The ex-Florida Congressman ends his article with the phrase, ‘The horror! The horror!’, claiming these are the last words of Colonel Kurtz from Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Of course, the official figures which Grayson quotes were already out of date by the time his article was published and are even more so now, but the effects of austerity on the Greek people are far from over. They resemble a systematic genocide even more than they did in 2013, with the suicides arising from debt or economic helplessness possibly reaching the tens of thousands since the crisis began in 2009.12 However, Grayson’s confusion of Conrad’s with Coppola’s Kurtz is telling. The expatriate Pole may be almost universally acknowledged as a master of the English language who has influenced many artists in various media since he appeared on the literary scene at the end of the nineteenth century, but in Greece, as in Anglophone cultures, he is still not as popular or indeed as well known as many of his intellectual offspring. On the other hand, there are encouraging signs that this may slowly be changing.

12

It is difficult to say with any certainty how many suicides there were in Greece between 2009 and 2015. The figures given by the Greek Statistical Service differ considerably from those given by the Greek police, but it has been estimated that anywhere between 30,000 and 50,000 people may have taken their own lives since the crisis began. See Mantes 2015.

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CHAPTER 22 THE RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD IN HUNGARY Balázs Csizmadia

All of Conrad’s major works are available in Hungarian translation, yet they are relatively little known outside academia, and are often not known and appreciated for their true literary value. Conrad in Hungary is still struggling to shake off the image of a writer of sea and adventure stories, and, despite some serious work done in recent years, Conrad scholarship is undeniably limited in scope, particularly as compared to research done on some other major writers of the English language. Yet the history of Conrad’s reception in Hungary is interesting precisely because of its unevenness, as it is, to a considerable extent, a reflection of the ever-changing cultural and political climate of the country in the twentieth century and beyond. Conrad in Hungary has suffered periods of neglect, his texts have been misinterpreted and misused for ideological purposes, and some of his critics have exercised a form of self-censorship. At the same time, there have also been some insightful critical commentaries on his works and intriguing creative responses to them by Hungarian writers and other artists. Although none of Conrad’s works was made available in Hungarian in the writer’s lifetime, translation got off to a relatively early and promising start in the 1920s, due to the efforts of the publishers Genius and Pantheon. Genius, in particular, was known for its central role in publishing both the classics of world literature and the work of modern writers such as Thomas Mann. In so doing, it pursued goals akin to those of Nyugat (West), the most significant literary and cultural journal of the time, founded in 1908 and published until 1941. It is interesting to note that the first of Conrad’s texts to appear in Hungarian translation were Almayer’s Folly (1925) and The Arrow of Gold (1925). This seems to have been a shrewd editorial choice. Almayer’s Folly has a special place in the canon because it is Conrad’s first novel, and The Arrow of Gold, although now generally considered one of Conrad’s worst pieces, sold extremely well on its first publication in the United States in April 1919 (Najder 2007, 515). One may surmise that the Hungarian translation that followed only six years later, and only one year after Conrad’s death in 1924, was able to exploit the novel’s popularity abroad as well as the recent news coverage of the passing of the famous writer. The editors at Genius certainly tried to do so in the following blurb for Almayer’s Folly (printed at the end of the volume containing the translation of The Arrow of Gold): It was just the other day that the death of [Conrad] [. . .] made the news all over the world. Polish by birth, he became an officer on English ships, and seventeen years later one of the greatest writers in English and the pride of English literature, the inimitable master of the English language [. . .]. Today Joseph Conrad’s books are perhaps the most widely read of any twentieth-century writer anywhere in the world, and the work that

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earned him his unparalleled popularity almost overnight with readers of all classes and ranks, and readers with all kinds of standards, is – Almayer’s Folly.1 ‘Félvér’ 1925, 318 This hyperbolic passage certainly does not attest to a deep understanding of Conrad’s art, and the claim that Almayer’s Folly brought him great popularity is simply wrong (Najder 2007, 204). In other promotional material published by Genius in the mid-1920s (‘Arany’ 1925, 211; ‘Joseph Conrad’ 1926, 159), Conrad’s novels were described in terms suggestive of adventure, the exotic and love interest, as if echoing the opinion of many of his early reviewers in Britain thirty years before (Sherry 1973, 47–81). Yet the blurb quoted above also correctly places Conrad among the great writers in English and carries no political overtones, unlike some of the critical commentary of later decades. In the mid-1920s, Genius held the exclusive rights to publish Conrad’s works in Hungary and was planning to bring out a ‘uniform Hungarian edition’ (‘Joseph Conrad’ 1926, 159).2 The project, however, was stopped after the publication of the third volume, The Shadow-Line, in 1926. In a review of this volume in Napkelet (East), one of the leading literary journals of the time, József Megyeri emphasizes the importance of the psychology of the characters in the novel over the plot. He also praises Conrad’s use of language to imply things rather than state them directly, a characteristic which reminds him of Dostoevsky and Knut Hamsun (Megyeri 1926, 563), thus placing Conrad in very distinguished company. Three other translations were published by Pantheon in the 1920s: The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1927), An Outcast of the Islands (1928), and a volume containing ‘Youth’, ‘The End of the Tether’, ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘To-morrow’ (1929). For all the differences between each individual Conrad translation from this period, there are some general points to be made about them. The most conspicuous tendency is to give preference to readability and style over faithfulness to the original texts. In some cases, translators have taken considerable liberties with Conrad’s prose, ranging from an extreme form of (rather unnecessary) paraphrase to the omission of certain words or even passages. Imre Neményi’s translation of ‘Youth’ is a good example of both phenomena: the very first paragraph has been reworded and embellished to the extent that it is almost unrecognizable, while the reference to the prestigious training-ship Conway and the three sentences relating to Thomas Carlyle’s Sartor Resartus and Frederick Burnaby’s A Ride to Khiva are all missing (7). The translator may have thought that the omissions were necessary because his readership would be unfamiliar with these names, but this practice now seems unprofessional. Indeed, Pál Vámosi’s new translation of ‘Youth’ from 1960 includes the passages excised from the earlier version.3 A less problematic but equally perplexing case of omission is found in Dezső Kiss’s 1926 translation of The Shadow-Line, which lacks not only the Author’s Note, but also the subtitle, epigraph, dedication and the quotation from Baudelaire. But perhaps the most interesting characteristic of some early Conrad translations, and one that is related to the examples from ‘Youth’ mentioned above, is 1

‘Csak a minap járta be a hír a világot [. . .] [Conrad] haláláról, akiből lengyel létére angol tengerésztiszt, és tizenhét évre rá az angol irodalom egyik legnagyobb büszkesége, az angol nyelv hasonlíthatatlan mestere [. . .] vált [. . .] Mert Joseph Conrad a XX. századnak talán legolvasottabb írója ma mindenütt a világon s a hallatlan népszerűséget az olvasók minden rendű, rangú és igényű táborában szinte egy csapásra szerezte meg neki a – Félvér.’ 2 ‘egyöntetü magyar [kiadás]’. 3 This translation is included in A haladás előőrse. Kisregények és elbeszélések (1979). See 225, 230.

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a failure to take cultural differences into account. I shall use two examples from the translation of Almayer’s Folly to illustrate this problem. The first is taken from the end of the novel, where the narrator says of the Arab Abdulla, Almayer’s enemy, ‘He took in his hand the beads that hung at his waist’ (AF, 208). In English, Kiss’s 1925 translation of this sentence would read as follows: ‘He reached for his rosary that hung at his chest’ (210).4 It is not clear why Kiss thought it necessary to change ‘waist’ to ‘chest’, but what is truly revealing is that he substituted ‘rosary’ for the original ‘beads’. This is a particularly inadequate translation since the rosary is an object used in Catholic religious practice, whereas Abdulla is a Muslim. The change in the second example, from the beginning of the novel, produces a comical effect: the ‘gin cases’ (AF, 5) in Hudig’s warehouses in Macassar, on the Indonesian island formerly known as Celebes, are transformed into ‘cases of pálinka’ (7),5 a traditional Hungarian fruit brandy. Both examples would seem to suggest that the translator did not have great confidence in his readership and was eager to eradicate from the text any element that he thought they might find unfamiliar or too exotic. However, such intrusions into the original are not only unnecessary and illogical, but also serve to weaken its artistic integrity. After the lively period 1925–9, no new translation of any Conrad text appeared in print for fifteen years. In this respect, Conrad’s reception in Hungary parallels his critical fortunes in Britain. As Knowles points out, the first five years after Conrad’s death were a phase of ‘posthumous public acclaim’, followed by one of ‘neglect and uncertain stocktaking’ in the 1930s (Knowles 2014, 67). However, it should be noted that, in terms of critical responses, Conrad’s reception in Hungary, unlike his reception in Britain, was consistently sparse until the early 1960s. Even the ambitious Nyugat, which was instrumental in spreading awareness of foreign literature, features no article on Conrad specifically. His name is mentioned a mere eight times in the journal (and all these references appear in the early period from 1927 to 1931), in most cases as a possible influence on a modern writer whose current work the article reviews. In Napkelet, too, only passing reference was made to Conrad in the 1930s, such as in an obituary for Rudyard Kipling in 1936. The author (who signed his article as ‘k.m.’) describes Conrad and Jack London as Kipling’s heirs but claims that, unlike Kipling, they have never been able to free themselves fully from the charge of writing adventure novels (k.m. 1936, 114). A much more perceptive commentary on Conrad came from Mihály Babits (1883–1941), a great poet and distinguished critic closely associated with Nyugat, who published his influential survey, Az európai irodalom története (A history of European literature) in 1935. In this volume, Babits devotes only a brief paragraph to Conrad, but the context in which he places Conrad’s fiction is interesting in itself and much more appropriate than those into which some of the more detailed commentaries of later decades tried to force him. According to Babits, world literature – which for him is basically synonymous with European literature – is in decline because it no longer represents the human condition in general but increasingly focuses on the particulars of a given time and place. Conrad, however, stands as a counter-example, as one of the few truly great modern writers who recognize the ‘new possibilities of the soul’ in the fictional raw material of their experience (such as the exotic in Conrad’s case), instead of using or misusing that material only for the sake of ‘naturalistic report’ (Babits 1957, 489).6 This 4

‘Olvasója után nyúlt, amely a mellén csüngött.’ ‘pálinkás ládák’. 6 ‘naturálista riport [. . .] új lelki lehetőségek’. 5

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argument is reminiscent of the distinction made earlier by Virginia Woolf in ‘Modern Fiction’ (written in 1919) between ‘spiritual’ writers and ‘materialists’ (Woolf 1938, 150). Fittingly, it seems to me, Babits also remarks of Conrad’s fiction that it reads as if Dostoyevsky had written about the topics of Kipling (Babits 1957, 489). Much later, Fredric Jameson was to make a similar point in The Political Unconscious (1981), when he declared that Conrad’s work was ‘floating uncertainly somewhere in between Proust and Robert Louis Stevenson’ (Jameson 2002, 194). A few years after Babits’s book on European literature had appeared in print, Antal Szerb (1901–45) published his monumental three-volume work, A világirodalom története (A history of world literature, 1941). In this survey, Szerb expands on some of the ideas formulated by Babits, giving Conrad’s fiction a slightly more detailed but still rather cursory treatment (Szerb 1989, 736–8). Importantly, Szerb emphasizes Conrad’s foreignness – a fact not mentioned by Babits – and sees in it a source of the spell and idiosyncrasy of his style. Conrad, he argues, had to craft each and every sentence he committed to paper because he had no ‘ready-made, conventional’7 ones at his disposal in the foreign language in which he chose to write (Szerb 1989, 737). In an article on the English and Englishness published five years earlier, Valér Ferenczy had made a similar point, arguing that the English language has a remarkable power to assimilate and is particularly suited to foreigners with outstanding linguistic abilities such as Conrad, who became one of the greatest stylists of the language (Ferenczy 1936, 427). Szerb also calls attention to the French influence on Conrad’s writing and justly sets him off from Kipling, in terms of the lack of ‘imperialist hullabaloo’8 in Conrad’s fiction and its presence in Kipling’s (Szerb 1989, 737). The picture Szerb draws of Conrad is sufficiently accurate in its generality, yet some of his comments are too categorical and questionable – such as that Conrad’s short story collection A Set of Six is superior even to his novels – and indicate that the author had obviously not read much of Conrad’s work (Szerb 1989, 737). However, his literary history is still vastly superior to Lajos Pál Bíró’s A modern angol irodalom története: 1890–1941 (A history of modern English literature: 1890–1941), published in 1942. In his two-page account of Conrad (Bíró 1942, 217–19), Bíró contends that his best novel is The Rescue (a work whose status in the canon is far from secure) and that he was a master of the adventure and the exotic novel; he misspells Almayer’s Folly as ‘Al Mayer’s Folly’ (Bíró 1942, 218); gives a summary of Conrad’s life that is at several points inaccurate; and, more disturbingly, uses language that is steeped in the racist imagery and attitudes of his time. In his reading, for instance, Almayer’s marital unhappiness is partly attributable to ‘the pestilent consequences of racial difference’ (Bíró 1942, 218).9 For almost two decades after the publication of Bíró’s book, the critical reception of Conrad in Hungary came to a virtual standstill due to the turbulent political situation in the country. The fascist government installed by the Germans in October 1944 was overthrown in May 1945; after a transitional period, a Communist regime was established in 1948, which remained in power at least until the 1956 revolution. Although Conrad’s works were not banned in Hungary, as they were in Nazi Germany (Fothergill 2007, 160), he was largely forgotten in this period. The narrow-minded cultural politics of the Communist regime did not allow for any 7

‘Sosem írt le kész, konvencionális mondatokat [. . .] minden mondatot magának kellett megcsinálnia.’ ‘imperialista csinnadratta’. 9 ‘a faji differenciáltság átkos következményeképpen’. 8

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serious engagement with Western literature. Conrad’s anti-Russian outlook and his scepticism about all political systems may have made him particularly suspicious. At a time that saw the ‘dramatic rediscovery’ of his works in Britain and the United States and the subsequent establishment of the ‘Conrad industry in international academe’ (Knowles 2014, 67; Niland 2014, 75), the only memorable contributions to the Hungarian reception were a few translations. The most important of these was Lord Jim (1949), translated by playwright, novelist and shortstory writer István Örkény (1912–79). A contemporary reviewer criticized Örkény’s style sharply for being ‘cumbersome’ and ‘un-Hungarian’ in its excessive use of relative clauses, which he claimed weakened the ‘writer’s message’ (Ormi 1949, 712).10 However, the criticism is vastly exaggerated. In spite of a few minor mistranslations, Örkény’s Lord Jim is generally very accurate, readable and powerful; indeed, it is perhaps the best translation of any Conrad text into Hungarian to date. The only publication of some relevance to Conrad studies in the 1950s that I have been able to locate is a brief review of an article by Horst Bien published in the East German journal Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik (Journal of English and American studies) in 1955 (András 1956, 164–5). The essay under review discusses Conrad’s attitudes to anarchism and the different types of anarchist characters in his fiction, mounting an ideologically motivated, predictable Marxist-communist critique of Conrad’s political vision in works such as The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes. It is presumably for fear of repercussions that the reviewer, László András, carefully limits himself to summarizing the main points of the article. He avoids making any critical remarks or pointing up alternative terms of interpretation, and he agrees with Bien that ‘Joseph Conrad was unable to understand the revolutionary role of the working class’ (1956, 165).11 András also seems to echo the author when implying that Stalin’s vision in things historical and political was much clearer than Conrad’s (András 1956, 164). Because of Conrad’s critique of Russian autocracy as well as of the anarchists and revolutionaries in The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes, it is no wonder that these works were regarded as particularly incompatible with official party ideology. As Mario Curreli notes, Soviet influence prevented the same political novels, along with Notes on Life and Letters and Last Essays, from being published in Polish translation until the mid-1970s (Curreli 2014, 104). In Hungary, too, the last Conrad texts to be translated before the change of the political system in 1989 were Under Western Eyes (1982) and The Secret Agent (1986), while Notes on Life and Letters and Last Essays have not been translated to date. The gradual softening of the political system allowed for an increased openness to Western culture and literature, which may help explain the revival of interest in Conrad in the early 1960s. As a result, some key texts of the canon were translated for the first time (‘Heart of Darkness’, 1960; ‘The Secret Sharer’, 1967; and ‘Typhoon’, 1968), while some others were issued in a new translation (The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, 1960; ‘Youth’, 1960; and ‘The Partner’, 1967). A few critical articles, not just on Conrad in general but also on Conrad studies as such, were now published in quick succession in different literary journals. It was also in this comparatively lively decade of the reception that Anna Katona published her Hungarian Conrad bibliography in the Fall 1969–70 issue of Conradiana. Katona served as the journal’s national editor for

10

‘Körülményes, hosszadalmas, magyartalan mondatok [. . .] vértelenítik az írói mondanivalót.’ ‘Joseph Conrad képtelen volt a munkásosztály forradalmi szerepének megértésére’.

11

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Hungary, and with her bibliography, although incomplete and unannotated, Hungarian Conrad studies now achieved a certain international presence (Katona 1969–70, 133–4). Marxist philosopher György (or Georg) Lukács (1885–1971) made repeated reference to Conrad in his massive two-volume work Die Eigenart des Ästhetischen (The peculiarity of the aesthetic, 1963), written in German but later also published in Hungarian translation. Discussing ‘belletristic’ literature (in the sense of lightweight or popular literature), Lukács writes: When we think of the oeuvre of truly great writers such as Theodor Fontane, Joseph Conrad or Sinclair Lewis, we can observe very clearly in part of their literary output, as opposed to their masterpieces, this degeneration of high art into mere belles-lettres [. . .]. Lukács 1987, vol. 1, 79012 As an example of Conrad’s high art, Lukács mentions Lord Jim. He argues that what distinguishes such great works from the belletristic ones is not the craftsmanship, nor the richness of the content, nor its quality of being interesting; the difference lies in the structure of the plot and in the characters (Lukács 1987, vol. 2, 536–7). At other points of Lukács’s book, Conrad’s name comes up mainly in reflections on the motif of the voyage and the human struggle with the elements in world literature (Lukács 1987, vol. 2, 615–16). In a 1964 study of Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, written in German but available in both Hungarian and English translation, Lukács again uses the example of Conrad to illustrate larger aesthetic categories and historical processes (Lukács 1971, 7–32). Thus, taking the difference between the novel and the novella as a starting-point, Lukács argues that contemporary and near-contemporary ‘bourgeois’ writers such as Conrad and Hemingway ‘provide proof of man’s moral stature’ in their masterpieces, novellas such as ‘Typhoon’ or The Shadow-Line, and The Old Man and the Sea, respectively (Lukács 1971, 9). In these works, ‘the social milieu of the novel disappears’ and the central figure is left alone to struggle against the forces of nature (Lukács 1971, 9). However, in the novels of these and other ‘bourgeois’ writers, the social relationships devour and falsify the characters.13 In this milieu, Conrad and Hemingway cannot show us an effective counter-force, but, like all great writers, they also need to represent human integrity and inner greatness, so they often turn to the novella (Lukács 1971, 10). But even their novellas, in which the ‘social nature of human relationships is thrust into the background’ and often disappears altogether, embody the conclusion of a period (Lukács 1971, 20–1). For Solzhenitsyn in One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, on the other hand, it is a question of a beginning, ‘an initial exploration of a reality in the search for the great forms appropriate to it’ (Lukács 1971, 15). In this novella, as opposed to the ‘bourgeois’ works mentioned above, even the natural features of the world represented are shown to be the consequences of human acts. Solzhenitsyn, Lukács believes, is a writer whose novellas play an

12

‘Wenn man an die Gesamtheit der Werke von wirklich hervorragenden Schriftstellern wie Theodor Fontane, Joseph Conrad oder Sinclair Lewis denkt, so kann man im Gegensatz zu ihren Meisterwerken in einem Teil ihrer Produktion sehr deutlich dieses Herabsinken der hohen Kunst zu bloßer Belletristik beobachten [. . .].’ 13 Both The Shadow-Line and The Old Man and the Sea are generally regarded as short novels, but Lukács makes a case for reading them as novellas. Also, it should be noted that Lukács’s praise for the novel Lord Jim in his earlier book mentioned above at least partly contradicts his argument about Conrad’s novels and novellas here.

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important part in the renewal of the tradition of ‘socialist realism’ (Lukács 1971, 21, 33). Clearly, Lukács’s insistence on his ideological premises made him overestimate the importance and aesthetic qualities of Solzhenitsyn’s work and, at the same time, underestimate those of Conrad and Hemingway, particularly in relation to their novels. He was even more critical of Samuel Beckett, whom he straightforwardly dismissed on account of his ‘decadence’ (Lukács 1971, 28). The point Lukács makes about Conrad in this study bears some resemblance to the (equally questionable) argument put forward by Virginia Woolf in her essay ‘Joseph Conrad’, written on the occasion of Conrad’s death in August 1924 (Woolf 1938, 222–9). Although no doubt for entirely different reasons, Woolf also expresses a preference for Conrad’s works set on or related to the sea – more precisely, those early ones in which he was able to ‘bring his figures into perfect relation with their background’ (Woolf 1938, 228). She claims that, until Nostromo, Conrad’s characters were simple and heroic, and in conflict with nature, but not with man; Conrad, she suggests, was able to represent the former type of conflict better than the latter (Woolf 1938, 224). Unlike Lukács, however, Woolf draws the dividing line between what she considers Conrad’s fine, early work (such as Lord Jim, ‘Typhoon’ or The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’) and his less successful later books (such as Nostromo or Chance), not between his novels and novellas. Critical reviews of state-of-the-art publications in Conrad studies were essentially nonexistent in Hungary prior to the 1960s. The first commentator to show familiarity with current work on Conrad abroad was Pál Vámosi, who in the early 1960s reviewed a number of important monographs as well as Jocelyn Baines’s major biography (Vámosi 1963a, 472–4; 1963b, 287–90). Vámosi also published two longer articles on Conrad’s fiction: the first explores the problem of imperialism (Vámosi 1961, 316–26), the second discusses the motif of fidelity and infidelity (Vámosi 1964, 181–7). The earlier paper, in particular, shows the influence of Marxism – though it is the Marxism of Arnold Kettle rather than that of Lukács – and the pressures of the dominant ideology of the day. There are clear indications that Vámosi, who was in fact deeply conservative, was trying to conform to expectations and exercised a form of selfcensorship in partially suppressing his real opinions. Already on the very first page of his article, we find the almost obligatory quotation from a Soviet critic, who makes categorical claims about the limitations of Conrad’s socio-political views; the assertion that Conrad was aristocratic; and the use of the term ‘bourgeois novel’ (Vámosi 1961, 316).14 Later, Vámosi discusses Conradian characters such as Gentleman Brown from Lord Jim or Mr Jones from Victory, and describes them as products of a ‘decaying society’ (Vámosi 1961, 321).15 Throughout his essay, there is also a mechanical and ideologically charged repetition of the word imperialism, which was common at that time, in combinations such as ‘imperialist conquest’16 or ‘imperialist wars’17 (Vámosi 1961, 322, 323). But what is perhaps the most interesting aspect of Vámosi’s argument is that he overemphasizes Conrad’s anti-imperialism and critique of racism, apparently in order to justify his interest in and appreciation of such a ‘bourgeois’ writer. In Vámosi’s second article, there is still the occasional pseudo-Marxist jibe at imperialism. At the same time, however, he considers Conrad a moralist concerned with the problem of fidelity

14

‘polgári [regény]’. ‘egy rothadó társadalom megdöbbentő torzszülöttei’. 16 ‘imperialista hódítás’. 17 ‘imperialista háborúk’ (emphasis in original). 15

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and infidelity, and silently propagates close reading as against the predominant Marxist approaches (Vámosi 1964, 181–7). Vámosi’s contribution to research on Conrad was certainly slight, but he usefully synthesized the work of scholars such as Baines, Albert J. Guerard and Thomas Moser, alerting his Hungarian academic readership to the fact that Conrad was a major writer of the English language whose works deserved serious study. Even more importantly, however, Vámosi was a translator and it is as such that he is likely to be remembered. Indeed, he alone translated nearly a fourth of the works by Conrad that are available in Hungarian today, which makes him the writer’s single most important and most prolific translator in the country. It is true that he often produced new translations of works that had already been translated, but this does not diminish his merits; in fact, he translated only such Conrad texts as are now generally held in high esteem. As opposed to Vámosi’s work, the philosopher Ágnes Heller’s impressionistic essay on Conrad, published in 1961 in the new literary journal Nagyvilág (The greater world; founded in October 1956), takes its cue from the Marxist aesthetics of György Lukács. The immediate occasion for Heller’s reflections on Conrad’s works was the publication, in 1960, of a volume containing Vámosi’s translations of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘Youth’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’. Heller’s article is to a lesser extent a review of this volume, but, for the main part, she is concerned with introducing Conrad to the Hungarian reader and putting his works in the context of larger aesthetic categories. Discussing the decline of adventure fiction, Heller praises Conrad as a writer who was able to maintain the classic unity of what she terms ‘external’ and ‘internal’ adventure18 – as opposed to bad adventure novels that focus only on external action, and, on the other hand, to writers such as Proust and Joyce, whom she criticizes for their exclusive interest in the adventures of the soul (Heller 1961, 747, 748). Heller’s Marxism is apparent in her disparagement of Proust and Joyce on these grounds, but a much cruder example of her ideology is her claim that Donkin in The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ represents the type of person who, much later, provided fascism with the social and psychological basis it needed to thrive (Heller 1961, 749). In reality, Donkin is Conrad’s caricature of what he saw as the modern socialist agitator (Knowles and Moore 2006, 108). Unfortunately, these are not the only instances of Heller making far too easy discriminations, and of her tendency to adjust Conrad’s works to her own ideological premises. It is equally perplexing to read that, according to Heller, Conrad’s best prose is always set at sea, that his fiction displays intensive hatred for Christianity or that he felt deep contempt for those of his characters who, overcome by fear, prove incapable of performing their duties in difficult situations (Heller 1961, 748–51). Accordingly, although it also accomplishes more than that, Heller’s article is important mainly by virtue of the attention it devotes to a major writer of the English language who had been neglected in Hungary for a long time – and by the fact that she addresses a wider audience than Vámosi. From the early 1970s onwards, Conrad’s fiction finally began to attract scholarly interest on a larger scale, even though, by international standards, that scale was still comparatively modest. In 1970, a two-volume history of twentieth-century English literature was published, with a chapter on Conrad by Miklós Vajda (1970, 81–102). Vajda’s introduction is sound, informative and essentially reliable, but some of his claims are too categorical; more importantly, students new to Conrad would have derived greater benefit from a little more textual 18

‘külső kaland [. . .] belső kaland’ (emphasis in original).

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commentary and a little less biographical detail. The ratio of commentary to biography is better balanced in Anna Katona’s brief discussion of Conrad’s fiction in the short history of English literature published two years later (1972, 576–80). In addition, Tamás Ungvári’s book on modern literature features a section on Conrad, in which the author discusses the PolishEnglish writer’s work in the context of tradition versus modernity in turn-of-the-century English fiction (Ungvári 1984, 193–205). Although Ungvári groups Conrad with H. G. Wells and John Galsworthy, his conclusion is that, unlike them, Conrad is a truly modern writer, mainly because his fiction epitomizes the alienation and loneliness of the modern individual. Citing David Daiches’s The Novel and the Modern World (1939), Ungvári agrees that Conrad is in fact the first major modern novelist writing in English (Ungvári 1984, 193). The most significant event in the Hungarian reception of Conrad in this broader period was the publication of Aladár Sarbu’s Joseph Conrad világa (Joseph Conrad’s world, 1974), the first (and, so far, the only) book-length study of Conrad in the language.19 Part of the series Írók világa (Writers and their world), the book aims to provide an accessible introduction to the life and work of Conrad for Hungarian readers, especially for secondary-school teachers of literature. As I have pointed out elsewhere, Sarbu’s study resembles a critical biography in that it does not treat Conrad’s life and fiction in complete isolation: the author spins a comprehensive if necessarily condensed narrative of both the man and the novelist Joseph Conrad (Csizmadia 2010, 9–13). It is fortunate that the balance soon shifts in favour of the works themselves, as this is what better serves the reader’s interests, but also because Sarbu is at his best when it comes to close readings. Sarbu’s informed and powerful interpretations force the reader to engage or re-engage with Conrad’s fiction even if he or she disagrees with them. However, the author’s strong opinions are also responsible for the book’s greatest weakness, namely the unfortunate intrusion of ideologically laden discourse at certain points in the commentary. Sarbu’s consistently Marxist approach to Conrad results, at times, in a too persistent and categorical affirmation of a questionable, pro-Soviet view of history and politics. Speaking of the Russian revolutionaries in Under Western Eyes, with whom the character Natalia Haldin is associated, the author comments that time has proven her right, and that with ‘astonishing accuracy’ (Sarbu 1974, 204–5),20 when she declares early on in the novel: We Russians shall find some better form of national freedom than an artificial conflict of parties – which is wrong because it is a conflict and contemptible because it is artificial. It is left for us Russians to discover a better way. Conrad 2003, 79 However, Conrad’s attitude to Natalia’s prophecy about her country’s future is clearly sceptical, and one may well argue that time has, after all, proven him right. Nonetheless, Sarbu’s wellresearched and eminently readable introduction, which may also be of interest to the specialist, is a particularly useful addition to Conrad scholarship in Hungary. The 1970s were a lively decade not only for the scholarly reception but also in terms of translations. Altogether eight Conrad texts were translated, of which five had never been 19 I am indebted to the generous advice of Professor Aladár Sarbu in writing this chapter. I am also grateful to Ferenc Takács and Jeremy Hawthorn for their useful comments. 20 ‘Natalia próféciáit hazája jövőjéről döbbenetes pontossággal igazolta az idő.’

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available in Hungarian before, most notably Victory (1970) and Nostromo (1973). The publisher responsible for the majority of these volumes was the state-sponsored Európa, with its strong focus on foreign literature. It was also Európa that published The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes in the 1980s, as well as, most recently, Chance (2008) and a volume of stories (2010) which includes the previously translated A Personal Record (1994). The quality of the translations varies, but this problem cannot be explored in detail here. However, a comparison of the early translations (from the 1920s and 1940s) with the ‘modern’ ones (from the 1960s to the present day) reveals some interesting general tendencies. Although there are occasional mistranslations in the modern texts as well (due to misunderstandings of Conrad’s syntax or vocabulary, or of the narrative situation), they are generally more accurate than the early ones. As I have pointed out above, many translations from the 1920s are not particularly faithful to the original texts and may even omit certain passages. The fact that nothing like this happens in the more recent Conrad volumes is due to an increasingly professional approach to translation in Hungary. In addition, translators, from at least the 1960s, have been able to rely on the publisher to have their work checked against the original text. Yet the early translations are often better at conveying the tone of the original than the more modern ones, especially when the rendering of informal spoken language or dialect is involved. This is the case in some of Vámosi’s translations, such as of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘Youth’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’. In The Nigger (1960), for instance, Vámosi tones down Donkin’s vulgarity and fails to find even a near-equivalent for his cockney voice. In the translation of the two Marlow stories (1960), the relationship between Conrad’s most famous narrator and his audience becomes less close as he addresses them in more formal language. (With a certain degree of simplification, we can say that Hungarian has two basic forms of the second-person pronoun ‘you’, one formal and one informal, and Vámosi chose the formal address, which in the plural is either ‘maguk’ or ‘önök’.) By contrast, Hugó Latzkó’s translation of The Nigger (1927) is more successful at rendering Donkin’s vulgarity (and to some extent even his cockney voice); while, in Imre Neményi’s version of ‘Youth’ from 1929, Marlow quite rightly uses the informal address when speaking to his sailing friends. While Vámosi was certainly the most prolific translator, much of his work does not do justice to the unique power of Conrad’s prose. However, it is interesting to observe that Vámosi’s translation of Almayer’s Folly (1983) is far superior to his work mentioned above, and that there are good translations of both The Secret Agent (1986) and Nostromo (1973). Part of the reason for this may be that these texts are told entirely or in large part by non-personified narrators external to the story, who typically use more formal language and choose their words more carefully than oral storytellers. Also, these novels have very little to do with the sea, and seamen’s jargon or different forms of dialect do not play a significant role in any of them. With a few exceptions, translators of Conrad into Hungarian seem to have been unable to render convincingly either the spontaneity of oral storytelling or non-standard forms of English. More intensive academic study of Conrad’s fiction began in Hungary in the 1990s. A number of scholarly articles and reviews of recent publications now appeared in both Hungarian literary journals and English-language journals based in Hungary. Many of these articles focus to a greater or lesser extent on Conradian narrative (see, for example, Juhász 1997; Csizmadia 2005; Pálmai 2006), while there has also been an interest in Conrad’s vision of Russianness (Reichmann 2010). In addition, I have published an extensive review essay on major currents in Conrad studies since 2000 in the Hungarian Journal of English and American 318

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Studies (Csizmadia 2009). Conrad has also been the subject of a fair number of BA and (particularly) MA dissertations written by students at Hungarian universities in the last two decades. In 2006, Tamás Juhász was awarded a PhD from Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, for a thesis on Conrad’s concepts of exchange.21 He later turned his thesis into a book entitled Conradian Contracts: Exchange and Identity in the Immigrant Imagination (Juhász 2011), which is the first full-length critical study of Conrad written by a Hungarian scholar (not counting Sarbu’s introductory book). Juhász’s monograph, however, is only indirectly related to the Hungarian reception of Conrad, and that not simply because it was published in the United States. In terms of its heavy reliance on post-structural theory and its interdisciplinary approach, it belongs firmly in the line of books produced by international (and especially American) Conrad scholarship. Besides these academic studies and reviews, two other books published since the early 1990s are of some relevance to Conrad’s reception in Hungary. One contains a (largely reliable) guide to ‘Heart of Darkness’ for students of English literature written in Hungarian, which contextualizes the novella and provides an overview of some contemporary critical approaches to it (Marinovich 1999). The other is a short account of Conrad in a history of world literature by István Kristó Nagy (1993) that is, regrettably, marred by well-meant but uninformed comments, omissions and factual errors. Finally, I shall discuss some of the creative responses to Conrad’s fiction in Hungarian literature and popular music. While an indirect Conradian influence could be posited in several cases, I have chosen three examples which directly engage with or at least refer to his work. The first is indeed little more than an allusion to ‘The End of the Tether’ by the narrator in Gyula Illyés’s novel Ebéd a kastélyban (Midday dinner at the mansion, 1962): A Polish-English writer has a breath-taking piece of writing. A fully authentic story about how a blind man, due to certain circumstances, is steering a ship on a sea full of reefs. This is how the country could have seen its helmsmen, if it saw them at all. Illyés 1985, 13422 The reference was first noted by the Conrad scholar Ivo Vidan of the University of Zagreb. Vidan rightly points out that the novel, which is an indictment of the Hungarian aristocracy in power before the Communist takeover following the Second World War, establishes an unusual comparison between the ways in which the nearly blind Captain Whalley steers his ship and how the Hungarian ruling classes were steering the country (Vidan 1974, 225). It should be added that the critique of the aristocracy by Illyés (1902–83), who was a major poet, writer and translator, is all the more powerful for the novel’s firm sociographic and autobiographical basis. The second example is a far more complex and extensive creative response to Conrad: a theatrical adaptation of Victory entitled Bűvölet (Enchantment, 2002) by playwright, actor and stage director János Gosztonyi (1926–2014). Victory seems to lend itself particularly well to adaptations, as is evidenced by Basil Macdonald Hastings’s ‘Victory’: A Play in Three Acts 21

To the best of my knowledge, Juhász’s is the only PhD thesis on Conrad ever submitted to a Hungarian university. ‘Van egy lengyel-angol írónak egy döbbenetes írása. Egy minden mondatában hiteles történet arról, hogy bizonyos körülmények folytán egy zátonyos tengeren hogyan vezet egy hajót egy vak. Ilyenformán nézhette, ha egyáltalában látta, kormánykerekének kezelőit ez az ország.’ 22

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(1919), two operas (by Richard Rodney Bennet ‘Victory’ in 1970 and ‘Samburan’ by Geoffrey Kidde in 2007) and nearly a dozen film or television versions (Knowles and Moore 2006, 437). However, there is no connection between this Hungarian play and the Hastings text; indeed, since Gosztonyi was not a Conrad specialist, he was very probably unfamiliar with the earlier adaptation. Bűvölet is a play in two parts based largely on Conrad’s novel, but Gosztonyi made some minor modifications to the plot and changed the names of some of the characters. Thus, Mr Jones of Victory becomes Mr James Dodd in the play; Martin Ricardo is renamed Albert Ukken; Pedro is called Marmala; Schomberg is known as Stőger; and Mrs Schomberg’s name is changed accordingly (to Stőgerné, meaning Mrs Stőger). The most conspicuous change to the plot is that, while Mr Jones dies by drowning, in the play Lena stabs Mr Dodd to death. Yet what makes Bűvölet a fascinating adaptation, at least to the specialist, is the way in which it experiments with a characteristic feature of Conradian narrative. Gosztonyi employs a form of metalepsis by making Conrad himself one of the characters. Named Konrad in reference to one of the writer’s original Polish forenames, he is a sea captain and performs a double function in the play: he both takes part in the action and acts as a (personified) narrator. Konrad’s participation in the action is comparable to that of Captain Davidson in Victory, who does not feature in this play. As a narrator, Konrad gives the audience background information on Axel Heyst (called simply Axel here) and on the events, while talking to a mysterious voice (HANG) in the early scenes of the play and again at the end. He thus takes on the role of both Davidson and of the first-person narrator who relates Part 1 of the novel. In the Prologue, Konrad talks to this strange voice and tells it how Axel met Morrison, which we then see enacted in the play itself. During this enactment, Konrad keeps adding further details or interrupts the scene to tell the voice what happened next. He moves about the stage freely, not being part of the action in the same way as Axel is. Here Konrad is more akin to a stage director, or to characters in plays who in a sense behave like stage directors, such as Prospero in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. But a comparison with narrative fiction seems even more apt. It is as if Konrad’s narration created such scenes, which read like passages in a novel with narratorial comments rather than parts of a play. This is quite consistent with the way in which many of Conrad’s fictions work. As Jeremy Hawthorn remarks, Conrad’s use of personified narrators in general, and of frame narratives in particular, gives us ‘that distinctively Conradian sense that we are not perceiving the world and its people in unmediated form, but indirectly, either through one reporting consciousness, or through a chain of linked consciousnesses’ (Hawthorn 2007, 155). Gosztonyi dramatizes this very feature of Conradian narrative, which results in the loss of some of the immediacy of drama but also in a more authoritative and more direct presentation of background information on characters and plot. Bűvölet is a curious case of a play adapted from a novel retaining some of the generic characteristics of its hypotext. The third example of a creative response to Conrad’s fiction is not a piece of literature but a song from 1994 entitled ‘Angol regény’ (English novel). It is the work of three artists: the music was composed by János Másik; the text was written by Géza Bereményi; and the performer was Tamás Cseh. Cseh (1943–2009) was a composer, singer and performer famous for his thoughtprovoking songs that express a subtle critique of social and political conditions in Hungary, especially Hungary under Communist rule before the change of the political system in 1989. ‘Angol regény’ was unmistakably inspired by both ‘Heart of Darkness’ and Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Conrad’s novella, Apocalypse Now. The song is about a man sent on a mission to travel south up a river and find a colonel who has been missing for a long time. In 320

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this respect, the song more closely recalls Apocalypse Now; in addition, the colonel is described as a ‘big fat man’,23 which is somewhat reminiscent of Colonel Kurtz, the character portrayed by Marlon Brando in the film (Bereményi 2008, 120). On the other hand, the title ‘English novel’ suggests a connection to ‘Heart of Darkness’, as does the reference to the ‘niggers’24 commanded by the colonel and, above all, the fact that the expression ‘a sötétség mélyén’ (‘in the depths of darkness’) features in the text, which is the exact title of Vámosi’s translation of the novella (Bereményi 2008, 120). There is also a reference to the colonel playing with heads that had been cut off, the source of which could be either ‘Heart of Darkness’ or Apocalypse Now (Bereményi 2008, 120). Like both its predecessors, the song is not only about a journey by ship but also about a journey of self-discovery, but with a little twist on the original stories. The man commissioned to find the colonel simply leaves him there when he finds out that he has gone mad and committed acts of brutality, as if to suggest that by staying there he would have risked a similar fate. ‘Angol regény’ is a rare but interesting example of how Conrad – and, more specifically, ‘Heart of Darkness’ – has left a mark even on Hungarian popular culture. As I pointed out at the beginning of this chapter, Conrad’s reception in Hungary is relatively slight, in spite of all the examples I have discussed. The reasons for this comparative neglect are not immediately obvious, and that leaves room for speculation. One explanation may be that Hungarian writers and intellectuals have never really seen their political and cultural preoccupations reflected (or challenged) in Conrad’s fiction, as they did very clearly in the work of H. G. Wells or W. B. Yeats in the period between the two world wars (cf. Vöő 2005, 193–4; Bertha 2006, 152–3). Conrad has generally not been regarded as political enough to merit such commentary, except in Communist Hungary under the strong influence of Marxism. Also, the fact that Conrad wrote in a foreign language, thus symbolically ‘abandoning’ his homeland, may have made him an object of suspicion in the eyes of conservative Hungarians with nationalistic sentiments. Perhaps this has caused them to overlook obvious parallels between the history and political situation of Hungary, on the one hand, and of the Poland of Conrad’s birth, as well as the bleak world of his political novels, on the other. Under Western Eyes, in particular, shows an acute understanding – shared by many Hungarians – of how tyranny can infiltrate all aspects of daily life in a country under political oppression. Another reason why Conrad has not received more attention may be that, with a few exceptions, his texts are much less powerful in Hungarian translation than in the original English. It is possible that this great stylist generally loses more of his unique power in translation than some other writers, but what is certainly the case is that many of his works were rendered into Hungarian by rather mediocre translators. Lastly, I shall mention a point made by Antal Szerb that suggests another conceivable obstacle to Conrad’s broader reception in Hungary. Szerb claims that it is the fate of many English writers, Conrad among them, to be read as juvenile literature, which is perhaps because there are few passages in their work that involve descriptions of sexuality (Szerb 1989, 738). The comparison of Conrad with Kipling and Jack London that I have discussed, and the more general categorization of his works as adventure fiction in promotional material in the 1920s, lend some support to Szerb’s observation. In this respect, it has to be said that impressionistic

23

‘nagy kövér férfi’. ‘négerek lesik parancsát’.

24

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essays in popular literary magazines, as well as publishers that bring out low-quality editions of Conrad’s works presented as crime or adventure fiction, have only helped spread misconceptions about this major writer in recent years. Although more than 60 per cent of Conrad’s works have now been translated into Hungarian, there is still a lot to be done, especially since excellent retranslations of major texts such as ‘Heart of Darkness’ would be highly welcome. Whether the promising work of some critics, scholars, writers and other artists will be continued on a larger scale by others in the future depends in part on their ability to recognize the relevance of Conrad’s fiction in our globalized world.

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CHAPTER 23 CONRAD’S RECEPTION IN IRELAND Richard Niland

Joseph Conrad cannot be said to have had an especially profound connection with the land of Yeats, Joyce and Beckett. Nevertheless, significant Irish strands are woven into his life, his writings and the reception of his work. Conrad’s years as a seaman saw him mix with Irish sailors who would materialize in his fiction through figures such as Belfast in The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’; the political background of Irish nationalist activities in late-nineteenthcentury Britain as recorded by Robert Anderson in Sidelights on the Home Rule Movement (1906) informs The Secret Agent; while Conrad’s travels to the Congo brought him into contact with the figure of Roger Casement, later the most flamboyant Irish nationalist of the era, both a formative influence on Conrad’s time in Africa and a possible inspiration for Kurtz in ‘Heart of Darkness’ (Garden 2017). Casement’s political activism as an exposer of abuses in both South America and the Congo dates from the early years of the twentieth century, and the meetings and correspondence between the two in 1903 illustrate Conrad’s vacillation between public engagement and writerly retreat, before firmly committing to the latter. The relationship between Conrad and Casement has remained of interest to Irish artists, illustrated by a collaboration between composer Donnacha Dennehy and novelist Colm Tóibín at the Irish National Chamber Hall in 2016, exploring the lives and exchanges between the two men. Elsewhere, contacts such as the influential Irish-American collector John Quinn, whose acquisition of Conrad’s manuscripts interested both Yeats and Joyce, ensured an ongoing Irish, or Irish-American, element to the reception of Conrad’s work, while towards the end of his life, Conrad developed a friendship with the Irish artist Alice Kinkead, who was to produce the writer’s final portrait (Jones 2008). However, Irish critics and commentators had been aware of Conrad from the early years of his career. Before turning to the response to Conrad in Ireland itself, it is worth recalling that the writer’s reception in Britain was informed by a leading Irish voice, that of the critic Robert Lynd (1879–1949), who reviewed Conrad throughout his career, consistently celebrating his unique literary standing (see Niland 2008). Ulster-born Lynd, the son of a Presbyterian minister, was a noted figure in Irish and London literary circles from the early twentieth century until his death, widely acclaimed as an essayist and known for his friendships with Roger Casement, James Joyce and Rebecca West. Arriving in London in 1901, he was literary editor for the Daily News (later the News Chronicle) from 1912 to 1947, and he produced a weekly essay on contemporary affairs, signed ‘Y. Y.’, for the New Statesman. While Lynd admired the power of Conrad’s writing, he also positioned him beyond the mainstream of English literature. One review especially irked Conrad, drawing attention, unsurprisingly for an Irish nationalist of the period, to questions of language, place and identity. Zdzisław Najder claims that ‘there is a link between Lynd’s painful attack and the genesis of A Personal Record’ (Najder 1983/2007, 391), with Conrad’s literary investigation of his Polish past prompted to some degree by a critic deeply concerned with the political

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and cultural divisions of the Irish present. Reviewing A Set of Six in the Daily News in 1908, Lynd wrote: Mr. Conrad, without either country or language, may be thought to have found a new patriotism for himself in the sea. His vision of men, however, is the vision of a cosmopolitan, of a homeless person. Had he but written in Polish his stories would have assuredly been translated into English and into the other languages of Europe; and the works of Joseph Conrad translated from the Polish would, I am certain, have been a more precious possession on English shelves than the works of Joseph Conrad in the original English, desirable as these are. Contemporary Reviews 2, 446 Lynd’s comments on Conrad were part of his wider concerns regarding the politics of language. Espousing left-wing political views, notably writing an introduction to a collection of James Connolly’s work in 1916 after the execution of the Irish socialist, Lynd was an outspoken, but non-militant, Irish nationalist. In the Irish Times in 1924, he described himself as ‘a conservative liberal labour communist nationalist – provided, of course, you spell all the words except one with small letters’ (Irish Times, 1924: 3). In his reviews, essays and books, such as Home Life in Ireland (1909), Rambles in Ireland (1912) and Ireland a Nation (1919), Lynd sought to bring contemporary Irish politics, society and economics to the attention of English readers. Like Casement, he was one of the ‘many Protestants with strong nationalist sympathies [who] emerged from the North’ of Ireland in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Ferriter 2005, 108). In his writings, Lynd expounded on politics, nationalism and domestic life, as well as on several writers Conrad respected, such as Turgenev, Anatole France and R. B. Cunninghame Graham. On Lynd’s death, the Irish playwright Lennox Robinson wrote in the Irish Times that the critic ranked ‘with the greatest of essayists of the last hundred years writing in the English language’ (7). Within Ireland, Conrad’s fiction was initially reviewed in Dublin in terms familiar from contemporary publications in Britain. Welcoming The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and drawing comparisons with Stevenson’s The Ebb-Tide, the Irish Daily Independent praised the story as ‘a notable addition to the sea stories written in the English language’ (Contemporary Reviews 1, 158), while ‘Youth’ was later greeted by the Irish Times as justifying Conrad’s ‘well-deserved reputation’ as a writer of the sea (Contemporary Reviews 1, 381). In the early years, reviews and notices were rather brief, also demonstrating an uncertain sense of Conrad’s geographical terrain. For the Irish Times, Nostromo was a novel in which ‘Mr Conrad deals with life in those islands off South America which he knows so well’, although the work was ‘not one of his strongest books’ (Contemporary Reviews 2, 206). It also acclaimed Conrad and his position in literature in its review of Some Reminiscences (1912) as an author descended from Stevenson and one in love with ‘literary expression’ (Contemporary Reviews 3, 48). In the meantime, Ireland was convulsed by the major political events of its modern history, notably the 1916 Easter Rising, for which Conrad had little sympathy, regarding it as a ‘stab in the back’ in the context of the First World War, where his son was posted on the Western Front, while also making a casual, but what he saw as important, distinction between the longstanding demands of Polish statehood and the more recent ones of Ireland. A similar response played a role in Conrad’s shifting attitude to Roger Casement, whose activities in the cause of 324

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Irish Independence during the First World War led to the revocation of his knighthood and his trial and execution in 1916. Conrad refused to sign a letter seeking a reprieve for Casement to which many major literary figures, such as H. G. Wells and Arthur Conan Doyle, had added their names; and, as scholars have noted, Conrad thenceforth portrayed Casement and his presence in the Congo less as a ‘limpid personality’ and in a much more Kurtzian light (Garden 2017). These years subsequently saw the unfolding violence of the Irish War of Independence and Civil War, with the emergence of the Irish Free State in 1922 initiating the process whereby Britain was slowly divested of its empire, a dismantling that would occupy the coming halfcentury in colonial contexts around the world. Following the Great War, and in the wake of the success of Chance (1913), Conrad’s popularity and reputation in English and world literature were fully established, with his latest offerings invariably attracting the attention of most reviewers. Lennox Robinson’s ‘Realism and Romance’, printed in the Irish Statesman, considered The Arrow of Gold alongside Mount Music, the latest novel from the popular Irish authors Somerville and Ross, a rare early instance of Conrad being viewed through critical comparison with contemporary Irish writing. While Robinson found the latter too familiar, he found the former ‘too strange’, and, despite being a ‘humble devotee’ of Conrad, The Arrow of Gold left the reviewer ‘hanging in mid-air grasping something so vague and filmy that you are in instant danger of finding yourself falling eternally through space’ (Contemporary Reviews 3, 643). The ideal would have been for both sets of writers to switch places, allowing Conrad’s method to enhance the Irish setting of Somerville and Ross and the popular authors of The Real Charlotte to ground The Arrow of Gold in something concrete: ‘If only Mr. Conrad could have come to the South-West of Ireland and turned his penetrative mind upon that society of landed gentry, country doctors, clergymen, and peasants.’ Failing this, The Arrow of Gold remained ‘a mere mass of vague emotions, never shaped and controlled and outlined by the circumstances of reality’ (Contemporary Reviews 3, 644–5). While Conrad never visited Ireland, he did consider briefly, though rather evasively, the Irish landscape in his introduction to Alice Kinkead’s Landscapes of Corsica and Ireland (1921). He, in return, was paid little attention in Irish periodicals in the early years of the Irish Free State. The Irish Statesman (1923–30), ‘one of Irish Republicanism’s harshest critics’ (Shovlin 2003, 17), with its Europhile embrace of international currents in literature, devoted passing comment to Conrad’s late work and his overall position in literature, with figures such as Lennox Robinon, Susan L. Mitchell and P. S. O’Hegarty reviewing Conrad’s final writings. Edited by Æ (George William Russell), the Irish Statesman was also an important organ for promoting the early stories of emerging Irish writers such as Liam O’Flaherty, Frank O’Connor and Seán O’Faoláin, each of whom subsequently established prominent literary reputations. The tension between romance and realism noted by Lennox Robinson in the Irish Statesman informed the most substantial Irish appreciation of Conrad in the early twentieth century. In 1930, Liam O’Flaherty (1896–1984) published Joseph Conrad: An Appreciation. O’Flaherty’s literary journey had taken him from the Aran Islands in the west of Ireland to London by way of service in the First World War, an experience powerfully explored in The Return of the Brute (1929), and subsequent international travel. Politically, the writer became a contrarian literary nationalist by way of an international socialist odyssey, with such details colouring his entertaining autobiographical works Two Years (1930), I Went to Russia (1931) and Shame the Devil (1934). Indebted sporadically to Conrad in his own novels and short stories, especially through an emphasis on isolation, psychological intensity and elemental starkness in works 325

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such as The Black Soul (1924), and elsewhere through political intrigue in The Informer (1925), later adapted by the film director John Ford, O’Flaherty came to understand Conrad’s work as a ‘fairy tale for grown-up people’ (O’Flaherty 1930, 5), something that on the surface was admirable for its style, in which Conrad ensures that the reader is ‘transported to a magic place’. However, in the face of such prose, ‘some sort of brutal denial is necessary, or the human intellect reverts to the state of mind of the servant maid’ (O’Flaherty 1930, 6). O’Flaherty called for ‘the ice-bath of the Northern Pole to counteract and judge the strength of Conrad’s tropical dream’ (O’Flaherty 1930, 7). Tellingly, O’Flaherty labelled Conrad amongst ‘imperial man’ and ‘those who write of empires and of imperial men’ (O’Flaherty 1930, 8), elaborating on Conrad’s dualistic position: Among such men stands Conrad in my mind. It appears to me that he accepted the God of the British Empire as something that must not be surpassed, and all his characters are standing on tiptoe striving to be like that God, who is a good honest trader, a man brave in adversity, a home-lover, a man who keeps his word to his friend and robs those who are not of his kin. I understand that Conrad was not aware of this, and perhaps it is all to the benefit of humanity that he was not aware of it; because it is impossible to be lyrical about a woman when one is aware that there is an unseemly blemish on her body. O’Flaherty 1930, 9 Recalling Joyce’s view of Robinson Crusoe in its evaluation of English character, manner and empire, O’Flaherty saw the spell of Conrad’s style as a danger to clear thinking and a sharper political vision: ‘Thus, while we drink at the sweet fountain of Conrad’s work, it is well to remind ourselves sternly that drinking at a fountain is dangerous on a heavy march and that the steep road of death with all its horrors lies before us’ (O’Flaherty 1930, 10). In fact, O’Flaherty’s attitude to Conrad had fluctuated throughout the early 1920s. In 1923 while working on The Black Soul, he had explained to Edward Garnett how he preferred An Outcast of the Islands to Lord Jim for its ‘abandonment’ (Kelly 1996, 34). O’Flaherty was aware of the pervasive influence of Conrad, writing ‘I am going to read no more of him while I am working’ (Kelly 1996, 39). Conrad’s ‘personality’ emerged most strikingly in the ‘wonderful story’ (Kelly 1996, 46) of ‘An Outpost of Progress’, and it was the magnetism of this personality that the politically-minded O’Flaherty, like Achebe, later resisted. His fascination is captured in a letter of December 1923 when he labelled ‘The Secret Sharer’ a ‘miracle of genius’ (Kelly 1996, 63). On Conrad’s death he wrote to Garnett saying that ‘posterity will rank him among the masters, even if the clever ones of this generation don’t give him that honour’ (Kelly 1996, 99). By 1925, however, on reading Suspense, he informed Garnett that ‘I cannot persuade myself that Conrad will have’ his place in English literature. Conrad ‘doesn’t wear very well. I was not at all pleased to renew my acquaintance with him. Why? I don’t know, but it’s just that he can’t tell a story without making a song about it’ (Kelly 1996, 131). A similar attraction and resistance to Conrad, especially regarding style and form, lies in the work of the leading Irish literary and cultural figure Seán O’Faoláin (1900–91), also an early protégé of Garnett and later a major presence in twentieth-century Irish letters through his fiction, editorship (1940–6) of the progressive journal The Bell (1940–54), and journalism and reviews. Commenting on literature in the years following Irish independence, O’Faoláin observed ‘the comparative failure of the modern Irish novel. If one were to exclude Joyce – 326

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which would be like saying if one were to exclude Everest – and Liam O’Flaherty how little is left’ (O’Faoláin 1962, 102). In his autobiography Vive moi! (1965), he related how Conrad’s work had fascinated Garnett, especially those texts that ‘worked the real-ideal blend’ (O’Faoláin 1965, 249). O’Faoláin initially concurred with Garnett’s high opinion of Lord Jim but found reading Nostromo ‘like trying to swim through the Dead Sea’ (O’Faoláin 1965, 249). O’Faoláin and Garnett eventually parted ways artistically over Garnett’s ‘love of novels dealing with idiosyncratic, bizarre, rebellious and aberrational men and women, transformed, elevated or shattered by their passions and dreams’ (O’Faoláin 1965, 253). O’Faoláin, while a literary internationalist drawn to literature attaining what he termed ‘European stature’, ultimately embraced the tenets of realism as the essential lens through which to view Irish life in his own writing. Despite this selective early interest in Conrad, in later, mature surveys by O’Faoláin, in particular the critical offerings The Short Story (1948) and The Vanishing Hero (1956), and equally in Frank O’Connor’s The Mirror in the Roadway (1957) and The Lonely Voice (1962), Conrad failed to merit anything beyond fleeting consideration, and mostly none at all. Amongst the writings of Flann O’Brien lies a series of exchanges from 1940 between some of his various pseudonyms in several letters to the Irish Times, exploring the identities of celebrated writers and ironically decrying the ‘suggestion that Joseph Conrad was not, in fact, a full-blooded Irishman. This ugly innuendo can be dictated only by [. . .] hatred for all that is Gaelic and good’ (quoted in Lezard 2018). Writing as Lir O’Connor, O’Brien posited the notion that Conrad, along with a range of other modernist authors, was female, in fact Josephine Cumisky from Galway, a figure who eventually encountered George Sand and married her: Cool, slim and unhurried, this lissom slip of a girl had the sea in her blood [. . .]. Little by little she acquired proficiency in the argot of the sea, and soon she was as foulmouthed as the lowest stevedore that ever battened a hatch. [. . .] A strong growth of superfluous hair beneath her lower lip [. . .] helped to make the deception possible. Long 2014, 96 As Maebh Long notes, O’Brien’s own idiosyncratic work and ‘protean plurality’ (Long 2014, 2), here captured in his comic reshaping of Conrad, reflected an ‘Ireland struggling to find an identity’ in the decades following independence, attacking stereotypes and cherished nationalist myths. In this respect, one unique development in Conrad’s Irish reception came through the use of his work to promote the spread of the Irish language by way of translation. An Gúm, or the Scheme, was established in 1926 to promote Irish through literature (O’Leary 2004). The programme saw a range of British and international writers made available in Irish, although the scheme itself was culturally divisive for its ostensible neglect – through the political, cultural and linguistic sensitivities surrounding the promotion of English-language literature in the first place – of original fiction by contemporary Irish language writers, many of whom, such as Máirtín Ó Cadhain (1906–70), whose cacophonous and experimental Cré na Cille (Graveyard Earth) (1949) is widely regarded as the key Irish language novel of the twentieth century, struggled for readership and remuneration through writing. The Irish-language writer, scholar and activist Seosamh Mac Grianna (1900–90) translated The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (An Máirnéalach Dubh, 1933), Typhoon and Amy Foster (Séideán Bruithne agus Amy Foster, 1935) and Almayer’s Folly (Díth Céille Almayer, 1936) in the 1930s, amongst a host of 327

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works by other writers, with Conrad appearing in handsome editions with striking covers. While Conrad’s original and now desperately problematic title of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ was rendered as the more palatable The Black Sailor, elsewhere the translations sought to accurately capture Conrad’s elemental power and his exotic atmosphere. However, as Pól Ó Muirí has noted of the translation scheme as a whole, it is difficult to assess what importance individual texts and writers had for Mac Grianna and his fellow translators beyond a source of income, especially since the works available for translation were limited to those chosen by a panel of government officials whose literary judgement was frequently held in contempt by the translators. In the context of the political, cultural and linguistic tensions that followed Irish independence, Conrad was, however, occasionally invoked in arguments regarding the possibilities of harmonious exchange between the English and Irish languages (Ó Muirí 1999, 127). The self-fashioned Irish-language writer Pádraic Ó Conaire (1882–1928), celebrated for his short stories and an important influence on translators such as Mac Grianna, published a short essay entitled ‘Conrad agus Smaointe faoi Litridheacht’ (Conrad and Thoughts About Literature) following Conrad’s death in 1924, pointing to his example in moving from Polish to English as one that should allow for an open-minded view of the potential of English speakers to use the Irish language for literary expression (Ó Conaire 1978). Similar comments appeared in correspondence to the Irish Statesman, while other figures involved in the same debates, such as Daniel Corkery (1978–1964), author of the influential The Hidden Ireland (1924), also found meaning in Conrad’s transcultural example and his ‘richly wrought background’ (Maume 1993, 122). Following these early responses to Conrad’s work, his position in Ireland does not take a marked shape, although a general absorption of Conrad’s themes, settings and style can be found in Irish painter Seán Keating’s Conradesque (1924), which, albeit within the context of one domestic interior, captures diverse elements of Conrad’s world, from the scope of its geographical settings to its concern with race, masculinity, silences, gesture and art. Such a distinctive yet simultaneously representative treatment aside, Conrad was available in popular editions throughout the rest of the twentieth century as elsewhere in the English-speaking world, and he also featured in school prose anthologies as part of the English syllabus in the national education system, with academic study of Conrad following emerging trends in Anglo-American scholarship. While figures such as Yeats, Joyce, Beckett and Flann O’Brien occupied positions in the canon of Irish and international writing for their innovation and experimentation, short-story writers such as O’Connor and O’Faoláin stood as firm adherents of a realist and naturalistic tradition derived from Maupassant and Chekov. Conrad’s own interstitial example did not, it appears, stand out as especially important. As Declan Kiberd has noted, the major Irish writers of the twentieth century were especially interested in pushing the boundaries of form, highlighting ‘the awesome jaggedness and seeming formlessness of so many masterpieces of Irish modernism, whether Ulysses, the trilogy of Beckett, or Flann O’Brien’s At Swim-Two-Birds’, whereas the ‘masterworks of European modernism, such as Heart of Darkness [. . .] appear strangely traditional in form, as if the anxieties of life in the twentieth century have been poured back into the vessels of the nineteenth’ (Kiberd 1996, 266). In this respect, Conrad was perhaps both de trop and not enough for a culture divided between the demands of shaping the future and the nationalist endeavour of both creating and then preserving the past. As the Irish writer, activist and politician Peadar O’Donnell explained, unlike the international modernism of Joyce and Beckett, domestic Irish writers sought to 328

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create a literature ‘written in English, but of Ireland for Ireland by Irish writers’ (O’Donnell 1933, 717). In the later part of the century, the Anglo-Irish novelist and Booker-Prize winning writer J.G. Farrell acknowledged the importance of Conrad to the development of his postcolonial fiction, such as The Siege of Krishnapur (1973), while writers such as Colm Tóibín have written on Conrad in the New York Review of Books and in an introduction to ‘The Return’ in recent years. As a mark of Conrad’s global reputation and a celebration of a modern multicultural Ireland with a sizeable Polish community, in November 2017 the city of Galway held an ‘Exhibition on the Life, Work and Legacy of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski’ entitled Joseph Conrad: Inspirations/Inspiracje, allowing visitors to return to a Conradian question that had momentarily occupied Flann O’Brien three-quarters of a century earlier: what’s Hibernia to him, or he to Hibernia?

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CHAPTER 24 THE ‘BARD OF PARTICULAR ELEMENTS’: CONRAD’S RECEPTION IN RUSSIA Ludmilla Voitkovska

[. . .] and through the veil of sorrow, Squinting at lumps of pale grey woes, I was perusing the latest fashion news, And exploring Conrad and Proust.1 Boris Pasternak, ‘Spektorsky’ (1931) As a writer’s writer, Conrad has always been held in high regard by his Russian counterparts. Many famous Russian writers, such as Maxim Gorky, Isaak Babel, Evgeny Zamyatin, Vyacheslav Ivanov, Aleksey Novikov-Priboi, Daniil Granin, Valentin Kaverin, and Andrey Platonov, read and admired Conrad’s prose. In a letter to his sister, Josephine, Boris Pasternak refers to Conrad as ‘the greatest contemporary English novelist’ (Pasternak 1990, 196).2 Korney Chukovsky referred to Conrad as one of the writers whose work he loved (Chukovsky 1941, 236). For some authors, Conrad’s was a powerful presence and, at times, even an overwhelming influence. In describing his efforts to remain faithful to Russia’s national spirit and to develop his own language and style, Konstantin Paustovsky complained about his struggles with the influence of Conrad’s writing. He felt that some of his own works, as Isaak Babel had pointed out to him, were made of ‘the waste from Joseph Conrad’ (Paustovsky 1968, 472).3 Russian critics were also quick to recognize Conrad’s talent. The First People’s Commissar of Enlightenment, Anatoly Lunacharsky, a prolific writer and critic, referred to Conrad as one of the ‘masters of social psychology’,4 alongside Proust, Romain Rolland and Pirandello (Lunacharsky 1927, 13). Eminent Russian scholars of literature, such as Dmitry Mirsky, Ivan Kashkin, Roman Samarin, Viktor Shklovsky, Boris Suchkov, Mikhail Urnov, Dmitriy Urnov and Aleksey Chicherin, acknowledged Conrad as a significant and influential English writer. Writer and poet Evgeny Lann and his wife Alexandra Krivtsova, ardent admirers of Conrad’s talent, left a lasting legacy of Conrad’s editions and translations, which are a major resource for Russian readers of Conrad today.5 И сквозь флер негод, Косясь на комья светло-серой грусти, Знакомился я с новостями мод И узнавал о Конраде и Прусте. 2 ‘величайш[ий] современн[ый] английск[ий] романист’. 3 ‘из отходов Джозефа Конрада’ 4 ‘мастер социальной психологии’ 5 Evgeny Lann (real name Lozman, 1895–1958) translated Heart of Darkness, Lord Jim, Youth and The End of the Tether (1926) and edited four volumes of the 1924–6 Collected Edition and two volumes of the 1959 Selected Works by Conrad. Aleksandra Krivtsova (1896–1958) translated ‘Karain’ and ‘The Idiots’ in 1898; ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ in 1924; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Return’, ‘The Lagoon’, Youth, Typhoon, Amy Foster, ‘Falk’, ‘Tomorrow’, Under Western Eyes and The Secret Sharer in 1925; Lord Jim and ‘The End of the Tether’ in 1926; and Heart of Darkness and Laughing Anne in 1959. 1

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Maxim Gorky, a political activist and founder of socialist realism, met Conrad personally during his visit to London in May 1907 as a delegate of the 5th Congress of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party. Gorky was invited to an ‘informal but most interesting dinner’ at the house of Charles Theodore Hagberg Wright, the Secretary and Librarian of the London Library and a promoter of Russian literature in England – Hagberg was helping Gorky establish contacts with English writers. Among those present at the dinner were Thomas Hardy, H. G. Wells, Bernard Shaw, Richard Whiteing and Joseph Conrad (Hardy 1930, 124). The meeting was arranged to help Gorky meet English writers who could potentially be sympathetic to the cause of the Bolshevik revolution. Given Conrad’s infamous Russophobia and dismissive attitude to Gorky, as expressed in his 1903 letter to Kazimiesz Waliszewski,6 it is unclear why he would have agreed to attend the meeting, and there is no record of his interaction with Gorky. Despite that, Gorky was instrumental in promoting Conrad through the Vsemirnaya Literatura (World Literature) publishing house, established on his initiative in 1918. He planned to publish Almayer’s Folly, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, Nostromo and various short stories. However, the publisher closed in 1924 and managed to publish only one Conrad novel, Almayer’s Folly (translated by M. A. Salomon), in 1923, with an introduction by Korney Chukovsky, a famous writer and a member of the Vsemirnaya Literatura editorial board. However, although the Russian press first acknowledged Conrad in 1896, one year after his literary debut, and in spite of the fact that almost all his works have been translated into Russian, his fiction is not reprinted nor published the way it is in the West. Unlike in Western universities, in Russia, Conrad is not studied in every course on twentieth-century British literature, and several generations of graduates of Russian universities have received English degrees without ever having read a single work by Conrad. Moreover, late twentieth-century Russian critics express their astonishment – bordering on disbelief – at the success of Conrad’s works in the West after his death. Dmitry Urnov, for example, the author of the only Russian monograph on Conrad, notes, with surprise, that Conrad is now surrounded by a ‘sea’ of criticism (Urnov 1977, 6).7 Urnov maintains that this surprising interest is promoted by the recently-founded Joseph Conrad Society (UK), organized in England, and by the specially dedicated American journal, Conradiana. He also points out, with astonishment, that early editions of Conrad’s works and other relics are valued at tens of thousands of dollars and that efforts are being undertaken to restore the Otago, the ship on which Conrad sailed as a captain, which will cost ‘a princely sum of money’ (Urnov 1977, 6).8 ‘Conrad has become a fetish,’ the critic maintains ‘a classic, a business; he has turned into “raw material for a critical industry” ’ (Urnov 1977, 6).9 In the West, Urnov informs the Russian audience, almost as if it were odd, that all studies of twentieth-century English literature start with Conrad. Urnov recognizes that there are ‘serious’ studies of Conrad, but one can observe, he insists, ‘a kind of a bubble’ (Urnov 1977, 6).10 The tenor of Urnov’s account of Conrad’s success in the West, suggesting that 6

‘Non! Non! Ne dites pas phenomène [sic]. Ça sent le Maxime Gorki à plain [sic] nez. Ils sont étonnants ces braves Russes: All their geese are swans. Enfin, c’est leur affaire. Pour ma part, je n’ai jamais été ni vagabond ni aventurier de profession, ni une éspèce [sic] de sauvage converti.’ ‘No! No! Do not say phenomenon. That reeks of Maxim Gorky. These gallant Russians are astonishing: all their geese are swans. Oh well, that is their business. For my part, I have never been either a vagabond or an adventurer by profession, or a sort of converted savage’ (Najder 1964, 238). 7 ‘море критики’. 8 ‘эта затея обойдется в кругленькую сумму’. 9 ‘Конрад стал кумиром, классиком, бизнесом, он превратился в “сырье для критической промышленности”.’ 10 ‘наблюдается своего рода конрадовский бум, который сейчас в разгаре’.

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it could be attributed to Western critics’ intellectual idiosyncrasies, misguided leisure and resource allocation failures, is intended to play down Conrad’s centrality in the Western canon with the purpose of justifying Conrad’s marginalized place as an outsider in the Russian canon of English literature. The erasure of Joseph Conrad, the English writer of Polish descent – the son of the poet, Apollo Korzeniowski, an ardent revolutionary and fighter for the liberation of Poland against an oppressive Russian regime – from the canon of English literature stems, to some degree, from Russo-Polish antagonism, which, no doubt, influenced the reception and interpretation of literary works introduced from one culture into another.11 Because of this complex political history, Conrad’s Russophobia, of which the Russian scholars are keenly aware, has hardly helped him win the hearts of the Russian critical establishment; however, there is more to Conrad’s reception in Russia than the animosity of perennial political rivalry. Within the twentieth-century Russian critical environment, which was heavily dominated by biographical and historical criticism, an author’s personal and social conditions were deemed central to the interpretation of his/her work. This meant that any study of Conrad would require an engagement with Russo-Polish conflicts and would inevitably open them to reinterpretation from the Polish perspective, which is radically different from the Russian one. As a runaway Pole who escaped the tyrannical regime that Russian people were forced to both serve and justify, Conrad could hardly expect impartial judgement. His success in the West did not sit well with those who were forced to give up their freedom of opinion in exchange for status within the Soviet academic hierarchy. Conrad’s trans-cultural status and his liminal background, alongside the fact that he was not born an English writer but became one, presented an additional, ontological challenge for Russian critics. As early as 1925, the Paris-based Russian émigré critic Greorgy Adamovich predicted that Conrad’s cultural complexity would be the main obstacle to his acceptance by Russian readers: Conrad will hardly take well in Russia. This Polish-English novelist is alien to it [Russia] in everything, and he is not sufficiently important as an artist to attract attention by contrast. Conrad’s novels are geared towards an average European reader, energetic, cultured, pragmatic, who likes to dream in his spare time. But an average European does not dream in a Russian way. He thinks about the discovery of new gold mines, about some unknown plantations, about new lands and, ultimately, about money. He has no time to think about abstractions. Adamovich 1998, 17912 11

Some of the ways in which this political history is translated into the personal dynamics of cultural rivalry in the nineteenth century are depicted by Fyodor Dostoevsky in his description of the atmosphere in Siberia, where Polish political prisoners, serving time together with Russians, ‘simply regarded all these people [Russians] as ignorant slaves and haughtily disdained them’. For their part, the Russians, in turn, ‘saw clearly that these ignorant men were in many respects much smarter than the Poles themselves’ (Dostoevsky 1993, 545). 12 ‘Конрад вряд ли привьется в России. Этот польско-английский романист чужд ей во всем, и не настолько значительный художник, чтобы поразить и привлечь к себе именно по контрасту. Романы Конрада рассчитаны на средне-европейского читателя, энергичного, культурного, делового и любящего, в свободное от занятий время, помечтать. Но мечтает этот европеец не по-русски. Он думает об открытии новых приисков, о какихнибудь неведомых плантациях, о новых землях, в конце концов о деньгах. Об “отвлеченном” ему думать некогда.’

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Adamovich identifies two possible barriers influencing Conrad’s reception by Russian readers: first, the differences in sensibilities between Eastern and Western Europe; and second, Conrad’s orientation to his Western audience. Indeed, the ambiguity of Conrad’s background, which embraces variations of cultural sensibilities, has become a major aggravating element in Conrad’s reception. Russian critics struggle with his identity – they find it confusing. Some are unsettled by this English writer’s proximity to the Russian sensibility, as Conrad’s characters feel too similar when they are expected to be completely foreign. Urnov, for example, suggests that all of Conrad’s characters, ‘these Germans, Frenchmen, Spaniards, and, of course, mostly Englishmen [. . .] are fighting for their moral self-determination with some weird Slavic vehemence’ (Urnov 1970, 397).13 At the same time, Conrad appears disconcertingly disconnected from Russian culture both ontologically and aesthetically, and critics struggle to explain ‘the complexity of methodological challenges arising in relation to Conrad’ (Tolmachev 1988, 67). Analyzing the ‘obviously contradictory nature’ of Conrad’s work, V. Tolmachev refers to his thematic choices, which set him apart from the spiritual quests of other Russian authors.14 On the one hand, Tolmachev believes that ‘many readers cannot fail to be attracted to a certain personal integrity, the heroism of existence of relatively simple people in the works of an English writer who wanted to set new ideals against the lameness of decadence’ (Tolmachev 1988, 69).15 On the other hand, reading Conrad more carefully, ‘one nevertheless understands that the artistic and aesthetic foundations of this to a large extent fatalistic heroism does not give a person that much – just the explosion of energy of “a dark heart” and ontologically false foundations’ (Tolmachev 1988, 69). Instead, Tolmachev suggests that the reader would have been attracted to the ‘innermost mysteries of “a pure heart,” whose struggles were so attractive to Russian writers, Conrad’s contemporaries’ (Tomalchev 1988, 69).16 Clearly, Conrad’s expatriate condition and the features of his writing resulting from his cultural liminality became instrumental in shaping his relationship with Russian critics who found him difficult to place. In his slightly earlier sympathetic attempt to explain the difficulties in interpreting Conrad, V. Kantor refers to the writer’s personal background and the complexity of his personal history, which lead to the ‘complexity [. . .] of an unusual writing perspective’ (Kantor 1981, 35).17 In order to explain the nature of Conrad’s writing perspective, Kantor points out that Conrad found himself ‘at the cross-roads of two principles of literature, two types of sensibility: quintessentially European, Anglo-Saxon, which he wanted to adopt, and Russian [!], which he wanted to forget’ (Kantor 1981, 35).18 Kantor suggests that the ‘tonality of Conrad’s writing’, his

‘[. . .] эти немцы, французы, испанцы, и, по большей части, англичане – герои Конрада – какой-то странной славянской истовостью бьются над вопросом нравственного самоопределения’. 14 ‘противоречивость’. 15 ‘С одной стороны, многих читателей не может не привлекать определенная цельность натуры, героика существования сравнительно простых людей у английского писателя, желавшего по-демократически противипоставить ущербности декаданса новые идеалы’. 16 ‘в то же время [. . .] художественное и эстетическое обоснование этого во многом фаталистического героизма оставляет человеку не так уж много – рвущуюся наружу энергию “темного сердца”, бытийно лукавых в своей основе величин, а не сокровенные тайны “чистого сердца”, борения которого столь влекли к себе русских писателей, современников Конрада’. 17 ‘сложность [. . .] писательской позиции’. 18 ‘Конрад оказался на пересечении двух принципов словесности, двух типов мироощущения: европейского из европейских – англосаксонского, с которым он хотел сродниться, и российского, который он хотел забыть’. 13

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‘placement of accents in the collision of good and evil, the psychological analysis’, and everything that ‘prevented him from getting lost in the literary world of the West had to some extent a “Russian origin” ’19 (Kantor 1981, 35).20 Indeed, Kantor attributes Conrad’s success in the West to the vogue for things Russian at the beginning of the twentieth century, which propelled the career of the fortunate son of a Polish revolutionary who had fled Russia to attain fame.21 Russian readers appreciate writers who can be easily connected to an identifiable nationstate and its dominant culture. As a result, they struggle with Conrad’s liminal identity. Kantor refers to Pushkin, the founder of Russian literature, who became a household name in Russia, and to Faulkner, a well-known American writer in Russia, and describes their complex, but readily understandable relationship with their heritage. Pushkin, who assimilated into Western culture, always remained essentially a Russian writer; Faulkner, who mastered the cultural realities of Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, nevertheless remained, in the words of Sherwood Anderson, ‘in essence a provincial American guy’ (Kantor 1981, 35).22 Kantor praises them for their faithfulness to their childhood experiences, which, for him, are ‘the foundation of the writer’s experience’; for that reason, ‘the most complex and cruel’ moral problems they raised were ‘rooted in the real life of their culture and history’ (Kantor 1981, 35).23 By contrast, Conrad’s distance from the culture of his origin, as demonstrated by his choice of language, themes and characters, as well as by his departure from identity politics, did not help him win the trust of Russian critics. Thus, Kantor sees Conrad’s ‘problem’ as lying in the fact that he ‘became an Englishman’24 and that his cultural foundations clashed with his desire to turn himself into ‘a real Englishman’ (Kantor 1981, 35).25 For those reasons, Kantor considers all of Conrad’s works, as well as his image,‘painfully bifurcated’ (Kantor 1981, 36).26 Furthermore, in his opinion, the reason Conrad never became ‘a widely read writer’ nor the ‘regent of the dreams of Russian readers’ is that he was an experimentalist rather than a storyteller like Defoe, Swift or Dickens (Kantor 1981, 36).27 Living in a closed society, educated in the tradition of realism and unprepared for Conrad’s narrative experimentation, twentieth-century Russian readers preferred plot-driven narratives by authors who offered a distinct, recognizable cultural context. Thus, Galsworthy was an English writer, while Conrad was an ontological problem. Russian critics dealt with their confusion regarding Conrad’s background by presenting him as a virtuoso of sea adventures, exotic tales and romantic melodramas and by denouncing those of his works that were unrelated to the sea. The record of the works by Conrad that were translated into Russian presents the picture of a writer of nautical adventure stories.28 Although 19 ‘тональность его книг, [. . .] расстановка акцентов в столкновении добра и зла, психологический анализ [. . .] все то, что не дало ему затеряться в литературном мире Запада, имело, в какой-то степени, “русское происхождение” ’. 20 Many Russian critics claim that Conrad was born in Russia, had Russian roots, drew his creative energy from his experience in Russia, or is indebted to Russian literature, culture and sensibility. 21 Prominent figures in the promotion of Russian literature in England were Conrad’s friend, Edward Garnett, and his wife, Constance Garnett, the translator of numerous Russian authors, including Chekhov, Turgenev, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy. 22 ‘Фолкнер [. . .] оставался, в сущности, американским “провинциальным парнем’. 23 ‘Составляет основу писательского опыта’. 24 ‘стал англичанином’. 25 ‘настоящим англичанином’. 26 ‘Поэтому творчество Конрада, весь его облик как бы мучительно двоятся.’ 27 ‘Конрад не стал “широко читаемым” писателем, не стал “властителем дум” нашего века. Слишком сильно он ставил акцент на том, что он экспериментатор, а не рассказчик, как Дефо, Свифт и Диккенс.’

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critics recognized that, unlike other writers of adventure fiction, such as R. L. Stevenson, to whom Conrad is frequently compared, Conrad ‘pays more attention to psychology than adventures’ (Urnov 1970, 397),29 they nevertheless ultimately branded him as a master of sea tales. In the environment of state-controlled higher education and research, where the culture of literary criticism was defined by authoritative pronouncements made by those in the position of a critical establishment, Conrad’s fate was sealed. Soviet academies were organized on a military model designed to get the maximum effect with maximum efficiency. In the humanities, where the intended effect was the transmission of definitive knowledge, the most obvious means was to keep controversy to a minimum and epistemological suspicion near zero. In practical terms, this meant that a scholar investigating any subject would look up the pertinent articles in one of the state-sanctioned encyclopedias or read the works of critics employed by state-controlled research institutions. He or she would then reproduce or embroider that information, or, a more common strategy, combine various subject areas montage-style into useful syntheses. In aggregate, the most immediate result of these techniques was a bustling, industrious academic culture communicating officially-sanctioned knowledge of all varieties in all directions and creating the impression that this was the very matrix of epistemological evolution. The other main result was a sense, usually subtle, that this variety was simply uniformity in disguise – that despite an apparent diversity and complexity, one could still measure any differences with Marxist implements. Therefore, when Dmitri Urnov,30 a member of the Writers’ Union of the USSR, and a senior fellow at the research Institute of World Literature (named after M. Gorky), who also held the post of Chief Editor of a significant Russian scholarly journal, Voprosy literatury (Matters of Literature), stated that ‘Conrad wrote his best works about the sea’ (Urnov 1970, 396),31 critics were expected to concur. Urnov offers high praise for Conrad’s mastery in depicting ‘seamen’s service, its valour and hardships, the ocean, its expanse, colours, rollers, [and] fury’ where ‘one can trace human fortunes, see clashes, fights, friendship, love, betrayal, tortures of conscience and feats of honour against the background of a giant mobile panorama’. Writing like a true Conrad aficionado, Urnov states that ‘as the bard of particular elements, [Conrad] no doubt is among the first rank’ (Urnov 1970, 396).32 However, this is where the admiration of the author of the only Russian monograph on Conrad ends, for Conrad’s best books, the critic insists, are associated with the sea. He finds that ‘very few [of] Conrad’s works that are not related to the sea [. . .] are distinguished by notable literary merits and are of any significance. Conrad, apparently, was able to write almost exclusively about the sea or about what he saw because of his sea travels’ (Urnov 1970, 396).33 In other areas, Urnov insists, ‘he obviously maintained the

28 The most published were (in chronological order): Typhoon, Freya of the Seven Isles, The Secret Sharer, An Outpost of Progress, The End of the Tether, Youth, The Lagoon, The Shadow-Line, The Duel, Heart of Darkness, Lord Jim, The Black Mate, To-morrow, The Mirror of the Sea, The Informer and Falk. 29 ‘уделял психологии больше внимания, чем приключениям’. 30 Dmitry Urnov was regarded as Russian critical royalty: he was descended from a famous Russian critic of English literature, Mikhail Urnov, who was also a member of the Writers’ Union of the USSR. 31 ‘О море он написал свои лучшие книги.’ 32 ‘Показана моряцкая служба, ее доблесть и тяготы, раскрыт сам океан, его простор, краски, валы, ярость; на фоне гигантской подвижной панорамы прослеживаются человеческие судьбы, даются столкновения, схватки, дружба, любовь, измены, муки совести и подвиги чести.’

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mechanical mastery of his pen, but vital movement mostly vanished from his pieces unrelated to the sea’;34 these works, according to Urnov, are marked by what he calls ‘the tendentious violence imposed upon his non-marine works’ (Urnov 1970, 397).35 This emphasis on Conrad as a writer of sea stories had a further consequence. The reason Conrad’s works are not to be found among the classics that occupy a specially designated space in Russian public libraries is, according to Urnov, that the Russian readership feels that because of the focus on sea adventures ‘Joseph Conrad is [literature] for young people’ (Urnov 1977, 3).36 Explaining why he hates Conrad’s works, Vladimir Nabokov recalls that he read Conrad as a child when he lived in Russia ‘because those are books for children. They are full of cliches and persistent romanticism’ (Nabokov 1966, 62).37 At the same time, in spite of the romanticism and the sea adventures, Conrad did not become a favourite English author of Russian youth either. Kantor remembers that between the ages of ten and twelve, when he was reading and rereading books by Stevenson, Kipling and London, he would be given a Conrad book by his mentors, who assured him that it was interesting because it was about fascinating adventures at sea. He would turn over the pages, try to read it, and put it away. ‘True,’ Kantor reminisces, ‘his books had the sea, the storms and the typhoons, but we did not feel that adventurous principle which does not let you close the book until you have read the last page’ (Kantor 1981, 33).38 In a work of fiction, Kantor suggests, perhaps echoing Stevenson, a teenager looks for active, energetic, fascinating action.39 Conrad’s unreal stories, Kantor maintains, are ‘rather realistic, meticulously realistic:’40 Conrad ‘is compelled to describe and explain everything, explain how and why one circumstance results from another’ (Kantor 1981, 33). In his teenage years, the critic concludes, he and other young Russian readers ‘found such a manner of writing unsatisfactory’ (Kantor 1981, 33).41 Lost between the world of adolescence and adulthood because of the sea, and having missed the boat for supporters of the Bolshevik revolution, Conrad was bound to face another barrier between himself and the Russian reader: state censorship. In Russia, the history of canon formation is a history of censorship. A work of fiction can become a part of the canon only if it is not prevented from free circulation by censorship, and Russian censorship has been the longest lasting and most comprehensive of its kind in the twentieth century. All works imported into the Russian empire had to be examined in order to determine ‘their position with regard to the Orthodox church and Christianity, autocracy and the imperial house, morals, and the

33 ‘Очень немногие произведения Конрада “неморские” [. . .] отличаются заметными литературными достоинствами и имеют сколь-нибудь существенное значение. Конрад, как видно, мог писать почти исключительно о море [. . .].’ 34 ‘Касаясь иных областей он сохранял, разумеетса, механическую силу пера, но живое движение из его “неморских” вещей по большей части исчезало.’ 35 ‘без тенденцииозного насилия, часто навязанного его “неморским” произведениям’. 36 ‘A Джозеф Конрад - чтение для юношества, приключения, море.’ 37 ‘Но я ненавижу его книги [. . .] Когда я был ребенком, я читал их, потому что это книги для детей. Они полны клише и неуемной романтики [. . .].’ 38 ‘Действительно, в его книгах было море, шквалы и тайфуны, но вот того приключенческого начала, которое не дает закрыть книгу до последней страницы, мы не чувствовали.’ 39 See R. L. Stevenson’s essay, ‘A Gossip on Romance’ (Stevenson 1924). 40 ‘дотошно правдоподобен’. 41 ‘Такая манера письма нас в те полудетские еще годы не устраивала’.

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honour of individuals’ (Choldin 1985, 26). Despite the pettiness and absurdity of Russian prerevolutionary censorship regulations, some of Conrad’s works written before 1917 got through the fence. However, an examination of the works that were translated reveals that the Russian reader under the Tsar was presented, almost exclusively, with yet another author of exotic tales and peddler of seascapes: ‘Karain’ (1898), ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (1902), ‘The Lagoon’ (1898, 1907), Youth (1901), The Secret Agent (1908, 1915), ‘The Informer’ (1917), ‘Il Conde’ (1913), Under Western Eyes (1912) and Freya of the Seven Isles (1914). This list contains three surprises, however, in the form of three works allowed into the Russian Empire that showed Conrad’s capacity to go beyond the scope of sea adventures: ‘The Informer’, Under Western Eyes and The Secret Agent. Russian censorship found The Secret Agent acceptable for the Russian reader and even allowed Zinaida Vengrova’s42 1908 translation to be reprinted in 1915 by the Nashi Dni publishing house because it was seen as a spy novel. More surprisingly, Under Western Eyes, a foreign novel about Russia, and critical of Russia, portraying Russians as ‘non-European barbarians’, which one might have expected to be banned, was in accord with imperial sensibilities (Choldin 1989, 30). It was forgiven for its criticism of the existing social order because it showed no disrespect towards Russian royalty – after all, Razumov, a man of reason, enjoyed the patronage of Prince K. and had strong ideas about generally accepted morality. Most importantly, the novel’s criticism of Russian terrorism and Russian revolutionaries made it more than acceptable to the pre-1917 establishment: it was, in fact, appealing. Although reviews of the novel were mixed, they did not condemn Conrad’s political views. A 1912 review of E. Pimenova’s translation praises Conrad’s conscientious attentiveness to Russian life and draws parallels to real political figures of the time. At the same time, however, the reviewer points out Conrad’s lack of familiarity with the subtleties of Russian culture and the realities of St Petersburg, which would be noticed by a Russian reader and lead to a loss of credibility in the reader’s eyes (Russkoe Bogatstvo 1912, 211). However, considering that Russia, at that time, suffered from an illiteracy rate of 40 per cent, as well as general socio-economic instability, only a marginal group, a small percentage of Eurocentric Russian intellectuals of the leisured classes, had the requisite skills and wherewithal to appreciate Conrad, and only a fraction of these had the inclination to pay any attention whatsoever to the work of a Polish expatriate writing in a foreign language and idiom. After the 1917 Bolshevik revolution, when those who were the object of Conrad’s scathing criticism came to power, Conrad’s reception in Russia can be divided into five periods: the period of the New Economic Policy (NEP) (1921–8); the Stalin years (1928–53); the Krushchev period of ottepel (thawing); Gorbachev’s initiation of perestroika (restructuring); and the twenty-first century. In a temporary retreat from the Bolshevik policy of centralization, the NEP introduced private ventures, while the state continued to control foreign trade, heavy industry and banks; it brought political, economic, cultural and spiritual transformation, relaxing censorship – and providing the conditions for an explosion of Conrad

42

Zinaida Afanasievna Vengerova (1855–1920) was a famous critic and translator of English literature. She corresponded with Hugh Walpole, Constance Garnett and other English authors. Vengerova offered the first critical assessment of Conrad’s work.

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translations.43 Krivtsova’s translation of Under Western Eyes speaks to the degree of liberalization of the political climate in Russia. However, the new political order’s acceptance of Conrad’s critical portrayal of Russian revolutionaries would be short-lived, for, in 1928, at the end of the NEP period, critical accounts of Under Western Eyes, referring to Conrad as an ‘artist of decadence’,44 would condemn him for depicting Russian revolutionaries as ‘broken people without will’ (Dinamov 1929, 78). This change of attitude towards Conrad, despite the burst of interest in him in the years 1925–6, followed the fluctuations of the party line. A 1926 article on Conrad’s ‘The Duel’, published in Oktyabr (October), a substantial, authoritative monthly journal of literature, criticism and art sponsored by the All-Union and Moscow Association of Proletariat Writers, set the stage for the reconsideration of Conrad’s inclusion in the Russian canon in the 1930s, following the end of the NEP. The article criticized the publication of ‘The Duel’, suggesting that it ‘should not have been allowed into mass circulation’ (Perekati Pole 1926, 17).45 The critic, writing under the pseudonym ‘Perekati Pole’, maintains that the publication of Conrad’s ‘The Duel’ by the state publishing house Universal’naya Biblioteka (Universal Library) was a mistake, since the publication of such low-quality material would not have allowed state publishing houses to prevail over private printing presses during the NEP.‘Who needs such a novel?’ the critic asks, and then offers a response: ‘Only old admirers of the tsarist regime’ (Perekati Pole 1926, 217).46 This line of propagandistic vitriol continued throughout the Stalin years. In 1929, the Russian magazine Revolutsiya i kul’tura (Revolution and Culture) published two essays, one on Joyce and the other on Conrad, under the general title, ‘Two Western Artists of Decadence’. Both Joyce and Conrad are rejected as writers on the basis of their individualism and philosophical subjectivism. Conrad, like Joyce, ‘is the writer of the decadent layers of the petit bourgeoisie’: ‘his orientation is towards the psyche of a man locked in his ego, which makes his individuality the borderline of reality and encloses the whole world in his consciousness’ (Dinamov 1929, 78–9).47 In this cultural milieu, where it was acceptable to judge writers solely on the basis of their class origins and the relative sophistication of their subordination of self-consciousness to class consciousness, it is predictable that Conrad would be interpreted as ‘the artist of agony, of tormenting psychological moments, tragic situations, and weird conditions which prove inexplicable to the characters, and thus occasion their psychological disintegration’ (Dinamov 1929, 78).48 In his treatment of Lord Jim, for example, Dinamov

43

The following works by Conrad were translated and published during the NEP period: Typhoon (1924, 1925, 1927), ‘The Informer’ (1926, 1927, 1929), Lord Jim (1926, twice), The Secret Sharer (1925, 1926, 1927), Freya of the Seven Isles (1924, twice, and again in 1926), ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (1925, 1927), Youth (1925, 1926), A Smile of Fortune (1924, 1926), ‘The Brute’ (1926, 1927), ‘The Planter of Malata’ (1923, twice), ‘The Partner’ (1923, twice), ‘The Inn of Two Witches’ (1923, twice), ‘Because of the Dollars’ (1923, 1924), The Shadow-Line (1925, 1926), Almayer’s Folly (1923), An Outcast of the Islands (1925), ‘Karain’ (1925), ‘The Idiots’ (1925), ‘The Return’ (1925), ‘The Lagoon’ (1925), Heart of Darkness (1926), The End of the Tether (1926), ‘Amy Foster’ (1925, 1927), ‘Falk’ (1925), ‘Tomorrow’ (1925), Romance (1926), Nostromo (1928), The Secret Agent (1925), Under Western Eyes (1925), Chance (1925), Victory (1925), The Rescue (1925), ‘Laughing Anne’ (1923), ‘The Tale’ (1925) and ‘The Black Mate’ (1925). 44 ‘художник упадка’. 45 ‘Вряд ли нужно было пустить в массу’. 46 ‘Кому может понадобиться такой роман? [. . .] Разве старым воздыхателям по царскому строю.’ 47 ‘Художник упадочнических слоев мелкой буржуазии. И его творческая установка -такая же: на психику человека, замкнутого в “я”, свою индивидуальность сделавшего границей действительности, в свое сознание замкнувшего весь мир.’ 48 ‘Художник агонии, художник мучительных психологических моментов, трагических ситуаций, странных и кажущихся его героям необъяснимых положений, художник распада цельной человеческой личности.’

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blames Conrad for capitalizing on Jim’s psychologically decadent condition while simultaneously understanding its remedy. To demonstrate this, Dinamov cites Marlow’s famous observation on Jim’s place in the world around him – the self-same observation that crystallizes Jim’s enduring appeal to the Western mind – as evidence that Conrad was an adept pathologist: ‘[Jim] rubbed shoulders with them, but they could not touch him; he shared the air they breathed, but he was different.’ For Dinamov, it is obvious that this disconnection from the world causes Jim ‘to close the door on life’ and, as he puts it, ‘join the savages;’49 it is equally obvious, according to Dinamov, that Conrad chooses not to issue the appropriate social and medical judgements because through this disconnect he finds an opportunity to indulge his and his readers’ fascination with the exotic. Dinamov’s conviction concerning Conrad’s tacit willingness to advocate social disorder as the prerequisite for individual adventure was also the conviction of an entire nation concerning the whole of contemporary European culture. Having confirmed this general prejudice, Dinamov is then free to dismiss the remainder of Conrad’s corpus as indicative of pathological romanticism, devoid of redeeming social value and typical of what passes for art in the decadent West. Even the novels set entirely in England, he maintains, can be summarily condemned as mere reflections of a national temperament powerless in addressing its crippling class problems and therefore wholly abandoned to escapism and exoticism in its cultural life. It is, therefore, ideologically secure and simple for Dinamov to expose Conrad’s literary strategy as a flight from urgent sociopolitical concerns towards the same old aesthetic sanctuary that served as a refuge for Romantics, Victorians and Edwardians alike. For Dinamov, Conrad [. . .] transfers his characters to the seas and tropical lands because there the process of disintegration acquires dramatically different beautiful and romantic forms. Conrad’s romanticism is the romanticism of the petit bourgeoisie; Conrad’s romanticism is the gold-plated shell of a rotten kernel. Dinamov 1929, 7850 Astonishingly, this rhetoric does not originate with some fanatical critical loner. In fact, in the 1920s Dinamov was the accepted Russian authority on Conrad.51 Among his numerous contributions were critical introductions to Freya of the Seven Isles and Typhoon in the collected edition of Conrad’s fiction published in 1924–5. His propagandist rhetoric thus paradoxically secured a place for Conrad as persona non grata in the Russian version of the English canon.

‘решает “закрыть дверь жизни” [. . .] уходит к дикарям’. ‘[. . .] потому переносит своих героев на моря и в тропики, что там процесс их разложения приобретает совершенно иные красивые и романтические формы, Романтика Конрада – это мелкобуржуазная романтика, романтика Конрада – это позолоченная скорлупа гнилого ядра’. 51 Sergey Sergeevich Dinamov (real name Oglodkov, 1901–39) was a famous Soviet literary critic of the time. He was born into a working-class family and worked his way up to become the Director of the Institute of the Red Professoriate, which educated the highest ideological cadres of the Communist Party. He was also Head of the Department of Methodology in the Faculty of Literature and Art at Moscow State University and an editor of the journal Internatsional’naya Literatura (International Literature). In 1938, Dinamov was arrested on charges of counterrevolutionary terrorist activity and was shot in 1939. He was exonerated in 1956. 49 50

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Russian censorship became stricter during the Stalin years, following the end of the NEP, due to the government’s mandate to evaluate every work of art from the perspective of class, condemning everything that did not denounce the privileged classes and glorify the revolutionary proletariat. The Soviet censor was expected ‘not merely to delete “harmful” material’ but also to ‘translate, edit, amend and rewrite the foreign work’ (Choldin 1989, 32). Consequently, Conrad’s reputation again became that of a writer of sea adventures, but with a twist: he was now a ‘defender’ of the rights of those alienated from the means of production and a proponent of progress generated by the underprivileged. As a result, the Stalinist regime allowed a significantly reduced list of Conrad publications.52 In particular, none of Conrad’s political novels were allowed into the country during the 1930s and 1940s. This does not mean, however, that there were no positive assessments of Conrad’s works during the Stalinist period. After the Second World War, Conrad criticism appears to be less obviously driven by ideology, and its rhetoric assumes, instead, a tone of objective analysis. Ivan Kashin’s seminal 1947 essay, ‘Joseph Conrad’, is a significant turning-point in Russian Conrad studies.53 Kashkin’s endorsement of Conrad as an outstanding writer is prefaced by the suggestion that, as a foreigner, he was ‘reluctantly recognized as a master of English literature’54 and a demeaning reference to his émigré status. Kashkin calls Conrad ‘an outcast and a vagabond, a person without a motherland and without a language’ who ‘was trying to create a ground for himself on the deck of a ship and in the sphere of art’ (Kashkin 1977, 71).55 The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes are referred to as ‘two unsuccessful excursions into the psychology of an East European individual, which are reduced to . . . lampoons on terrorists, at times inseparable from agents provocateurs’ (Kashkin 1977, 71).56 Discussing Conrad’s condemnation of imperialism, Kashkin points out that his colonizers are (conveniently) Dutch, Belgian and French, rather than English. However, Kashkin believes that the schism between the romanticism of the sea and the ‘dark calls of life and death’57 creates Conrad’s style in his sea stories, which is ‘brilliant’ and marked by ‘high mastery;’58 there he ‘achieved the ultimate level of description, musicality, sophistication of imagery’59 (Kashkin 1977, 74). At the same time, Kashkin points out that, as a member of the szlachta, Conrad ‘blindly hated’ Tsarist Russia and everything Russian, including Russian literature,60 with the exception of Turgenev. In The Secret Agent and particularly in Under Western Eyes, according to Kashkin, while professing his ignorance about Russia, Conrad was exploiting the contemporary vogue for Russia by ‘deflecting’, ‘as in a false mirror’, caricature figures from Dostoyevsky’s Demons, 52

It included An Outpost of Progress (1935), The Lagoon (1935), The End of the Tether, in translation entitled The End of Slavery (1935), Typhoon (1930, 1935), Falk (1935), ‘To-morrow’ (1935), The Secret Sharer (1935), Freya of the Seven Isles (1935, 1944), The Shadow-Line (1930) and The Duel (1947). 53 Ivan Kashkin (1899–1963) was a pre-eminent Soviet critic. He created a Soviet school of translation and translated Hemingway, Faulkner, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Robert Louis Stevenson and others. 54 ‘иноземец, скрепя сердце признанный мастером английской литературы’. 55 ‘Изгнанник и бродяга, “человек без родины” и без языка, он стремился создать себе почву на палубе корабля и в сфере искусства’. 56 ‘[. . .] два малоудачных экскурса в область психологии восточноевропейского человека, из чего получается у Конрада лишь пасквиль на террористов, иной раз неотличимых от провокаторов’. 57 ‘темных зовов жизни и смерти’. 58 ‘Блестящий [. . .] поднимается до высокого мастерства’. 59 ‘добиваясь предельной изобразительности, музыкальности, изощренности образа’. 60 ‘Ненавидел царскую Россию слепой ненавистью шляхтича, которая распространялась на все русское, в том числе и на русскую литературу.’

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‘spicing them up, in the Western fashion, with speculations about the mystically transcendental Eastern soul’,61 the whole novel being nothing but another ‘malicious conjecture’ (Kashkin 1977, 74).62 Conrad, according to Kashkin, is an outsider and a misfit in English literature, who idealized England: ‘Having learned much from the English seamen, Conrad, intrinsically benevolent, had a naïve delusion that only Englishmen are important at sea, and that all Englishmen are seamen or resemble seamen’ (Kashkin 1977, 74).63 For that reason, he attributed positive characteristics, such as tenacity, a strong will and a sense of duty, to Englishmen and left negative qualities for ‘colonizers and imperialists from other countries’ (Kashkin 1977, 74).64 To demonstrate the rejection of Conrad by contemporary English writers due to his foreign origin, Kashkin misquotes Virginia Woolf in order to suggest that Conrad is regarded as an inferior English writer because he is a Pole.65 Misrepresenting Woolf ’s analysis, he attributes the following statement to her: ‘Mr. Conrad is a Pole, which sets him apart, and, in spite of all his worth, reduces the value of his achievements’ (Kashkin 1977, 75).66 This deviation from the original cannot be explained by the inevitable losses that occur in translation; in the context of Kashkin’s other statements regarding Conrad’s national background and his émigré status, this misrepresentation can be read as nothing but a deliberate attempt to besmirch Conrad’s reputation and belittle his literary achievements in the eyes of the Russian reader, while attempting to maintain an appearance of objectivity and scholarly integrity. With the end of Stalinism, official policies regarding the West were moderated, most notably during Krushchev’s ottepel’, or ‘the thawing’, in the late 1950s and early 1960s. During this period, much of what had been forbidden was suddenly available, including much Western literature. Still, despite the lifting of the ban on Conrad, the available translations remained less than adequate, making it difficult for any critic without an extensive background in the Western canon of English literature to argue with the prevailing caricature of Conrad as a purveyor of adventure stories with a specialty in nautical yarns.67 Conrad was viewed, during this period, as

‘Как в кривом зеркале, преломлял памфлетные фигуры Бесов, приправляя их по западной моде рассуждениями о мистически непознаваемой восточной душе’. 62 ‘злостный вариант домыслов’. 63 ‘Конрад [. . .] склонен был к наивному заблуждению, что на море имеют значение одни только англичане и что все англичане – моряки или похожи на моряков.’ 64 ‘[. . .] оставлять на долю колонизаторов и империалистов других стран’. 65 In fact, when Woolf contemplates the continuity between the traditional and the modern novel, she suggests that one of the reasons why men and women who began to write in England around 1910 faced a great difficulty was that ‘there was no English novelist living from whom they could learn their business’. In this context, she goes on to say, ‘Mr Conrad is a Pole, which sets him apart, and makes him, however admirable, not very helpful’ (Woolf 1961, 219). 66 ‘Мистер Конрад поляк, что ставит его особняком и, несмотря на его достоинства, снижает ценность его достижений.’ 67 Conrad’s works translated and published during ottepel include Typhoon (1959, 1983. 1986, 1989, 1995, 1996); Lord Jim (in some translations entitled The Jump Overboard; 1959, 1989, 1996, 2005, 2007, 2009); The Secret Sharer (1959, 1983, 1985, 1986, 1991, 1996); The End of the Tether (entitled The End of Slavery; 1959, 1979, 1983, 1985, 1986, 1996); An Outpost of Progress (1959, 1961, 1983, 1985, 1991); Heart of Darkness (1959, 1985, 1996, 2007, 2011); The Duel (1956, 1959, 1985, 1991, 1996); Youth (1959, 1979, 1985, 1996); Freya of the Seven Isles (1959, 1980, 1985, 1989); ‘The Black Mate’ (1959, 1979, 1980, 1990); The Secret Agent (2008, 2010, 2012); The Mirror of the Sea (1958, 1980, 1996); The Lagoon (1959, 1979, 1985); The Shadow-Line (1959, 1983, 1986); ‘To-morrow’ (1959, 1985); ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ (1989, 1991); Falk (1959), ‘Il Conde’ (1981); Nostromo (1985); Victory (1996); ‘The Planter of Malata’ (1991); ‘The Partner’ (1991); ‘Laughing Anne’ (1959); ‘Because of the Dollars’ (1991); The Rescue (1996); and Under Western Eyes (2012). 61

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a neo-romantic who tried to find fulfilment in a world of adventurers and self-worth in their code of honour; but again, since he did not believe in the ideals of revolution, he was forced to accept social injustice as irremediable, and, therefore, in his passivity, was contaminated by capitalist values, becoming obsessed with monetary gain and susceptible to the ideological and artistic crises that surfaced in his later works from which he never recovered. However, despite the critics’ adherence to the official party line, and even despite the perceived rotten kernel of romanticism in his work, Conrad, unlike most English modernists, enjoyed a sort of renaissance in Russia. The 1959 publication of a two-volume edition by E. Lann of Conrad’s collected works from Gosudarstvennoe Izdatel’stvo Khudozhestvennoy Literatury (the State Publishing House of Fiction) became a significant event in the history of Conrad’s reception in Russia. It contained a decent cross-section of his work, including ‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, Youth, The End of the Tether, ‘The Black Mate’, Lord Jim, Heart of Darkness, Typhoon, Falk,‘To-morrow’, The Duel, The Secret Sharer, The Shadow-Line, Laughing Anne and the essays ‘John Galsworthy’, ‘Guy de Maupassant’ and ‘Geography and Some Explorers’. Furthermore, the author of the general introduction, N. Bannikov, conspicuously departs from Dinamovian orthodoxy, lauding Conrad as a writer who rejected the values of bourgeois civilization and chose instead to extol the best qualities of human nature: courage, will and comradely solidarity (Bannikov 1959, 6). Augmenting this rehabilitation of Conrad as a crypto-Bolshevik, Bannikov also expresses admiration for his unique style, which combines ‘the descriptive sophistication of an impressionist with the manly vigilance of a professional seaman’ (Bannikov 1959, 7).68 However, forced to strike a balance between the dominant ideology and critical integrity, he has no choice but to devote a separate paragraph in his threepage introduction to a panegyric on Conrad’s heroic ‘protest against the enslavement of the multi-million peoples of the East, so long trampled under the heels of the colonizers’ and on his heartfelt yearning for the time ‘when these oppressed masses will reveal their creative capabilities’ (Bannikov 1959, 7).69 Nevertheless, given that Conrad ‘failed to see the vast quantity of opportunities opened to humankind by the Great October Revolution in Russia’ (Bannikov 1959, 7),70 the selection of works for inclusion, and, more particularly, the absence of the more concertedly political novels – especially Under Western Eyes – did little to modify the official evaluation of Conrad. As a result, Conrad remained in a literary backwater, his status still marginal when compared to that of Shakespeare, Dickens, Graham Greene, H. G. Wells and Somerset Maugham, all of whom had long been staples in any Russian university course on British literature. Then again, it is difficult to judge Conrad’s real status in academic circles, given that Russian universities had already lost their independence from state control in the nineteenth century and, by the Soviet era, were institutions with a long tradition of skilful duplicity behind them, inhabited by people adept in the arts of ironic compliance. So, although their programmes were controlled by the Ministry of Higher Education, they had some flexibility in the actual implementation of those programmes, as is the case with any academy, leaving room for any number of covert

‘живопистая изощренность импрессиониста с мужественной зоркостью профессионала-морехода’. ‘[. . .] глубокий протест против закабаления и эксплуатации многомиллионных народных масс Востока, подпавших под пяту колонизаторов’. 70 ‘Он не увидел тех просторных путей, которые распахнула человечеству Великая Октябрьская революция в России’. 68 69

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curricula, some of which probably incorporated Conrad, given his own facility with duplicity and his obsessive recourse to the theme of misconstrual, both artless and engineered. What is certain is that while there was no free market for publishers and no culture of bestsellers in Soviet Russia, there was a highly literate citizenry which, given the severe restrictions on travel and on access to foreign media, exhibited an omnivorous appetite for foreign books in translation since these afforded the only available glimpse into the larger world. That said, it is also clear that Conrad had pre-dramatized any number of scenarios eerily similar to the common, lived experiences of ordinary Russians and was, therefore, overdue for a more general hearing. Nevertheless, the effect of the 1959 edition, as important as it is, was short-lived and diluted: in a country with a population of 280 million, the 225,000 printed copies soon became a bibliographical rarity, comprising, as Russians put it, a drop in the ocean. Conrad’s Russian reception in the second half of the twentieth century followed the line of the mainstream ideological direction albeit in a more tempered tenor. The 1985 Istoriya Anglijskoj Literatury (History of English Literature) published by Vysshaya Shkola (Highest School), the only publishing house authorized by the state to print materials for university courses, defined Conrad’s position in the Russian version of the English canon as a neoromantic aligned with the likes of Robert Louis Stevenson and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. More polemically, he was dismissed as a relatively unskilled disciple of Dostoevsky, without his mastery of humanistic pathos, without courage in confronting bourgeois egoism and individualistic psychopathology, and without Dostoevsky’s willingness to champion the humiliated and oppressed in their doomed attempts to rise above a system of instituted social injustice. Thus, Anikin and Mikhalskaya asserted that Conrad’s Under Western Eyes, a novel most Russian readers would not have seen, ‘does not exhibit high artistic mastery nor deep ideological content’ (Anikin and Mikhalskaya 1985, 277).71 As a result, he, thus, failed to reach the standards set by Dostoevsky, whose novel Crime and Punishment endured as an instigation to indignation and protest in the face of social evil, compared to which Conrad’s fatalism and his sceptical attitude towards the revolutionary struggle seemed pusillanimous and cowardly. His weakness as an artist, then, was his weakness as a man, content to think of human beings in terms of their psychological individuality, removed from their concrete circumstances and defined in relation to abstractions of good and fictions of value. As for his literary competence, the authors asserted what one could predict on the basis of the encyclopaedic last word: ‘in spite of his numerous ideological contradictions Conrad the artist remains an insightful psychologist, a wonderful writer of sea stories, a master with a fine impressionistic style, and a creator of brave characters, who celebrates what he could grasp of courage and endurance’ (Anikin and Mikhalskaya 1985, 277).72 One of the ways to legitimize Conrad as a psychologist and political thinker is, invariably, by comparison with Russian writers. However, the tenor of those parallels is hardly in Conrad’s favour as they tend to follow Anikin and Mikhalskaya and dismiss Conrad as a relatively unskilful imitator of Dostoevsky. Kagarlitsky, for example, asserts that Under Western Eyes was

‘Это произведение не отличается высоким мастерством и глубиной идейного содержания’. ‘При всех своих идейных противоречиях Конрад остается большим художником-психологом, великолепным писателем-маринистом, мастером тонкого живописного, импрессионистического стиля, создателем ярких романтических характеров, певцом человеческого мужества и стойкости’. 71 72

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written ‘under the influence of misunderstood Dostoevsky’ (Kagarlitsky 1957, 208).73 Rare admissions that Conrad’s representation of Russia might have some value are accompanied by other suggestions that serve to negate this reluctant praise. Thus, Dmitry Urnov agrees with Thomas Mann, who believes that although Russian writers are the best source of knowledge about Russian culture, Conrad’s ‘Russian novels’ are worthy of attention, but he maintains that Conrad is not telling the Russian reader anything new as he ‘arrived at conclusions which were already known in Russian literature’ (Urnov 1977, 84).74 Those conclusions, he suggests, were extensively discussed by Chaadaev, who was popular among the students of St Petersburg University at the time that Conrad’s father, Apollo Korzeniowski, was studying there. Despite the official view that Conrad’s ‘departure from real social problems into exoticism and subjectivism aligns him with bourgeois decadents’ (Bol’shaya Sovetskaya Entsyklopediya 1953, 399),75 some critics tried to ease Conrad’s works into the Russian canon of English literature by stressing his achievements in the realistic portrayal of social issues. In his 1957 article, written for the 100th anniversary of Conrad’s birth and published by the Union of Writers of the USSR in a relatively liberal journal entitled Inostrannaya Literatura (Foreign Literature), Y. Kagarlitski attempted to change the official narrative about Conrad. He argued that the writer had played a ‘specific’ but ‘considerable’ role in European literature’s transition ‘from the realism of free bourgeois development to the realism of the age of imperialism’ (Kagarlitski 1957, 206).76 An important development in the Russian reception of Conrad was the 2012 translation of Conrad’s ‘Russian novels’ The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes, which, as we have seen, up to this time did not have a good critical reception and publication history in Russia. These novels, which used to be criticized as absurd tales about Russian revolutionaries, were now published by the Russian Academy of Sciences. Their publication was part of the authoritative academic series Monuments of Literature, specifically intended for readers interested in the in-depth and comprehensive understanding of works that had been established as classics in the Russian canon of world literature. The volume contains extensive ancillary material: an academic article by V. M. Tolmachev, thorough textual and historic commentaries, a chronology of Conrad’s life and works, and eighty-nine illustrations. It fills the gaps in Russian readers’ perceptions of the writer and signals a re-evaluation of Conrad’s place in the Russian canon of British literature. Tolmachev, unlike previous mainstream critics, does not minimize the effect of Russo-Polish history on Conrad’s familial situation and defends Conrad against accusations of anti-Russian sentiments in Under Western Eyes. Russian issues in the novel, Tolmachev maintains, are ‘an essential part of Conrad’s artistic reflection on international themes’ (Tolmachev 2012, 512),77 which cannot be considered outside of the context of fin-de-siècle symbolism and the mythology of the loss of innocence, the crisis of positivism, the decline of Europe, conflicts between East and West and chaos and order. Tolmachev goes even further, suggesting that it is hard to imagine more ‘anti-English, anti-revolutionary and anti-liberal ‘под влиянием плохо понятого Достоевского’. ‘приходил он подчас все-таки к тем же выводам, какие русской литературе уже были известны’. 75 ‘Уход К. от реальных общественных проблем в экзотику и субъективизм сближают его с буржуазными декадентами’. 76 ‘В движении от реализма ХIХ века, от реализма эпохи “свободного” буржуазного развития к реализму эпохи империализма немалую, хотя и очень специфическую, роль сыграл Конрад’. 77 ‘составная часть конрадовской художественной рефлексии на международную тему’. 73 74

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novels’ than The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes, unconsciously written ‘in defence of the “hell” of a loner’ (Tolmachev 2012, 513).78 This publication, and particularly Tolmachev’s assessment of Conrad’s oeuvre, suggests that the foundation of the Russian critical assessment of Conrad had shifted towards a more honest and nuanced reading, which could be left for a new generation of Russian scholars to take further. Overall, apart from official statements, the sum total of critical works on Conrad in Russian amounts to three monographs, several dissertations and an average of one article a year in refereed journals – most of which reproduce, condense or expand on the same clichés that have circulated since Adamovich in the 1920s. Remarkably, even after state censorship was dramatically relaxed in the 1990s, Russian readers avoided Conrad, while readily embracing Lawrence, Joyce and Eliot – in other words, writers who seemed more intriguingly English (even if Joyce was Irish, and Eliot born in America). It may be the case that Conrad was simply too Slavic and did not exert any foreign charisma, or perhaps the problem is that the longstanding authoritative judgement on his fiction persists well beyond the collapse of its rationale. In any event, although Conrad’s works are now published in greater numbers than ever before, and despite the carefully positive insights into safe topics suggested by several academics, Conrad is still everything contemporary Russia has been told to hate: an independent thinker, a nobleman, an elitist, an émigré – a word that still carries a semantic whiff of treason – and, above all, a Pole who defies the idea that Russianness is a naturally sealed-off and esoteric thing with a special mysterious mission. In Russia, this is, tragically, a subversive notion.

‘в защиту “ада” одиночки’.

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CHAPTER 25 A FAMILIAL SOUL IN SLOVENIA AND FORMER YUGOSLAVIA Majda Šavle

Slovenia, an independent state since 1991, with a small area and population (20,273 km2; 2.06 million inhabitants), has always been the meeting-point of South Slavic, Germanic, Romance and Hungarian languages and culture. It is hence unavoidable, as argued by essayist Darja Mazi-Leskovar, that Slovenians accept translation and interpreting as ‘a fact of life’ (MaziLeskovar 2003, 2). Yet it was only at the turn of the twentieth century, when Slovenians established a standardized literary language within the multi-national Austro-Hungarian Empire and changed their somewhat ‘isolationist rejection of translation’ (Stanovnik 2005, 327), that Ivan Prijatelj (1875–1937), a modernist translator of Russian literature and scholar of contemporary Slavic literatures, set the rules for literary translations in Slovenian: ‘only outstanding, widely recognized works should be translated; among these, only those agreeable to Slovenian readers should be accepted; and only skilled translations should be printed’ (in Stanovnik 2005, 314). Previously, as noted by Janez Gradišnik (1917–2009), a distinguished Slovenian writer and translator, there were few translations published and the authors were chosen largely by chance or perhaps in line with the taste and preferences of translators (in Stanovnik 1996, 56). After Slovenia became part of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians in 1918, things gradually changed, notes Gradišnik. Slovenians became more educated, they learned different languages and they had a better knowledge of foreign literature (in Stanovnik 1996, 56). As a result, literary criticism of native as well as of translated literature started to emerge in periodicals such as the political paper Jutro (Morning); the journal of literary criticism Kritika (Criticism); the oldest Slovenian journal for literature and culture Sodobnost (Modernity); the literary paper Ljubljanski zvon (The Ljubljana Bell); and the weekly newspaper Novice (News).1 One of these early critics, Franc Štingl (1868–1944) was the first to draw attention to Joseph Conrad. Štingl, who was of Czech origin, was a translator and also a contributor to numerous newspapers, periodicals and books in all the Slavic languages, as well as in English, French and Italian, and he wrote reports, studies and notes on well-known contemporaries and important personalities of the early twentieth century as well as short reviews of new literary publications. His contributions were well received among readers of periodicals such as Dom in svet (Home and the World) (1888–1944), a distinctly Catholic monthly literary journal, read in Slovenia, America, Italy and Germany. Štingl’s review of Conrad’s Youth, a narrative and two other stories and Lafcadio Hearn’s Kotto: Being Japanese curios, with sundry cobwebs appeared in Dom in svet in 1903, a year after the publication of the two books in England. Štingl presents Conrad’s latest fiction as ‘an illustration of the battle between man and nature with no additional complications, and yet before the reader’s eyes a very interesting drama unfolds. In the middle 1

See Šavle 2009.

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of the sea a small group of fearless men save a steamer from a terrible typhoon’ (Štingl 1903, 570).2 In Štingl’s opinion, Conrad’s story Typhoon (1903), like The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (1897), relates to man’s eternal struggle against nature, while in narratives such as ‘The Lagoon’ (1898) or Lord Jim (1900) the writer takes his readers to the Malay archipelago, portraying places so realistically that they have the impression of being there. Štingl argues that Rudyard Kipling fascinates English readers with poems and stories about life in colonial India; Wells accompanies them to ‘interstellar spaces’ (zvezdnati prostori); while Conrad ‘sketches distant islands and high seas with mysterious shores and unknown places’ (Štingl 1903, 570).3 A year later, in 1904, a short anonymous note appeared in the first Slovenian daily paper, Slovenski narod (Slovenian People; 1868–1943), the leading liberal newspaper before the Second World War, noting that Joseph Conrad, one of the most famous English authors of simple tales, is a Pole and that his real name is Korzeniowski. Exactly two decades would pass with no further mention of Conrad or his works in the Slovenian press. However, shortly after his death on 3 August 1924, two notes on his life and work appeared – the first in Slovenec (the Slovenian) and the other in Slovenski narod (on 9 and 14 August respectively). The news of Conrad’s death, with a brief account of his life at sea, appeared in the column ‘News from Abroad’ (‘Po svetu’). Here the anonymous author makes the point that, although Conrad began to write only at a late age, he was regarded as the author of some of the most beautiful novels and sea stories ever written in English. A longer anonymous notice issued in the column ‘Enlightenment’ (‘Prosveta’) of the Slovenski narod, includes a list of Conrad’s most important works and offers some interesting thoughts and conclusions on his writing. According to the columnist, Conrad is one of the few writers who ‘got to the bottom of the soul of the sea and was able to appreciate the beauty of the tropical world’ (Anonymous 1924b).4 Conrad is, for the English, what his contemporary, a naval officer and author of exotic novels and short stories, Pierre Loti (real name Louis Marie-Julien Viaud; 1850–1923), is for the French, states the anonymous author. Like many critics before and after him, he recognizes that, despite the fact that Conrad was not a native Englishman, he was a master of the language, scrupulously structuring sentence after sentence, and never ‘allowing himself that familiarity with the language which results in negligence or lack of respect’ (Anonymous 1924b).5 He then quotes from Conrad’s Preface to The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus:’ ‘it is only through an unremitting, never-discouraged care for the shape and ring of sentences that an approach can be made to plasticity, to colour’ (NN, ix) (Anonymous (1924b).6 ‘Conrad is an interesting personality,’ resumes the anonymous critic, ‘his works are really enjoyable, and his charm comes from, apparently, a fortunate mixture of the Slavic and the English soul, gradually embraced by the son of the Ukrainian steppes during the years he spent among Englishmen’ (Anonymous 1924b).7 The author concludes the article by expressing his hope that the Slovenian public will soon meet Conrad in translation. Three years later, his wishes came true. 2

‘V najnovejši knjigi se riše boj človeka z naravo brez vsake druge zapletke in vendar ima bravec pred očmi zelo zanimivo dramo. V sredi morja nekoliko mož vodi parnik, ki srečno premaga strašen orkan na morju.’ 3 ‘riše otoke in morja s skrivnostnim obrežjem in z neznanimi kraji’. 4 ‘Conrad je eden izmed redkih pisateljev, ki je spoznal do dna dušo morja in ki je znal oceniti krasoto tropičnega sveta.’ 5 ‘in si ni napram jeziku nikoli dovolil familjarnosti, ki ima za posledico malomarnost ali pomanjkanje spoštovanja’. 6 ‘edinole neprestana nikdar malodušna skrb za obliko in godbo stavka daje pisatelju možnost, približati se plastiki in koloritu’. 7 ‘Conrad je zanimiva osebnost, njegovo delo je zelo simpatično in njegov čar izhaja menda iz srečne mešanice slovanskega duha z angleškim, ki je tekom dolgih let, ki jih je pisatelj preživel med Angleži, prešinil sina ukrajinskih step.’

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Joseph Conrad in Slovenia before the Second World War In the mid-1920s, Josip Vidmar (1895–1992), a notable Slovenian literary critic, essayist and politician, redefined the basic characteristics and the orientation of the programme for translated literature in Slovenia by outlining three conditions: the high quality of the works to be translated, their ethnic-linguistic diversity and the quality of the translation (Stanovnik 1987, 42). The present chapter confirms that these principles were generally observed. What’s more, it also demonstrates that not just prominent Slovenian writers, playwrights and poets but also literary critics, editors and publishers all contributed translations. Often, as in the case of Matej Šmalc (1888–1960), who was the first to translate a work by Conrad into Slovenian, it was the translator who provided the accompanying commentary or critical appreciation. Šmalc studied Italian and French language, literature and culture first in Florence and Vienna and later at the Sorbonne in Paris. In 1915 he completed his doctoral dissertation on the Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi (1798–1837) under the supervision of the well-known Swiss philologist Wilhelm Meyer-Lübke (1861–1936). From 1920 to 1933, when Šmalc was ‘forcibly retired’ for his support for the progressive education movement in Slovenia, he served as General Secretary of the University of Ljubljana.8 He translated, not from Italian but from French, German and English, including Brecht’s Puntilla und sein Knecht Matti and Maeterlinck’s Les aveugles and L’intruse. Šmalc’s translation of the short story ‘The Lagoon’ (‘Laguna’) from the collection Tales of Unrest (1898) and a brief article on Conrad’s life and work titled ‘Inozemski pregled’ (An Account from Abroad) appeared in 1927 in Ljubljanski zvon. Ljubljanski zvon was launched in January 1881 as the journal of a circle of young Slovenian liberals, mostly from Carniola.9 It soon established itself as the most prestigious literary magazine published in Slovenian. Its roster of writers included significant authors, journalists and political activists such as Fran Levec (1846–1916), Janko Kersnik (1852–1897), Oton Župančič (1878–1949), Fran Albreht (1889–1963) and Anton Ocvirk (1907–86). Besides contributions by many important Slovenian poets and writers, and translations of well-known international authors, the journal also published articles covering the field of the humanities and social sciences.10 Although it was a monthly magazine, the stories and articles, ‘The Lagoon’ included, were not printed in instalments. The rationale was, as Gail Fraser has pointed out in another context, that ‘serial division into two or three parts would destroy the reader’s sense of uninterrupted communion with the author and his work – a feature that helps to distinguish the genre’ (Fraser 1996, 30). Fraser is here referring to the genre of the short story. Using the term in another 8

From its establishment in 1919 until the end of the Second World War, the University of Ljubljana (originally, Universitas Labacensis, ‘The University of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians in Ljubljana’) was not an independent institution but subject to the laws and regulations promulgated in the kingdom’s capital, Belgrade. As the kingdom’s youngest and smallest university, it was often deprived of funds and academic and political support from the central authorities. When there was a threat to abolish the university during the 1930s Great Depression, students, professors and the Slovenian public protested against its abolition and demanded education reforms. 9 Known as Krain in German and Kranjska in Slovenian, this region of North Slovenia was a duchy and crown land of Austria until 1919, when it was divided between Yugoslavia and Italy. It subsequently remained part of Yugoslavia until 1991. 10 After the invasion of Yugoslavia by the Axis powers in 1941, Ljubljanski zvon was closed down by the occupying Italian authorities. The new government did not allow it to start up again after the war.

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sense, Šmalc noted, in his accompanying article, that Conrad’s ‘genre’ is psychological realism – ‘the realism of a new life, generated beyond all national borders and embracing the world’.11 Šmalc contended that ‘it is significant that a Slav is among the first world-recognized messengers of this bold, masculine direction’ (Šmalc 1927, 256).12 Šmalc’s translation of ‘The Lagoon’ received no critical response, yet, eleven years later, it was still sufficiently appreciated to be offered to Slovenian readers living in America in the pages of the most widely distributed periodical among American Slovenians, Ameriški družinski koledar (the American Family Almanac). Published by the Cultural Society of the Yugoslav Socialist Alliance, which also published the socialist newspaper Proletarec (The Proletarian), Ameriški družinski koledar began publication in Chicago in 1915. It contained articles on general political themes in the United States and abroad, popular scientific articles, and poetry and prose by Slovenian authors in Slovenia and America, as well as literature in translation. The Slovenian publisher, writer and poet Frank Zaitz (1888–1967) edited both Ameriški družinski koledar and Proletarec from 1920 until their final issues (in 1950 and 1952 respectively). There was, however, a visible difference between the format of ‘The Lagoon’ in Ljubljanski zvon and that in Ameriški družinski koledar. Ljubljanski zvon was printed as a booklet, with just texts and illustrations, while Ameriški družinski koledar was full of advertisements. Reading Conrad’s story in the latter context is arguably more difficult as a result of interference from the visual effects of the advertisements – the text of the story is in a small font while the texts of the surrounding advertisements, offering services by Slovenian organizations and products from Slovenian producers or merchants, are in bold and framed. In 1928, readers of Ljubljanski zvon were again presented with a Conrad translation, this time not a novel or a short story but an extract from the fifth chapter of Some Reminiscences (later A Personal Record). This was given the title ‘A Contribution to the Theory of Artistic Creation’ (‘Prispevek k teoriji umetniškega ustvarjanja’). The author of this translation was Fran Albreht (1889–1963), at that time editor of Ljubljanski zvon. After studying law in Vienna and, after the First World War, the Slovenian language at the Faculty of Arts in Ljubljana, Albreht went on to hold a number of very important cultural and political positions. From 1919 to 1920, he edited Svoboda (Freedom; 1919–20), a magazine founded by the Social Democratic Union of Slovenian Cultural Associations, and, from 1922 to 1932, he edited Ljubljanski zvon. In 1933, Albreht co-founded Sodobnost (Modernism),13 the first Slovenian literary magazine, and from 1944 to 1948 he served as mayor of Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. He was also the first chairman of the Slovenian Association of Literary Translators (established in 1953). Besides being a translator of leading German, Scandinavian and English playwrights – he translated, among others, Schiller, Goethe, Ibsen and Shaw – Albreht was a writer, poet and literary critic. In his introductory paragraph to the translation of a passage that runs from ‘ “life is not all beer and skittles.” Neither is the writing of novels. It isn’t, really. Je vous donne ma parole d’honneur that it – is – not. Not all. I am thus emphatic because some years ago, I remember, the

11

‘Realizem novega življenja, ki nastaja preko vseh narodnih meja in objema svet’. ‘Pomenljivo je, da je baš Slovan med prvimi in svetovno priznanimi glasniki te krepke, moške smeri’. 13 This magazine appeared under a number of different names: as Sodobnost from 1933 to 1941; as Novi svet (New World) from 1946 to 1953; as Naša Sodobnost (Our Modernity) from 1953 to 1963; and once more as Sodobnost from 1963 onwards. 12

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daughter of a general [. . .]’14 to ‘Nevertheless, later on, I duly escorted her to the field gate. I wanted to be civil, of course (what are twenty lives in a mere novel that one should be rude to a lady on their account?)’15 (APR, 97, 102), Albreht comments that ‘there is a wide discussion and debate about artistic creation taking place here [i.e. in Slovenia]; sometimes sophisticated, mysterious, wise words are used; on other, more frequent occasions, the talk is superficial, full of futile speculations, and hollow psychologising’.16 ‘On this matter’ he continues, ‘Joseph Conrad, the great English writer (who was a native Pole!) wrote some very powerful phrases – worthy of consideration, and he bound them – with fine, delicate irony – into this very charming and funny story.’17 The story Albreht is talking about is Conrad’s recollection of a visit from one of his neighbours during what was for him a very difficult period. ‘There were three of these bachelor ladies, of nicely graduated ages, who held a neighbouring farmhouse in a united and more or less military occupation. [. . .] I was just then giving up some days of my allotted span to the last chapters of the novel Nostromo,’ recalls Conrad (APR, 97–8). The novel, ‘a tale of an imaginary (but true) seaboard, which is still mentioned now and again, and indeed kindly, sometimes in connection with the word “failure” and sometimes in conjunction with the word “astonishing”’ (APR, 98) was published in Slovenian only in 1958, some thirty years after readers had first heard about it in Ljubljanski zvon. Other major Conrad works were translated into Slovenian more quickly. In 1931, the publishing house Tiskovna Zadruga (Cooperative Press) issued Senčna črta (The ShadowLine), translated by Oton Župančič (1878–1949), one of the greatest Slovenian poets of the twentieth century.18 Župančič studied geography and history in Vienna before becoming a poet, playwright, translator and editor of the journal Ljubljanski zvon (1917–22). He translated from English, German, Spanish, Russian, Czech, Italian and Serbo-Croat, including novels by Balzac, Dickens, Voltaire and Pushkin, and plays by Schiller, Calderón de la Barca, Galsworthy, Shaw and Wilde. Best remembered for his translations of sixteen of Shakespeare’s plays, Župančič contributed greatly both to the growing prestige of translated literature in Slovenia and to its diversity. His translations remained in print throughout the first half of the twentieth century and are even now being reprinted by nearly all of Slovenia’s most influential publishers. Župančič’s translation almost immediately elicited several responses. The author of the first of these was Milan Jarc (1900–42), a Slovenian poet, writer, playwright, essayist, critic and translator. His article ‘Joseph Conrad – Senčna črta’ (‘Joseph Conrad – The Shadow-Line’) appeared in the monthly literary magazine Dom in svet. After pursuing Romance and Slavic Studies in Zagreb (Croatia) and Ljubljana between 1918 and 1922, albeit without completing his degree, Jarc contributed to the most distinguished Slovenian journals and magazines of the pre-war period, including Dom in svet, Ljubljanski zvon, Književni glasnik (Literary Messenger), 14 ‘Življenje ni otroška igra. Pisanje romanov prav tako ne. Ne, res ne. Je vous donne ma parole d’honneur, da ni. Nikakor ne. To poudarjam tako zelo zato, ker mi je ravno prišlo na misel, kako je pred leti tista generalova hči’ (125). 15 ‘Vzlic temu sem jo kesneje spremil, kakor se je spodobilo, do vrtnih vrat. Naravno, da sem hotel biti vljuden; kaj pa je dvajset človeških življenj samó v romanu, da bi človek zavoljo njih smel biti neolikan z žensko?’ (128). 16 ‘O umetniškem ustvarjanju se razpravlja in razmotriva vsevprek: govori se o njem z visokimi, zagonetnimi, katedrsko-učenimi besedami, včasi zelo duhovito, še češče pa s plehko mnogobesednostjo, jalovim ugibanjem, votlim psihologiziranjem’ (124). 17 ‘O tej stvari je napisal veliki angleški pisatelj Joseph Conrad (ki je bil rodom Poljak!) nekaj prav tehtnih, premisleka vrednih stavkov, ki jih je vklenil v jako mično in zabavno zgodbico’ (125). 18 With the writer and playwright Ivan Cankar (1876–1918) and the poets Dragotin Kette (1876–1899) and Josip Murn Aleksandrov (1879–1901), Župančič was one of the four principal representatives of Slovenian modernism.

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Mladika (Young Branch) and Mentor. He translated English, Russian, Serbo-Croat and, above all, French authors.19 It is thus small wonder that he compares Conrad’s narrative style to that of Marcel Proust, maintaining, for example, that it is sometimes ‘slow and interrupted by associative recollections’ (Jarc 1931, 154).20 Nevertheless, he found the work of exceptional interest: ‘something strangely unique breathes out of Conrad’s work – an overflow of the real world and the world of dreams, yet so murky, that you can no longer distinguish one from the other’ (Jarc 1931, 154).21 Jarc acknowledges that Conrad’s writing reveals ‘a gloomy, troubled soul, always disturbed, accepting life with distrust and suspicion’; as for Župančič’s translation, Jarc concludes that it is ‘a masterpiece’ (mojstrovina) (Jarc 1931, 154).22 Echoing Jarc, the anonymous author of a note entitled ‘Joseph Conrad v slovenščini’ (Joseph Conrad in Slovenian), published in Jutro in October 1931, also pays tribute to the translator’s masterly translation: ‘this is another invaluable contribution to the Slovenian discourse both from the point of view of Župančič’s rendering into Slovenian the finest shades of folk-speech and from the point of view of his sovereign linguistic creativity’ (Anonymous 1931).23 Jožko Prezelj (1894–1969), a translator of Norwegian and Russian literature and the author of a review that appeared in Ljubljanski zvon in 1932, like Šmalc before him, identifies a melancholic Slavic soul behind Conrad’s naturalistic pessimism. For this reason, he judges him to be less romantic than Robert Louis Stevenson: [H]e has none of that ideal optimism that so strongly draws Stevenson towards the soul of youth, or that of a man mourning a lost paradise [. . .] in Conrad, the individual with his crises, with his hidden pain, stands forward. Prezelj 1932, 315–1624 In Prezelj’s judgement, ‘the marvellously harmonious, calm tone of narration and the rich, polished language used by the translator Župančič reflect Conrad’s personality very accurately in the Slovenian rendering’ (Prezelj 1932, 317).25 He also observes that Župančič (without the aid of a glossary of nautical terms in Slovenian),26 elegantly solved the linguistic problem of translating British maritime terminology, which, at that time, not many Slovenians were

19 Jarc’s translations include D. H. Lawrence’s The Woman Who Rode Away, Stendhal’s Three Italian Chronicles, Ibsen’s Nora and Balzac’s A Seaside Tragedy. 20 ‘Zato je včasih njegovo pripovedovanje spočasnjeno in prekinjeno z asocijativnimi domisleki kakor pri Proustu’. 21 ‘Nekaj čudno svojstvenega diha iz Conradovega dela – prelivanje resničnega in sanjskega sveta, pa tako tesno, da ju ne ločiš več’. 22 ‘Conradova osebnost izdaja mrkega, težkega duha, ki se venomer protivi, ki z nezaupanjem in sumnjo sprejema življenje.’ 23 ‘Tako glede posluha, s katerim zajame mojster najfinejše odtenke ljudske govorice, kakor glede njegovega suverenega jezikovnega tvorstva je ta prevod spet neprecenljiva pridobitev za slovensko besedo.’ 24 ‘Tudi nima tistega idealnega optimizma, ki tako zelo približuje Stevensona duši mladostnika ali človeka, objokujočega izgubljeni raj [. . .] Pri Conradu pa stoji v ospredju človek s svojo krizo, s svojo skrito bolečino.’ 25 ‘Prevod je čudovito skladen. Mirni ton pripovedovanja in izbrušeni jezik mojstra Župančiča zares kar najbolj pravilno odražata tudi v slovenskem prelivu Conradovo osebnost’. 26 It is not known whether he could have made use of the Serbo-Croat edition of the dictionary Pomorska terminologija, I. in II. deo (Maritime Terminology Part I and II), issued by the Kingdom’s Navy Command, as it was published in Zemun (Serbia) the same year as Župančič’s translation.

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familiar with.27 Prezelji particularly praises Župančič for doing this without having recourse to the use of ‘audacious neologisms’ (drzni neologizmi) (Prezelj 1932, 317). The same could also be said of Gregor Koritnik-Griša (1886–1967), who translated two of Conrad’s most popular sea stories Typhoon (Tajfun) and ‘Youth’ (‘Na morju’, At sea) as well as the short story ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ (‘Gašpar Ruiz’) from A Set of Six.28 A poet and writer in his own right, Koritnik studied law in Zagreb (Croatia) and Graz (Austria) and published romantic poems in journals such as Ljubljanski zvon, Dom in svet and Slovan (The Slav). A translator mainly from English, his favourite authors were Melville, Kipling and Conrad. Koritnik loved the sea and dedicated several poems to it, such as ‘Ob morju’ (By the sea) and ‘Vihar na morju’ (Storm at Sea), so it is hardly surprising that he chose to translate Typhoon and ‘Youth’. Tajfun was published in book form in 1933 by the publishing house Evalit (which specialized in literature in translation), while ‘Na morju’ and ‘Gašpar Ruiz’ appeared in instalments in the journal Slovenec in 1935.29 Slovenec was published in Ljubljana between 1873 and 1945, initially thrice weekly, then as a daily newspaper. Its editors included numerous important personalities in Slovenian political and cultural life. The first Slovenian newspaper in the USA, Amerikanski Slovenec (American Slovenian; 1891–1998), serialized Koritnik’s translation of ‘Youth’ in 1944.30 Several short notes about Koritnik’s translation of Typhoon were published in Jutro, Slovenec, Mladika and other publications. One of the anonymous authors suggested that ‘the excellent romancier Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski is slowly penetrating the Slovenian translation literature’ (Anonymous 1933a)31 and argued that his works deserved more attention from the critics. Another identified similarities between Conrad’s and Dostoyevsky’s writing style and perception of human beings: ‘everywhere we encounter heroes who are at first raised above the community until they are finally swallowed and suffocated by it like marsh mud’ (Anonymous 1933b).32 ‘Nonetheless, in Conrad we find something that we fail to notice in Dostoyevsky,’ the anonymous author affirms, ‘he can describe nature with all its might and threatening force as only few writers can. In his novels it is so powerful that the men who fight against it are like dolls or tiny toys, swept away by the first wind’ (Anonymous 1933b).33 Viktor Smolej similarly

27

Slovenia is a mainly inland country with just about 43 km of coastline; it nevertheless has a long naval history and maritime tradition. However, the technical language used by seamen underwent many changes, mostly due to the fact that for centuries Slovenia had been ruled by neighbouring countries using different languages (i.e., Italian, German and Serbo-Croat). In 2017 a Slovenian–English dictionary of nautical terms was finally published. 28 Slavko Rupel, in an article on Mira Mihelič’s translation of Melville’s Moby Dick for the newspaper Primorski dvenik (The Littoral Daily), a Slovenian-language newspaper in Trieste, suggested that it would be interesting to compare the Slovenian maritime terminology used by Mihelič with that used by Koritnik. He agreed with Prezelj’s argument that, in the first half of the twentieth century, Slovenian translators had particular difficulties with ‘maritime authors’ such as Conrad, adding that, after the Second World War, Slovenian naval terminology ‘took a big step forward’ (Rupel 1967, 5). A generation later, in 2002, Dušan Fabe took up Rupel’s suggestion and devoted part of his doctoral thesis on maritime terminology and English–Slovenian translation to the translations of Conrad’s sea stories. 29 ‘Youth’ appeared in ten instalments from 5 to 17 September; it was followed by ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ in sixteen instalments from 8 to 25 October. 30 There were two subsequent editions of ‘Youth’: in 1952 the publishing house Slovenski knjižni zavod (Slovenian Literary Institution) released Koritnik’s translation (reinstating the original title Mladost (Youth)) in book form; and an abridged translation by Ljubica Rodošek, adapted for young readers, was published in 1997 by Založba Karantanija. 31 ‘Tako odlični romancier Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski počasi prodira tudi v slovensko prevodno književnost.’ 32 ‘Povsod srečujemo junake, ki so izprva vzvišeni nad svojo okolico, dokler jih ta naposled ne požre kakor močvirsko blato in zaduši.’ 33 ‘Prirodo zna opisati v vsej mogočnosti in grozi, kakor malokateri pisatelj. Tako je mogočna v njegovih delih, da se nam zde ljudje, ki se z njo bore, kakor lutke, drobne igračke, ki jih prvi veter mimogrede odnese.’

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sees Typhoon as a narrative ‘full of power and horror’ (grozotno teman in grozeč), but, for him, ‘the harsh battle with the storm at sea is as cruel and savage as the battle inside the sailors, who seem indifferent and immovable like the English, yet a Slavic heart beats in their chest’ (Smolej 1934, 74).34 ‘Even in these hard, cold, and peaceful people there is noble feeling, good thoughts and deep love,’ he claims (Smolej 1934).35 The 1930s also saw Avgust Petrišič’s translation of Lord Jim (1937), which has subsequently been twice reprinted, most recently in 1975. At the time, however, as in the case of Šmalc’s translation of ‘The Lagoon’ and Koritnik’s translation of ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, the Slovenian version of Lord Jim received no reviews. Lord Jim received critical attention only many years later, when the essayist Meta Grosman devoted a chapter to Conrad in her 1989 course book The English Novel 1830–1920 (Angleški roman 1830–1920). This chapter included some foreign critical responses to Lord Jim as well as her analysis of the novel’s narrative structure. In addition, Grosman illustrated several effects produced by Conrad’s use of Marlow, concluding that ‘by way of his own questionings and hesitations, Marlow not only reveals his uncertainty about the meaning of Jim’s story but also prevents the attentive reader from forming too easy a judgement’ (Grosman 1989, 131). In 1936, an excerpt from one of Conrad’s finest short stories, ‘Amy Foster’, entitled ‘Človeka je vrglo na kopno’ (Man Cast Ashore), appeared in a Slovenian periodical: first in Slovenec (on 23 August) and two weeks later (on 8 September) in Glas naroda (The People’s Voice), the largest Slovene daily in the USA. Founded in New York City in September 1893 by Fran Sakser (1859–1937), editor, printer, publisher, businessman and banker, Glas naroda had become a daily in 1903 and, by 1912, had at least 9,000 subscribers and was distributed beyond the local New York community.36 Unfortunately, the anonymous translator translated only the first five pages, stopping at the point where Dr Kennedy begins the story of Yanko Goorall’s emigration and shipwreck: ‘ “He came from there.” The doctor pointed with his whip, and from the summit of the descent seen over the rolling tops of the trees in a park by the side of the road, appeared the level sea far below us’ (Ty, 111).37 This was Conrad’s last appearance in a Slovenian publication before the war. Curiously enough, Louis Beniger, a contributor to another Slovenian periodical published in the USA, Mladinski list – Juvenile, a monthly magazine for young Slovenians in America,38 included Conrad in the column ‘Birthdays of the Great Men’ in the December 1943 issue. After a brief presentation of Conrad’s ‘adventurous life’, Beniger expressed admiration for a writing style that has ‘dignity, clarity and idiomatic vigor, with a quality of charm which was probably due to the writer being a foreigner, with at least three languages at his command’ (Beniger 1943, 6). 34

‘Divja borba s tajfunom divja prav tako kruto in grozotno po morju kakor po notranjosti teh ljudi, ki so na zunaj angleško hladni in negibni, a v prsih imajo slovansko srce’. 35 ‘tudi v teh trdih, hladnih in mirnih ljudeh vlada plemenito čustvo, dobre misli in globoka ljubezen.’ 36 During the Second World War, Glas naroda played a significant role in encouraging its readers to offer material and moral support for the destroyed ‘mother country’ (domovina), Yugoslavia. 37 ‘Prišel je od ondod. Doktor je pokazal z bičem v stran in z vrha griča sva zagledala globoko spodaj pod seboj, onkraj valujočih drevesnih krošenj nekega parka, vdolž ceste: daljno, širno morje.’ 38 The magazine was founded in Chicago in 1922 by the Slovene National Benefit Society. Its thirty-two pages were equally divided between Slovenian and English historical and scientific contributions about Slovenia and its traditions, as well as original poems, short stories and dramatic texts. Under the new name Voice of Youth, which was chosen in 1944, it has lasted to the present day (Milanič 2000, 79–84).

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After the Second World War The postwar period was a turning-point for Slovenian literary translation. On the one hand, as Majda Stanovnik (1934–) observes, there was ‘an urgent desire to balance translations of contemporary, modern, and modernist texts with those of the canonical literature of the past centuries’; and, on the other hand, ‘translations ensured international literary contact and a high level of national creativity’ (Stanovnik 2005, 314). This new interest in translation is also evident from the chronology of Conrad’s translations. As we have seen, the editors and publishers of the 1920s and 1930s offered the Slovenian reading public only Conrad’s short stories and novellas, with the exception of the novel Lord Jim, and these were seldom accompanied by articles on Conrad’s biography and bibliography or by critical appreciations of his writing. However, this was not the case after the 1950s when a series of Conrad’s major works appeared in Slovenian. In 1958, Nostromo, translated by Božo Vodušek, a poet, translator, essayist and literary historian, was released by the publishing house Cankarjeva založba. In his 2005 essay ‘Tragični junaki v romanih Josepha Conrada: Nostromo in Z zahodnimi očmi’ (Tragic Heroes in Joseph Conrad’s Novels: Nostromo and Under Western Eyes), the literary historian and editor Mirko Jurak observed that the subtlety of this substantial and demanding text was beautifully conveyed by Vodušek: ‘the translator showed an extraordinary flexibility in the choice of textual material, so that he could find suitable Slovenian expressions for those shades of the original, which, for example, the English reader could distinguish by intonation, while in Slovenian, they would be lost with just a verbatim translation’ (Jurak 2005, 159).39 Jurak also discussed the novel in two of his books: Od Shakespeara do naših sodobnikov (From Shakespeare to our Contemporaries), a collection of critical essays on English, American and Australian literature, published in 1983, and in his reader on British, American and other authors, Literatures in English 2 (1994). Jurak presented Conrad as a great master of human character: ‘he was able to discover the inner impulses and instincts that sometimes lead the human along what, at first glance, are strange paths’ (Jurak 1983, 93). In 1966, Jože Dolenc, an editor and writer, translated The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (Črnec z ‘Narcisa’). In his accompanying notes, along with presenting an outline of Conrad’s biography and a short summary of his most important novels, Dolenc reflects on the romantic aspect of Conrad’s fiction: ‘because in them he describes people and places that are unusual, unknown to us; they possess the charm and spell of the exotic; they are externally veiled by matters like adventure, intrigue, betrayal, violence, mystery, peril and fear’ (Dolenc 1966, 159).40 Against this he sets Conrad’s treatment of his heroes: ‘if they are to be true heroes, the writer relentlessly demands from them the moral decision, yes or no. He sets a deeply entrenched pessimism against a firm belief in loyalty, friendship, self-sacrifice, and distinction’. He concludes with the

39

‘Prevajalec je pokazal izredno gibkost pri izbiri besednega gradiva, tako da je znal poiskati ustrezna slovenska rekla za tiste odtenke izvirnika, ki bi jih na primer angleški bralec lahko ločil po intonaciji, v slovenščini pa bi bili z dobesednim prevodom izgubljeni’. 40 ‘predvsem zato, ker v njih opisuje ljudi in kraje, ki so za nas nenavadni, neznani; drži se jih mik in čar eksotičnosti; zunanji pečat jim dajejo stvari, kot so pustolovščine, spletke, izdaje, nasilje, skrivnosti, nevarnosti in strah’.

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warning, ‘Conrad’s works cannot be read as an amusing newspaper instalment, but only slowly and with attention’ (Dolenc (1966, 160).41 In 1984, Heart of Darkness (Srce teme), Conrad’s most famous and influential work, was rendered into Slovenian by Mart Ogen on the occasion of the sixtieth anniversary of Conrad’s death. As a translator as well as reader, Ogen was fascinated by the manner in which Conrad evokes a tropical atmosphere and portrays nature: ‘How vividly he illustrates the virgin forest surrounding the river Congo, how intensely the sunset over the Thames – and how bitterly the staff at the Company’s office in Belgium, where Marlow is hired as master of a steamer [. . .] or confusion and devastation as an integral part of the insane intrusion of civilization into a virgin country, and the fate of victims of colonial greed!’ (Ogen 1984, 143–4).42 Ogen notes that most literary critics and historians consider Conrad ‘the greatest prose artist of early decades of the twentieth century’, producing ‘a new and nobler type of modern romanticism’ (Ogen 1984, 143–4)43 while writing in a language he learned only as an adult. Two years later, in 1986, Ogen translated Victory (Zmaga). The last two of Conrad’s works to be translated into Slovenian (both by Miha Avanzo) – the political novels The Secret Agent (Tajni agent) and Under Western Eyes (Z zahodnimi očmi) – appeared during the period of the disintegration of Yugoslavia (1989; 1994). The last sentence of the note on the back cover of Tajni agent alludes to the then tense situation in the Balkans: ‘Even though The Secret Agent was written nearly a hundred years ago, it evokes – along with an immediate reading pleasure – a multitude of associations with the current events, in many places full of mindless terrorism’ (Anonymous 1989).44 Mirko Jurak provided Avanzo’s translation of Z zahodnimi očmi with an excellent and detailed afterword. He explains how Conrad’s writing remains at the centre of critical attention and is permanently included in the canon of English and world literature because of ‘an outstanding technique that appeals to the reader, an intense handling of material, and crucial life circumstances’ (Jurak 1994, 349).45 He notes how Conrad was influenced by Flaubert and by two other writers: Guy de Maupassant, the master of objective realism, and Henry James, the great psychological writer (Jurak 1994, 349). However, as with The Secret Agent, the contemporary resonance could not be avoided. Jurak concludes his evaluation of the novel: [F]rom many points of view the novel is a genuine clinical analysis of the social conditions of the twentieth century, not just of its totalitarianisms and revolutions, it is also an

41 ‘Od svojih junakov, če naj bodo res junaki, zahteva pisatelj neizprosno moralno odločitev, da ali ne. Globoko zakoreninjenemu pesimizmu postavlja nasproti trdno vero v možnost zvestobe, prijateljstva, požrtvovalnosti in veličine. [. . .] Conradovih del ne moremo brati kot zabaven podlistek, ampak počasi in zbrano.’ 42 ‘S kakšno živostjo opisuje pragozd v okolici reke Kongo, s kakšnim tenkim posluhom sončni zahod nad Temzo – in s kakšno jedkostjo osebje v uradu belgijskega podjetja, ko Marlowa najame za kapitana svojega parnika [. . .] ali pa zmedo in razdejanje kot sestavni del brezumnega vdora civilizacije v deviško deželo in usodo žrtev kolonizatorskega pohlepa!’ 43 ‘velja pri večini kritikov in literarnih zgodovinarjev za največjega angleškega prozaista zgodnjih desetletij našega stoletja. V angleško prozo je vnesel novo in plemenitejšo zvrst moderne romantike’. 44 ‘Čeprav se Tajni agent dogaja sto let nazaj, vzbuja – ob neposrednem bralnem užitku – tudi mnoge asociacije na naš čas, marsikje poln brezumnega terorizma.’ 45 ‘izvrstna tehnika, ki privlači bralce, intenzivno podajanje snovi ter kritične življenjske situacije’.

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allegory of the fatal decisions that people – not heroes by nature – had to make in their everyday lives and which, in one way or another, fatally marked them. Jurak 1994a, 34946 As a result, [C]onsidering the novel’s different narrative levels – from personal thoughts, political, historical, social and other events, to questions about the ethical principles of those who maintain their power over those who are trying to obtain it – Under Western Eyes remains a timeless up-to-date reading, owing to the fact that issues of power, authority, understanding, mutual love, betrayal, guilt and punishment, life and death are so commonly human that our existence – thanks to Conrad’s masterpiece too – becomes more understandable to us. Jurak 1994a, 35847 By the end of the 1990s, Karantanija, one of the first independent private publishing houses in Slovenia, was established. In 1997, they brought out two retranslations, both in an abridged version adapted for young readers and both by female authors, Mladost (Youth) and Senčna črta (The Shadow-Line). Dušan Čater, whose endnotes appear in both books, writes that Conrad’s sea stories still appeal because his young heroes of strongly individualistic character ‘very often find themselves in foreign places, in the middle of fatal events, between treachery and confidence, solidarity and loneliness [. . .] usually incapable of solving the ethical problem in which they find themselves entirely by accident [. . .] These are the qualities that place Joseph Conrad at the very top of European critical realism’ (Čater 1997, 136).48 In 2004, Ogen’s translation of ‘Heart of Darkness’ was reprinted. Miriam Drev responded with her essay ‘The Sea-Vagabond Sails up the River into the Jungle’ (Morski klativitez pluje po reki skozi pragozd), in which she presents what she sees as the central theme of Conrad’s fiction: Conrad’s novels confront Western man (the representative of the conquering culture, which through trading rapacity appropriates the goods of foreign continents), yet the individual always has his own personalized characteristics – with the people living by other principles. Drev 2004, 1349 46 ‘V marsikaterem pogledu je roman prava klinična analiza družbenih razmer dvajsetega stoletja, ne le njegovih totalitarizmov in revolucij, temveč tudi prispodoba usodnih odločitev, ki so jih ljudje – ne junaki po naravi – morali sprejemati v vsakdanjem življenju in ki so jih tako ali drugače tudi usodno zaznamovale.’ 47 ‘Ker je v romanu vrsta pripovedi, od osebnih razmišljanj, političnih, zgodovinskih, družbenih in drugih dogajanj, do vprašanj o etičnih principih tistih, ki ohranjajo svojo oblast nad onimi, ki si jo skušajo šele pridobiti, ostaja Z zahodnimi očmi aktualno branje za vsak čas, saj so vprašanja moči, oblasti, razumevanja, medsebojne ljubezni, izdajstva, krivde in kazni, življenja in smrti, tako občečloveška, da nam naše bivanje – tudi po zaslugi Conradove mojstrovine – lahko postane bolj razumljivo’. 48 ‘se največkrat znajdejo v tujih krajih sredi usodnih dogodkov, med izdajo in zaupanjem, med solidarnostjo in osamljenostjo, [. . .] jim ponavadi nikoli ni uspelo rešiti zastavljenega etičnega problema, v katerem so se znašli povsem naključno. To pa so tiste vrline, ki Josepha Conrada uvrščajo v sam vrh evropskega kritičnega realizma.’ 49 ‘Conradovi romani soočajo zahodnega človeka, predstavnika osvajalne kulture, ki s trgovsko grabežljivostjo prisvaja dobrine vseh celin – vendar v njegovih knjigah vsakič le posameznika z lastnimi karakternimi značilnostmi – z ljudstvi, živečimi po drugačnih načelih.’

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Despite the fact that this reprint of the Slovenian version of ‘Heart of Darkness’ was published almost two decades ago (on the occasion of the eightieth anniversary of Conrad’s death) and that the last reprint of any translations of Conrad’s work in Slovenia – Tajni agent (The Secret Agent) – appeared a year later (in 2005), academic research into Conrad’s works has nevertheless not come to an end in Slovenia.50 Hardly any of Conrad’s most important narratives is missing from the list of postwar translations, with the possible exception of the first two novels: Almayer’s Folly51 and An Outcast of the Islands. This rich body of translations (together with the academic writing on Conrad and his legacy) shows that the reading public in Slovenia, although a minor one, has always been aware of the important place held by this celebrated English author in the pantheon of twentieth-century writers.

Conrad’s translations into the other languages of former Yugoslavia There were three official languages used in the six constituent republics that made up the preand post-Second World War Yugoslavia: Serbo-Croatian, used in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Montenegro and Serbia; Macedonian; and Slovenian. After the break-up of Yugoslavia in the 1990s the standard form of Serbo-Croatian split into four mutually intelligible standard varieties: Bosnian, Croatian, Montenegrin and Serbian. The credit for making Conrad known to a wider audience in Yugoslavia after the Second World War goes to Ivo Vidan (1927–2003), a professor of English language and literature and a member of the editorial board of Conradiana between 1968 and 1978. Vidan’s contributions appeared in a number of books and periodicals dedicated to the life and work of Joseph Conrad. In his article ‘Conrad in Yugoslavia’, published in the Polish journal Kwartalnik Neofilologiczny in 1958, he reported that, up to the 1960s, translations and appreciations of Conrad had appeared only in Croatia, Serbia and Slovenia. Vidan suggested that the first information in Yugoslavia about Conrad was provided by a short article by a foreigner – A. J. C. Brown, a translator of contemporary Yugoslav literature into English, who, at the time of the publication of his short article in the small Belgrade periodical Reveu in December 1922, lived in Yugoslavia (Vidan 1958, 79). However, Vidan’s suggestion proves to be incorrect. As discussed above, it was Franc Štingl, a native of Yugoslavia, who introduced Conrad to this readership in 1903. The first Yugoslavian translation of Conrad was into Serbian. This was an excerpt from Nostromo (describing Pedrito Montero’s arrival in Sulaco) – the novel which, in Vidan’s opinion, is one of Conrad’s ‘most significant studies of political manners’ (Vidan 1958, 79). Aleksandar Vidaković (1896–1940), an experienced journalist and the only pre-Second World War translator of Conrad in Serbia capable of producing highly readable texts, contributed this excerpt from Nostromo to the well-known literary review Srpski književni glasnik (Serbian Literary Messenger). The episode was published in instalments (January to March) in 1923. During the winter of 1924–5, an unpretentious translation of Conrad’s last complete novel, The

50

For a complete list of these works, consult the Slovenian Electronic Library at http://www.cobiss.si/cobiss_eng.html. Almayer’s Folly was translated in 1925, but up till now only in Croatian (see below).

51

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Rover (Rover), was published in instalments as a daily feuilleton in the most serious Zagreb newspaper, Obzor (Horizon). The following year, Zlatko Terković translated Conrad’s first novel, Almayer’s Folly (Almayerova ludnica: roman s malajskih otoka). This remained the only work of Conrad’s to be published in book form in Croatia before the Second World War. Vidan notes that the author of the Preface, Ivo Hergešić (1904–70), insisted on Conrad’s Slavic origin more than other Yugoslav critics (Vidan 1958, 80). In 1929, Vidaković prepared a two-volume selection from Conrad’s works for the prominent series ‘Biblioteka stranih pisaca’ (Foreign Writers Library). This series published the most outstanding works of authors, previously unknown in Yugoslavia, such as Charles Dickens, Jane Austen and André Gide. The first volume contained Typhoon, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Karain’ and ‘Il Conde’; the second, ‘Youth’ The Shadow-Line, ‘Because of the Dollars’ and ‘The Lagoon’. In the succeeding years, further short articles on Conrad, along with translations of Typhoon and ‘Amy Foster’, were published in Obzor and other Croatian journals (Vidan 1958, 80). In 1941, a new translation of Typhoon began to appear in the well-edited maritime monthly Jadranska straža (The Adriatic Sentinel), but the publication was cut short by the German invasion of Yugoslavia in April that year. At this point one has to admit, as Vidan also observed, that Conrad was not really as well known in Yugoslavia before the Second World War as he deserved. A few of his stories were translated more than once into Serbo-Croatian and into Slovenian, but in general, translations of his works were not very frequent. However, some interesting opinions on Conrad were published and a certain number of literary figures of significance – Nobel prize winner Ivo Andrić (1892–1975), Miloš Crnjanski (1893–1977) and Louis Adamič (1898–1951), to name just a few – took an interest in his fiction and his personality. After the Second World War, the first work of Conrad’s to be translated in the other languages of former Yugoslavia was Youth (Mladost). Two translations appeared as separate booklets: one in Belgrade, Serbia, in 1948 and the other in Zagreb, Croatia, in 1951. A translation of Lord Jim was also published in Zagreb the same year. Tin Ujević, whom many at that time considered to be Croatia’s greatest poet, translated both Youth and Lord Jim. Vidan praises Ujević’s translations, emphasizing that for the first time Conrad was given a worthy rendering into Serbo-Croatian, ‘in a prose which has qualities of genuine art’ (Vidan 1958, 81). He adds that Ujević ‘conveys the mood and atmosphere of Conrad’s sea novels which Virginia Woolf rates so highly’ (Vidan 1958, 81). A mediocre translation of Typhoon (Tajfun) and of Heart of Darkness (U srcu tame), in one volume, appeared in Zagreb in 1952. Then, for almost six years, there were no further Conrad translations in Yugoslavia, until, in 1957, a one-volume edition of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (Crnac sa ‘Narcisa’) and Heart of Darkness, skilfully rendered into Serbo-Croatian by Nada Čurčija-Prodanović, was published in Belgrade. Numerous Yugoslav publishers had by then become aware of Conrad’s standing in literature, and he was put on the limited list of foreign authors whose complete works were to be translated. As a consequence, from the early 1960s though to 1980, a series of reprints and new translations (in Macedonian as well as in Serbo-Croatian) appeared: The Secret Sharer (Dvojnik, 1960; Tajni dvojnik, 1980); Freya of the Seven Isles and The End of the Tether (Freja sa sedam ostrva and Njegov kraj, 1960); Nostromo (Nostromo: priče s morske obale, 1961; Nostromo: priča sa morske obale, 1980); An Outcast of the Islands (Izgnanik sa ostrva, 1962); The Shadow-Line (Pojas sjene: ispovijest, 1963); The Rescue (Spas, roman plićaka, 1964); The Mirror of the Sea and 359

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A Personal Record (Ogljedalo mora: uspomene i utisci and Lična istorija: sećanja, 1977); The Secret Agent (Tajni agent, 1978; Tajni agent – jednostavna pripovijest, 1980); Victory (Pobjeda, jedna otočka priča, 1980); and Under Western Eyes (Očima zapada, 1980). However, during the decade of the political crisis before the final break-up of Yugoslavia in 1991, nothing else of Conrad’s was published.

After the disintegration It is not surprising that after each of the constituent republics became independent states52 there was a desire for fresh translations of Conrad’s most famous novels, above all Heart of Darkness. From 1999 to 2014 it was issued ten times in total – once in Slovenian (Srce teme, 2004), twice in Croatian (Srce tame, 2001, 2004), three times in Macedonian (Srceto na temninata, 2005, 2012, 2013) and four times in Serbian (Srce tame, 1999, 2002, 2004, 2014). In Macedonia, a new translation of Typhoon (Tajfun) was issued in the same years as Heart of Darkness (2005, 2012, 2013), while a new Serbian translation was published in 1992 and reprinted in 2002, the same year as a new Serbian translation of Lord Jim (Lord Džim), which was retranslated into Macedonian in 2013. The bibliography of Conrad’s Serbian retranslations also includes The Shadow-Line (Linija senke), published in 1999, the same year as the first translation of ‘The Duel’ (‘Dvoboj’); Victory: An Island Tale (Pobjeda, jedna otočka priča, 2003); Freya of the Seven Isles (Freja sa sedam ostrva), The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ (Crnac sa ‘Narcisa’) and Under Western Eyes (Očima zapada), all published in 2006; The Secret Agent (Tajni agent, 2010); ‘Amy Foster’ (‘Ejmi Foster’) and A Personal Record: Some Reminiscences (Poreklo prave reči: osvrt na život) in 2011; and Victory (Pobeda), published in 2014. In addition, there were four other retranslations issued in Croatian during the last decade: The Secret Sharer (Dvojnik, 2007); The Shadow-Line (Obris sjene: ispovijest, 2010); Under Western Eyes (U očima zapadnjaka, 2011); and, almost ninety years after the first translation, Almayer’s Folly (Almayerova ludost, 2014). With the exception of Nostromo, nearly all of Conrad’s most important works have thus now been translated into Croatian. To conclude, in 1927, Šmalc observed, ‘It is remarkable that Conrad, a Slav, was the first world-famous writer to “give voice” to the realism of the new life, emerging across all national borders and embracing the world’ (Šmalc 1927, 256). He suggested that Conrad’s works were somehow alien to the English – continental and Slavic – yet the English nevertheless recognized ‘the novelty and strength of his writing style, and a passionate depiction of reality in artistic creation’ (Šmalc 1927, 256).53 Ninety years later the translator and Conrad scholar Zoran Paunović similarly asserted, ‘The desire to discover the inexhaustible, to narrate the unspeakable, a characteristic of the sceptical modernist self, is for the first

52 Unfortunately, the author of this chapter could not access any critical responses to Conrad’s works published in other countries of the former Yugoslavia. The data presented here were gathered from the COBISS Platform (the Co-operative Online Bibliographic System & Services) – a shared cataloguing system. See https://www.cobiss.net /cobiss-platform.htm. 53 ‘in vendar so njegova dela baš Angležem nekako tuja – kontinentalna, slovanska – priznavajo pa mu novost in silo stila ter globoko podano resničnost v umetniškem ustvarjanju’.

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time in the history of the English novel clearly recognized in the works of Joseph Conrad’ (Paunović 2017).54 On the basis of the evidence presented in this chapter, we may conclude that what the Slovenian/former Yugoslavia writers, literary critics and readers appreciate most in Conrad are his instinctive sense of beauty, his persuasive writing style, his cultivated mind, high artistic ideals, and last but not least – a familial soul.

54 ‘Želja da se spozna nedokučivo, da se ispripoveda neizrecivo, karakteristična je za skeptičnu modernističku samosvest. Ta vrsta samosvesti, prvi put u istoriji engleskog romana, jasno se prepoznaje u delima Džozefa Konrada.’

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CHAPTER 26 THE SWEDISH USES OF CONRAD Claes Lindskog

‘Only in Sweden – and in Poland during the now happily concluded communist era – has it been common to portray Conrad as some kind of socialist anti-capitalist and anti-colonialist’ (Lönnroth 1992a, 30). Thus complained Lars Lönnroth, Professor of Literature at the University of Gothenburg and culture editor of Svenska Dagbladet, one of Sweden’s biggest newspapers, in 1992. Lönnroth’s ire had been drawn by three major works on Conrad by intellectual figures of the left: Gunnar Fredriksson’s I Joseph Conrads farvatten (In Joseph Conrad’s Home Waters; 1982), Olof Lagercrantz’s Färd med Mörkrets hjärta (Voyage with Heart of Darkness; 1987) and Sven Lindqvist’s Utrota varenda jävel (1992; published in English as Exterminate All the Brutes, 2002). All three portray Conrad as both anti-capitalist and anti-colonialist – although not as ‘some kind of socialist’ – and they have arguably been decisive in the creation of Conrad’s public image in Sweden. However, before Conrad was discovered to be an anticolonialist, he was, in Sweden at least, generally regarded as a colonialist. Indeed, many critics on the political right have continued to see him as being largely in favour of colonialism, at least of British colonialism. The question is how Conrad could have generated two such widely diverging images in Sweden, and what this divergence says about Swedish society during the twentieth century. In this chapter, I trace the development of Conrad’s position in Swedish public consciousness from the first translations until today. Since the academic discussion of Conrad in Sweden has – with a few exceptions – been part of the international discourse in English, the focus here is on how Conrad has been presented in Swedish newspapers and essays for the general public. More specifically, I look at how Conrad has been used for political purposes, first in the reviews of the first translations of Conrad’s work, where Conrad is partly used to legitimize hegemonic ideas about colonialism and, second, in the debate over the three books from the 1980s and 1990s mentioned above, where Conrad is used both to attack and to defend Western capitalist values. At the end I also look briefly at Conrad’s position in Sweden today. Conrad’s history in Swedish is comparatively long. Indeed, Swedish was the first language in which a book translation of Conrad’s work appeared, with Tales of Unrest in 1903 (see Donovan 2006), and the fourth, after Dutch, Polish and Russian (Steltenpool n.d.; Piechota 2005; and Pudełko 2005), to translate anything by Conrad (in 1898). Despite these early translations and some strong partisan supporters, it took a long time for his Swedish reputation to solidify. His more accessible works were also translated first: Tales of Unrest in 1903; Almayer’s Folly in 1908; An Outcast of the Islands in 1909 (in a penny library); The Secret Agent in 1910; ’Twixt Land and Sea in 1914; Victory, with its Swedish protagonist, in 1916; Typhoon in 1918; Chance in 1919; The Arrow of Gold in 1919; and The Rover in 1924. Significantly, at Conrad’s death, Dagens Nyheter still described Tales of Unrest as his best-known work (Dagens Nyheter 1924, 7). Indeed, most of the works that are today counted among his best were not translated until much later, including The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ in 1937; Lord Jim in 1945;

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Heart of Darkness and The Shadow-Line in 1949; Nostromo in 1960; The Mirror of the Sea and A Personal Record in 1966; and, finally, Under Western Eyes in 1979 (see Gripfelt 1979). The first work by Conrad that Swedish readers encountered, however, was ‘An Outpost of Progress’, serialized between 21 November and 3 December 1898 in Stockholms Dagblad, then the principal conservative newspaper in the capital. The text was obviously translated from the serialization in Cosmopolis, and not from the book version, since the foreman is named James Price rather than Henry Price. Ironically, the first page of Conrad’s story was printed on the same page as a report on Joseph Chamberlain’s speech in Manchester on 16 November 1898, in which the British Colonial Secretary talked about ‘the progress of geography’ which has ‘coloured in [. . .] the big white space’ in the middle of the map of Africa (Stockholms Dagblad, 1898). Three years later, another major Stockholm newspaper, Dagens Nyheter, serialized its own translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’, in a different translation based on the book version, from 21 to 31 October 1902, followed by ‘The Lagoon’ from 28 December 1902 to 2 January 1903. When ‘An Outpost of Progress’ was first translated, Sweden did not have any colonies of its own, but the story might still have been expected to resonate with Swedish readers since many Swedes participated in the colonial enterprises of other states, notably in the Congo Free State (see Tell 2005 and Granqvist 2008). Even though the missionary E. V. Sjöblom (see Hochschild 1998) brought the horrors of the Congo to public attention, first with an article in a Christian magazine in 1896, colonization – even in the Congo – was generally described in positive terms. The 1903 catalogue for the wax museum Svenska Panoptikon in Stockholm lists, among famous scenes from Swedish history, a tableau from ‘the Congo State in Central Africa’ in 1878, where Stanley is conferring with the Swedish lieutenant P. Möller, attended by a Zanzibari (Svenska Panoptikon 1903, 21). Obviously, the visitors were expected to regard Swedish participation in the European conquest of the world as a source of pride. Hence, they might also be expected to take an interest in the misadventures of hapless Europeans in Africa as shown in Conrad’s story. It should be noted, however, that Swedish is not only used in Sweden but also in Finland, which had a very different relation to colonial questions, having itself been colonized by Sweden in the Middle Ages and then forcibly taken over by the Russian Empire in 1809. At the turn of the twentieth century, the middle and upper classes were still to a large extent Swedish-speaking, despite an ongoing battle between Swedish and Finnish for cultural domination that often took on overtones familiar from later decolonization debates. When the same translation of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ that appeared in Stockholms Dagblad was also serialized in Aftonposten, a Swedish-language paper in Helsinki, between 10 January and 28 January 1899, it might therefore be expected to have a slightly different resonance (see Lindskog 2013). Aftonposten described itself as an evening paper for ‘the Swedish working class, peasantry, and middle classes in Finland, whose co-operation is a vital necessity for the continued existence of our Western culture’ (1895, 2). The word ‘Western’ here may be read in contrast with the Eastern culture of Russia but also with Finnish culture. The year 1899 was also that of the so-called February Manifesto, which began a much-resented campaign of russification, one effect of which was that Aftonposten was closed down by the authorities in 1900. At the same time, many upper-class Swedish speakers took part in Russian colonial enterprises elsewhere, including Gustaf Mannerheim (1867–1951), later President of Finland, who before the First World War led an expedition through Central Asia and served as a commander in the Russian army in Poland. Finland was thus subject to a complex web of 364

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colonial and post-colonial influences, perhaps contributing to the greater interest shown in Conrad’s work there than could at first be found in Sweden. Apart from the first serializations, the introduction of Conrad in Swedish was largely the work of members of the Helsinki-based Euterpe group, named after the Greek muse of lyric poetry, a loose gathering of young intellectuals, many of whom were connected to the Imperial Alexander University (after independence renamed the University of Helsinki). The members were generally less interested in protecting the interests of the Swedish language against Finnish than in expanding Finland’s cultural horizons to include new developments in Western Europe, particularly through the journal Euterpe (1900–5) and its successors Argus (1907–11) and Nya Argus (New Argus, from 1911). No fewer than six of the members of the group published texts on Conrad between 1902 and 1916, beginning with an essay on Lord Jim by Yrjö Hirn (1870–1952), later Professor of Modern Literature at the University of Helsinki, published in Euterpe in 1902 (Hirn 1902; see also Donovan 2006). This was the first time that Conrad’s work had been discussed in Swedish and also occasioned a notice in the Stockholm Aftonbladet that somewhat ungenerously predicted that the essay would surely give Lord Jim ‘readers in Finland’ (Berg 1902, 2). Then, in 1903, Hirn’s wife Karin Hirn (1869–1943) translated Tales of Unrest, published in Stockholm as Fredlösa historier (Outlaw or outlawed stories), with a preface by her husband. As Conrad himself noted, this was the first book of his to be translated into any language (see Donovan 2006). The volume was reviewed in major newspapers by two other members of the Euterpe group, both later professors at the University of Helsinki: Werner Söderhjelm (1859– 1931), whose reviews in Hufvudstadsbladet were deemed to have ‘introduced modern literary criticism in the Finnish press’ (Nordisk familjebok vol. 28, 1919, 156), and Gunnar Castrén (1878–1959), editor of both Euterpe and Nya Argus. Nor was this the end of the group’s involvement in Conrad: two other members – the poet and editor Emil Zilliacus (1878–1961) and the architect and cultural critic Sigurd Frosterus (1876–1956) – published essays on Conrad in Argus and Nya Argus in 1907 and 1916, respectively. Once Fredlösa historier had been published in 1903, interest in Conrad grew also in Sweden; in all, I have found twenty-one reviews of Fredlösa historier, seventeen from Sweden and four from Finland, all very favourable. In the large Stockholm papers, Fredlösa historier received one review each in Stockholms Dagblad (Johanson 1903), Aftonbladet (Runström 1903) and SocialDemokraten (J. Bz. 1903), only a short, anonymous notice in Dagens Nyheter (Dagens Nyheter 1903), but two reviews in Svenska Dagbladet (Ruhe 1903; Hedberg 1903). Reviews also appeared in eight regional newspapers: Borås Tidning in Borås (Borås tidning 1903), Falukuriren (H. G. 1903) and Tidning för Falu Land och Stad (1903) in Falun; and Göteborgs Aftonpost in Gothenburg (Lundström 1903), Karlstadstidningen (1903), in Karlstad; Kristianstads Läns Tidning (1903); Landskronaposten (1903) in Landskrona; and Öresundsposten (1903) in Helsingborg. Fredlösa historier was also reviewed in a number of magazines – Varia, a cultural monthly magazine (Lindgren 1903); Idun, a weekly magazine ‘for the woman and the home’ (Nordling 1903); and the feminist magazine Dagny (Westberg 1903; see Donovan 2006, 134–5) – all based in Stockholm. In Finland, Fredlösa historier was reviewed in four Swedish-language newspapers, including Söderhjelm’s and Castrén’s reviews that have already been mentioned. Björneborgs Tidning, published in the provincial city of Pori, quoted Johanson’s review from Stockholms Dagblad in full, although it mistakenly credited it to Svenska Dagbladet (Johanson 1908). Johanson’s review was also partly plagiarized in Wiborgs Nyheter, published 1899–1939 in what is today 365

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the Russian city of Vyborg but was then Finland’s second largest city (Wiborgs Nyheter 1908). Large parts of the anonymous review are original, however, and obviously written by someone who has read the book, although the review identifies Carlier and Kayerts themselves as the ‘outposts of progress’. Fredlösa historier was also reviewed in the feminist magazine Nutid in Helsinki (Furuhjelm 1903). After the first publication of Fredlösa historier, it took five years before the next volume appeared in translation: Almayers dårskap (Almayer’s Folly) in an anonymous translation in 1908. Then followed a further eight volumes over the next few years until 1924 when interest seems to have largely disappeared. It is also much harder to find reviews after 1903, although this might partly be because of limited digitalisation. Consequently, I have found only four reviews of Almayers dårskap, the next volume to be translated, and none at all of En fredlös på öarna (An Outcast of the Islands; 1909). Almayers dårskap was reviewed by Johanson in Stockholms Dagblad (1908) and in three other Stockholm newspapers – Aftonbladet (Cederschiöld 1908), Vårt Land (Renholm 1908) and Nya Dagligt Allehanda (Erdmann 1908) – but not in Dagens Nyheter or Svenska Dagbladet, any regional newspapers, or in Finland. Dagens Nyheter did, however, publish an essay on the English text of An Outcast of the Islands a few months before the Swedish translation appeared which was possibly written by the translator himself (Jäderholm 1908). Later, Svenska Dagbladet reviewed Provokatören (The Secret Agent) (Brunius 1911), and both Svenska Dagbladet and Dagens Nyheter reviewed I fjärran farvatten (’Twixt Land and Sea) (Böök 1915 and Landqvist 1915). Seger (Victory) was reviewed in Dagens Nyheter, but the only comment on the nationality of the protagonist is that he is a ‘somewhat strange Swedish gentleman’ (K. 1916). The later translations were largely ignored. It is worth noting that many of the reviewers were women: of the fifteen reviews of Fredlösa historier and Almayers dårskap whose authors can be identified, nine were written by men and six by women (Cederschiöld 1908; Furuhjelm 1903; Johanson 1903; Johanson 1908, Lundström 1903; and Westberg 1903). The best known is the legendary Swedish critic Klara Johanson (1875–1948), who reviewed both Fredlösa historier and Almayers dårskap in Stockholms Dagblad, the newspaper that published the serialization of ‘An Outpost of Progress’ in 1898. She is known today both as a brilliant stylist and a lesbian pioneer; a major biography appeared in 2007 (Burman). Annie Furuhjelm (1859–1937), who reviewed Fredlösa historier in the Helsinki-based feminist journal Nutid, was born in Sitka, Alaska, as the daughter of the penultimate Governor of Russian Alaska, a Swedish-speaking Finnish nobleman. A pioneer of the women’s movement, she was from 1914 a member of the Finnish parliament. In the Swedish feminist magazine Dagny, Fredlösa historier was reviewed by Ebba Westberg (1874–1960), under the signature E. Wbg (see Donovan 2006, 134–5). Westberg was a progressive teacher and an impressive person in her own right; she was also married to the prominent economist Eli Heckscher, mother of Gunnar Heckscher, leader of the Conservative Party from 1961 to 1965, and grandmother of Einar Heckscher (1938–2020), who in 2006 translated Heart of Darkness. Cederschiöld and Lundström are less well known today. Maria Cederschiöld (1856– 1935), who reviewed Almayers dårskap in Aftonbladet, later became Sweden’s first female foreign affairs editor at the same newspaper. Enni Lundström (1866–1935), who reviewed Fredlösa historier in Göteborgs Aftonblad had been born in Finland and was notable for her activities to promote the use of Swedish abroad, especially in Finland and Estonia. Among the male reviewers, there are also a number of notable names. In Svenska Dagbladet, the first review was written by the socialist dentist Algot Ruhe (1867–1944), best known for 366

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having introduced Bergson in Sweden (see Dubois Ingelsson 2016). A few days after his review came a longer one by the dramatist Tor Hedberg (1862–1931), later director of the Royal Dramatic Theatre and a member of the Swedish Academy, who wanted ‘to underscore the favourable judgement made by the former reviewer’ (Hedberg 1903, 6). The two reviews of I fjärran farvatten (’Twixt Land and Sea) in 1915 were also both written by the star reviewers of their respective newspapers. Fredrik Böök (1883–1961), who reviewed it in Svenska Dagbladet, was perhaps the most highly regarded literary critic in Sweden between the wars and a member of the Swedish Academy’s Nobel Committee, but later pilloried for his pro-Nazi opinions (see Nordin 1994). In the competing Dagens Nyheter, the volume was reviewed by John Landquist (1881–1974), also a formidable name at the time and likewise later a prominent apologist for Hitler’s regime, but today best known for his scathing review of Pippi Longstocking in 1946 (see Nilsson 2009). Several of the other reviewers were also greatly involved in the introduction of modern literature: Hellen Lindgren (1857–1904), a male critic despite the unusual first name, wrote monographs on Zola and Ibsen, and translated Kropotkin’s memoirs; August Brunius (1879–1926) made an important contribution to the introduction of modern English literature in Sweden and translated works by Hardy and Dickens; G. A. Jäderholm (1882–1936) translated Schopenhauer; Nils Erdmann (1860–1948) wrote a biography of Strindberg; and Johan Nordling (1863–1938) was the editor of Idun. As for Gottfrid Renholm (1834–1908), who wrote the review of Almayers dårskap in Vårt Land, he had been the Paris correspondent for Nya Dagligt Allehanda from 1869 to 1890, but is today best known for Ernst Josephson’s striking portrait in the National Gallery, Stockholm. Only J. A. Runström (1852–1906) seems to have been mainly a reviewer. Since the reviews and essays written in Conrad’s lifetime display many elements in common, these will here be discussed together as a group. However, the most interesting are perhaps the reviews of Fredlösa historier since these were the first indications in Sweden of Conrad’s existence. While these reviews all have their own tone – useful for establishing or maintaining the reviewer’s reputation – some elements reoccur in almost all: a general comment on the position Conrad is likely to take in the literary field; a comparison with other writers in order to place him in that field; an emphasis on the authenticity conferred by Conrad’s personal experience of the East; comments on the title and the translation; a pronouncement on the relative merits of the stories; and a summary of the plot of the stories deemed to be the most interesting. The reviews of Fredlösa historier are clear about which stories they prefer, and these preferences show some interesting discrepancies from those expressed in the English reviews. In the Cambridge Edition of the Contemporary Reviews, ‘Karain’ is mentioned on thirty-three pages, ‘The Return’ on twenty-seven, ‘The Idiots’ on twenty-four, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ on twenty, and ‘The Lagoon’ on just twelve. In the Swedish reviews, all eighteen that discuss individual stories mention ‘The Return’; twelve mention ‘Karain’ and ‘An Outpost of Progress’; seven, ‘The Lagoon’; and six, ‘The Idiots’. The higher Swedish interest in ‘An Outpost of Progress’ is particularly interesting, given Swedish participation in Belgian colonialism. Moreover, while ‘Karain’ is the story most often discussed in contemporary English reviews – perhaps because it is the one most filled with exotic colour – in Swedish ‘The Return’ is given more attention, perhaps because its setting is seen as more representative for a writer in English, something that is obviously less important in Britain. The critics also give it high praise, Lindgren describing it as ‘among the most gripping stories you could read’ (Lindgren 1903, 319). The critic who uses the signature J. Bz. dismisses ‘Karain’ as mere exoticism, but calls ‘The Return’ ‘a masterpiece’ (1903, 3).1 Johanson, too, considers ‘The Return’, which she assumes describes the 367

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last day in Hervey’s life, to be ‘a masterpiece of psychological realism’, exploring ‘every crevice of his soul’ (1903, 3). The treatment of the scene is favourably compared to what is possible on stage, Hervey’s confused non-sequiturs being seen as more like real speech than the stylized lines given on stage, which need to make a dramatic point. In 1908, Johanson similarly emphasizes Almayer’s ‘false reasoning, illusory reminiscences and boastful stoicism’ in her review of Almayer’s Folly (178). Since Johanson compares ‘The Return’ to a drama, it is odd that she does not explicitly compare it to Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, with which Conrad’s story has so much in common (see Kirschner 1993 and Hampson 2009). Nor does Lindgren, who published a book on Ibsen the same year as his review, make that connection. The only one to do so is Söderhjelm, who, on the other hand, considers the comparison inescapable: ‘here, too, there is a very long explanation between husband and wife, and here, too, the husband appears as a common and conventional figure’ (Söderhjelm 1903, 4). Similarly inescapable, perhaps, is the comparison between ‘The Idiots’ and Maupassant, but that comparison, too, Söderhjelm is almost alone to make, with the exception of Furuhjelm. Söderhjelm further compares ‘The Lagoon’ to Gorky, while the anonymous review in Dagens Nyheter notes that ‘The Return’ ‘contains something of the intensity and energy that usually characterises the Russian ‘psychologists’ (Dagens Nyheter 1903, 4). Curiously, Hedberg is reminded of the fact that ‘the writer belongs to a nation that has fostered Robert Browning’, but without explaining what it is exactly that reminds him of that fact (Hedberg 1903, 6). Otherwise, the main comparison is naturally with Kipling, the other great English writer of colonialism (Furuhjelm 1903; Hedberg 1903; H.G. 1903). Today the difference between the sometimes jingoist Kipling and the pessimist sceptic Conrad may be obvious, but it was not so then. Hedberg, for example, sees Conrad as a direct disciple of Kipling: ‘both have a wider perspective than the faithful European [. . .] Humanity is to them not just white, but also yellow or black [. . .] They are writers not only of the little island kingdom, but of the great empire [. . .] and against that richer background they have obtained a deeper sense of scepticism’ (Hedberg 1903, 6). Furuhjelm in Nutid (1903) also claims ‘an undisputable kinship with Kipling, both in the means of expression and in the choice of subjects’ (45), although she acknowledges that Conrad’s less colourful effects makes it possible for him to bring out more subtle nuances. As late as 1915, a review of ’Twixt Land and Sea in Svenska Dagbladet comments that Conrad is clearly a follower of Kipling, whose ‘great importance lay in that he lifted his gaze to encompass the whole Earth; only with him did the colonies and the intercommunication between the peoples of the world play a role in literature’ (Böök 1915, 6). It would not be until 1924 that any substantial difference between Conrad and Kipling was noted in Swedish, when the young essayist Frans G. Bengtsson (1894–1954) observed in the leading cultural magazine Ord och Bild that ‘Kipling always maintains something of the attitude of the tourist towards his oriental types’, whereas the cosmopolitan Conrad ‘has been able to approach them without a trace of Western European provincialism’ or ‘condescending irony’ (Bengtsson 1924, 502). Conrad’s work is instead characterized by ‘a great, compassionate irony, so lofty and universal that differences in race and culture become insignificant, even if they may retain their great artistic value’ (Bengtsson 1924, 61).

1

The review in Social-Demokraten is signed ‘J. Bz.’, a signature that Robinson (2008) identifies with J. Bruzelius. Janne Bruzelius, however, died in 1899.

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Although many of the reviews of Fredlösa historier centre on ‘The Return’, they also contrast Europeans and non-Europeans. Hirn’s preface singles out Conrad’s depiction of ‘these peoples with their national costume and national deportment’ as a particular virtue (Hirn 1903, 7; in English, 2006, 132). The reviewers tend to add ‘with their national character’ to Hirn’s list: Nordling’s brief notice focuses on ‘the exotic colour of the wondrous human tribes of the East’ (1903, 270); Hedberg describes ‘Karain’ and ‘The Lagoon’ as studies of ‘the Malay popular character’ (1903, 6); Runström sees Conrad as being particularly interested in the ‘peculiar’ national character of the Malays, ‘which combines unparalleled bravery and daring with a high degree of superstition’ (1903, 4); and Renholm regards Almayer’s Folly to be of interest especially for its depiction of ‘the psychology and basic principles of different races and the conflicts that arise in consequence’ (1908, 6). Perhaps taking their cue from Hirn’s preface, no fewer than eighteen of the twenty-five reviews of Tales of Unrest and Almayer’s Folly contain the word ‘psychological’. The treatment generally assumes European superiority, and no fewer than eight of the early reviews contain the word ‘vilde’ (savage). For example, Johanson sees ‘Karain’ as investigating ‘the psychology of the savage’ (1903, 3); the anonymous review of Fredlösa historier in Wiborgs Nyheter contrasts half-savages and civilized people; and Cederschiöld (1908) compares ‘Malays and Arabs’ to ‘half-civilised people’ (1908, 7). At the same time, such expressions of unreflective racism are frequently offset by an understanding that Conrad also brings something else, an emphasis on similarity rather than difference. Hedberg, for example, uses the phrase ‘the socalled savage and the so-called civilized man’, and argues that Conrad ‘ruthlessly’ compares the two. Westberg comments that Conrad ‘knows that in us all, the cultivated individual and the savage alike, there exist unexplored depths’ (Westberg 295; in English 2006, 134). The anonymous review of Fredlösa historier in Dagens Nyheter, finally, comments on ‘the lives and characters of Indians and Malays, in which the writer understands how to interest us, natives on the other side of the earth’ (1903, 4). The use of the term ‘natives’ [‘infödingar’] to refer to Europeans may indicate an attempt to relativize the perceived racial differences. The longest treatment of this relativization appears in Ruhe’s review in Svenska Dagbladet (1903). While Ruhe thinks that ‘the life of the soul in Malays sometimes takes expressions that may confound a white man’, he also claims that ‘happily Conrad sees his Malays as people, whose beings are led by similar mysterious powers to those that also interfere in the destinies of cultivated gentlemen’ (3). Indeed, Ruhe identifies a distinct similarity between Karain, Carlier and Kayerts, and ‘even the correct London gentleman in “The Return” [. . .] shows such surprising analogies with “the savage” that he probably deserves consideration from those who tend to overestimate the transformative power of culture’ (3). Importantly, Conrad makes Ruhe see the similarity rather than the difference between peoples, but, in another context, he shows his proneness to casual racism: The white reader should not fear that these fantastic fates and the exotic colour of the nature that is depicted will give him the same dull impression of something curious that hardly concerns him or this cold astonishment that one experiences at the sight of some travelling negro troupe in the Passage Panopticon [in Berlin] or in a Zoological garden. Nor do the boring horrors of the Indian novel lurk behind these pages (3). Whether this is what he really thinks or whether he is merely claiming similarity with his presumed racist readers in order to make them experience his conversion is impossible to say, 369

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but it is clear that it is the presence or absence of a European mediator that creates these differing reactions. From a post-colonial perspective, the most forward-looking of the early reviews and essays is Euterpe-member Sigurd Frosterus’s essay in Nya Argus in 1916. Frosterus was one of the most successful Finnish architects of his generation, as well as a cultural critic of note, adopting rationalist scientific views as well as environmentalist and anti-colonial positions. His essay discusses the vicarious journeys one might undertake through books at a time when the war had rendered London and Paris as far away from Helsinki ‘as, until recently, the Cape or Chicago’ (138). However, he suggests, underlying The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and the other books he considers is ‘the unconscious thought’ that ‘the white race’ has a ‘right of inheritance to the Earth’ (138). Frosterus concedes that ‘the purely aesthetic desire to extend the narrow confines in which we move’ may on the surface have little to do with the less peaceful desire to plant one’s flag on unknown coasts, but, nevertheless, he affirms they are aspects of the same movement of imaginative expansion (138); travel, whether physical or mental, remains a form of cultural appropriation. Frosterus refuses to linger on the rights and wrongs of this situation, but his readiness to acknowledge its existence is unique in the early Swedish-language reception of Conrad. In the construction of race, hybrid identities are often particularly interesting. In the early Swedish reception of Conrad, attention to hybrid identity can be found primarily in relation to the depiction of Nina in Almayer’s Folly. Where later readers might see her tragedy as being caused by the racism of others, the early reviewers take for granted that it was caused directly by racial conflict within herself. The most subtle review is Klara Johanson’s, which depicts ‘Nina and the Malay’s love story’ as harbouring ‘exquisite refinement’ but still torn apart by racial conflict (1957, 179). The other female reviewer, Maria Cederschiöld in Aftonbladet, also sympathizes with Nina, talking about ‘the poor half-blood woman’ who claims her ‘right to live her own life, like a veritable New Woman’, but is brought down by the conflict of blood, despite ‘the thin varnish of civilisation she received in her youth’ (1908, 7). The male reviewers are blunter. Renholm in Vårt Land writes that ‘after her return home the instincts of the blood she has inherited from her mother awaken’ (1908, 6). Even more explicitly, Nils Erdmann in Nya Dagligt Allehanda claims that ‘her Malay blood draws her to her mother’, but, even when she is united with ‘a paragon of nature, an ideal savage of the type envisioned by eighteenth-century poets, race comes between them to disturb the harmony’ because of her dual lineage (1908, 7). Her lover senses that nothing ‘can break down the wall, the mysterious border that divides them’ (7). The review ends by stating that ‘she is a being of a higher kind. But – we ask – for how long?’ (7) In other words, her ‘higher’ European side is doomed to extinction in the competition with her ‘lower’ Malay side. The reader is here reminded that two contradictory doomsday scenarios fought for domination over the minds of European racists in this period: if some racial Darwinists saw the ‘lower’ races as being doomed to extinction, others saw these ‘lower’ races as an existential threat to the ‘higher’. A central theme in Swedish literary reviews of the early twentieth century is the difference in ‘national character’ between European countries (cf. Samuelsson 2013, 48–9). This concern is also evident in the reviews of Conrad. Ruhe begins his review by asking whether it is even possible to read foreign fiction, since ‘the books that deserve to be read generally form such an intertwined unit of national customs, habits, and notions, of national language and national emotions’ that little is left in translation (1903, 3). On the other hand, others see the insight 370

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into the characters of other nations as part of the point of reading fiction in translation. The interest they take in ‘The Return’ is partly explained by the idea that it reveals something specifically English. Furuhjelm calls Hervey ‘a typically English philistine’ (1903, 46). Originally, it was also assumed that Conrad was an Englishman. The early reviews all introduce him as an ‘English sea captain’ or an ‘English writer’, and Runström comments that ‘he possesses to a marked degree the Englishman’s sense for realities and his ability to find himself at home among the most diverse peoples’ (1903, 4). Erdmann muses that Conrad is ‘probably an Englishman, since his books are written in English’ (1908, 7). And, as late as 1915, Böök claims in a comparison between ’Twixt Land and Sea and a novel by the German Gustav Frenssen that ‘the German writer has a lofty idealism that is completely alien to the practical English realist’ (6). National character is supposed to determine literary style, and Conrad is found to be quintessentially English. The information that Conrad was born in Poland had, however, appeared in print in Swedish already in 1906 in the anonymous entry on Conrad in the thirty-eight-volume encyclopaedia Nordisk familjebok, which asserted that ‘his parents participated in the rebellion of 1862, but were imprisoned; his mother was sent to Siberia, and his father died in prison’ (vol. 5, 1906, 654). Subsequently, Johanson comments in her review of Almayers dårskap: Officially Conrad is counted as an Englishman, but he cannot possibly be regarded as a genuine one. One might guess that he would be Irish or the product of mixed races, as is Lafcadio Hearn, but I have somewhere seen him exposed as a Pole [. . .] This seems probable and even satisfactory, for a Slavic race gives us enough explanation for a peculiarly complicated individual. Johanson 1957, 177 A more literary and less racist version of the same argument is articulated by Brunius in a review of The Secret Agent in Svenska Dagbladet in 1911: ‘the name Karl Korzeniowski, which is hidden behind the pseudonym Joseph Conrad, casts light over more than the choice of subject; I am here thinking of the kinship with Slavic storytelling that can be found in the novel’s uncanny psychology’ (6). In a later article on the Russian influence on English literature in the same newspaper, Brunius claims that Conrad is a ‘pure Slav’ (1914, 6), and, in his encyclopaedia entry on Conrad in the next edition of Nordisk familjebok, he further claims that Conrad’s ‘method is more closely related to the great Russian storytellers than to the English and French prose writers who arrange their writings in more logical fashion’ (Brunius 1926, 30). As in the English-speaking countries, Conrad’s reputation experienced a temporary decline between the wars, and, on the whole, Conrad was mainly seen in Sweden as a writer of popular fiction. A typical example is an article in Svenska Dagbladet in 1923 by the writer and activist Anna Lenah Elgström (1884–1968), a founding member of the Swedish Save the Children Fund; she declares unhesitatingly that ‘our young people can safely be left with Conrad’s and Stevenson’s books in their hands’ (1). A notable exception to this condescending attitude is the young essayist Frans G. Bengtsson (1894–1954), who published a number of insightful essays on Conrad in the 1920s, which have recently been presented in English (Sundkvist 2018; see also Fredriksson 2001). Another notable exception is Ernst Bendz’s monograph Joseph Conrad: An Appreciation (1923), published in Gothenburg in English (see Peters 2013, 16; and Davies and Moore 2008, 36). 371

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It was not until after the Second World War that there was a renewed interest in Conrad and that some of his key books were translated for the first time, including Heart of Darkness (as ‘The heart of the darkness’), ‘Youth’ and The Shadow-Line in a single volume in 1949. The discourse in which these works were received remained predominantly racist, however. The publisher’s advertisement for Heart of Darkness in Dagens Nyheter announces that it is ‘the story of ivory agent Kurtz who has been caught in the cruel barbaric faith of the savages’ (Forum 1949, 9). The same year, Gunnar Ekelöf (1907–68), one of Sweden’s greatest modernist poets, had listed the analysis of ‘negro psychology’ in The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, illustrating ‘how complicated the so-called primitive really is’, as a central virtue in the novel (Ekelöf 2003a, 356). Ekelöf also reviewed Heart of Darkness and ‘Youth’ the same year, and interestingly describes ‘Youth’ as giving ‘a more authentic image of how the colonisation of the world happened than many political memoirs’ (Ekelöf 2003b, 383). To Ekelöf, colonialism was a matter of ‘simple people moving their local context a thousand miles here or there, without a thought for the great, idealist, civilising perspectives’ that Heart of Darkness puts in focus (2003b, 383–4). Otherwise, Ekelöf ’s reviews combine deep insights with occasional misreadings; for example, he thinks that Heart of Darkness is set in a French colony rather than a Belgian one. He ends by suggesting that ‘what makes Conrad peculiar is that he is double to such a high degree: he is sublime in the middle of his banality and banal in the middle of his sublimity [. . .] and this banal sublimity can sometimes look like life’ (Ekelöf 2003b, 385). As an example of this phenomenon he mentions the ending of Heart of Darkness, ‘where the narrator [. . .] visits Kurtz’s fiancée to return a letter’ (Ekelöf 2003b, 385). Ekelöf has obviously missed the significance of the scene, but in the light of Hannah Arendt’s analyses of the banality of evil his misreading is capable of taking on new resonance. During the period of decolonization in the 1960s, Conrad’s work gained new topicality. This was especially true of Heart of Darkness, which came to the attention of Swedes because of the Congo Crisis, during which Swedish peacekeepers played a major part and the Swedish Secretary-General of the United Nations, Dag Hammarskjöld, was killed. Significantly, Conrad was Hammarskjöld’s favourite author; he consciously identified with Jim throughout his life, and Conrad’s portrait hung on the wall of his New York flat (Berggren 2016, 52, 204). During the same period, the first steps in the construction of an anti-colonial Conrad can be seen in a series of articles on the Congo in fact and fiction that the Africanist Sven Hamrell (1928–2020), later director of the Dag Hammarskjöld Foundation, and the novelist and editor Per Wästberg (b. 1933), later of the Swedish Academy, published in Dagens Nyheter in 1960–1. Wästberg first mentioned Heart of Darkness on 13 August 1960 as a novel describing ‘the indelible scar’ that colonialism has left ‘on the body and soul of white and black people alike’ (Wästberg 1960, 3). On 4 December, Sven Hamrell read Heart of Darkness in the light of Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism: following Arendt, he argues that what Conrad describes is the beginning of the harnessing of racism for political ends, a development that led directly to Nazism. The article is illustrated by a photograph of Hitler with a caption describing Kurtz. Wästberg also compared the Congo Free State to Nazi Germany (1961), which occasioned a brief but heated newspaper debate between Hamrell in Dagens Nyheter (1961) and the Belgophile zoologist Kai Curry-Lindahl in Svenska Dagbladet (1961) over the appropriateness of this comparison. This debate was only obliquely related to Conrad, but still provides a foretaste of later debates: Conrad was brought in to bolster a comparison between colonialism and Nazism, a comparison strongly objected to by others. 372

The Swedish Uses of Conrad

As is the case with many small countries, the history of Sweden during the twentieth century can be seen within a framework of changing international allegiances, or rather within the changing patterns of the international allegiances of the ruling classes, moving from either pro-German or pro-British before the Second World War to pro-American or pro-European after it. However, during the 1960s and 1970s, not only writers and students but also individuals occupying central positions in the establishment turned their attention to the inequalities between the so-called First and Third worlds, shifting their loyalties to the latter. Olof Lagercrantz (1911–2002), editor-in-chief of Dagens Nyheter, and the writer Sven Lindqvist (1932–2019) sent reports from Mao’s China that, if not endorsing the regime’s point of view, then at least showed understanding of it. Prime Minister Olof Palme (1927–86), Gunnar Fredriksson (b. 1930), editor-in-chief of Aftonbladet, and the novelist Sara Lidman (1923– 2004) voiced anger over the Vietnam War, which they saw as an imperialist conflict. Haunted by the Holocaust and by Swedish neutrality in the Second World War, they turned to the idea that Sweden should be ‘the conscience of the world’. In the early 1980s, these same writers began to write about Conrad; the story of Conrad in Sweden is thus part of the story of the general political development of Sweden in the twentieth century. A typical example is an article in Dagens Nyheter in which Sara Lidman claims that ‘if Heart of Darkness had not been a hidden classic’, the United States would not have bombed Vietnam (Lidman 1983, 4). Instead, however, Conrad is not read, and the classics are stamped as boring by ‘an entertainment industry that proclaims that the hunt for Indians and other non-Whites is the meaning of life’ (4). In other words, she argues, we are subjected to an ‘indoctrination in evil’, to which reading Conrad is an antidote (4). Far from being complicit in European colonial expansion – of which Lidman sees the Vietnam War as the logical consequence – her Conrad is an anti-colonialist crusader. A quieter and more thoughtful expression of similar thoughts is Gunnar Fredriksson’s I Joseph Conrads farvatten (In Joseph Conrad’s Home Waters; 1982). The book is journalistic in tone, mixing analyses of Conrad’s life and works with atmospheric descriptions of Fredriksson’s travels in Conrad’s footsteps to Tanjung Redeb, Singapore, Penang, Bangkok, Jakarta and Cracow, as well as with Fredriksson’s own memories of how he was first introduced to Conrad on board his father’s ship, and how he went with his father to Danzig in 1938 and witnessed a rally by Goebbels. It also includes a number of interviews, for example with Zdzisław Najder, who is quoted as saying ‘Conrad was a socialist in every sense except the official one’ (Fredriksson 1982, 293), the source of Lönnroth’s judgement quoted at the beginning of this chapter (as confirmed in Lönnroth 1992b, 30). Fredriksson uses Conrad to illustrate his own worldview, portraying Conrad above all as a critic of European colonialism, suggesting that ‘the 1950s and 1960s with their revolutionary changes in the old colonies, for example in Cuba, the Congo, Indonesia, and Vietnam, gave a new dimension to my reading of Conrad. Later forms of so-called neo-colonialism have not decreased the actuality of this theme’ (Fredriksson 1982, 25). Indeed, he sees racism as a central theme in both Almayer’s Folly and An Outcast of the Islands (Fredriksson 1982, 53, 57) and regards Heart of Darkness as ‘one of the most anti-colonial novels in existence’ (Fredriksson 1982, 24), revealing ‘that plunder, mass murder and racism form an intrinsic part of Western cultural heritage’ (Fredriksson 1982, 158–9). And while many early readers felt that the novella was only about Belgium, Fredriksson considers it obvious that it criticizes all forms of colonialism, regardless of which country does the colonizing (Fredriksson 1982, 161). 373

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To Fredriksson, then, Conrad is primarily a critic of capitalism, in Heart of Darkness with its portrayal of the ivory trade that ties Congo to London, and in Nostromo, which he sees as a novel not just about South American politics but about the world economy: ‘it is about capitalism and colonial politics. The silver stands for the material interests, the basis for our economy and politics’ (Fredriksson 1982, 233). Fredriksson compares Holroyd to President Reagan and depicts the novel as an indictment of hypocritical American rhetoric to parallel the rhetoric of Europeans in Congo: Conrad was even more far-sighted than [Cunninghame Graham]; he questioned the whole Western view of history, the idea that progress and freedom in the world is reached on the basis of material interests and the exploitation of the world’s riches. It’s plunder, and nothing else. Fredriksson 1982, 235 Fredriksson acknowledges that Conrad was no socialist, but suggests that his conservative criticism of the market economy goes beyond what the socialist Cunninghame Graham was capable of. Fredriksson’s book was reviewed in Dagens Nyheter by its former editor-in-chief, Olof Lagercrantz, a central powerbroker in the literary field in Sweden. Lagercrantz reads Fredriksson’s book as wholly commensurate with his own position, seeing it as groundbreaking precisely because ‘Conrad’s politics are so often overshadowed in the Anglo-Saxon world’, perhaps as the result of ‘an unconscious chauvinism’ (Lagercrantz 1982b, 4). Instead of this apolitical Conrad, Fredriksson and Lagercrantz see Conrad as trying to tear down ‘the screens built by political language’. Both see the works of great authors ‘as a tribunal in front of which the reader steps’ (Lagercrantz 1982b, 4). Conrad’s works then carry a great moral force, handing out a judgement on the whole world. Only a week after his review of Fredriksson, Lagercrantz’s own memoir, Min första krets (My first circle), was published. The title of the volume refers partly to the aristocratic circle of family and friends in which he grew up, but also to Dante’s circles of hell in the Inferno, and, as the guide through his own personal hell, his Virgil, Lagercrantz chose Conrad: ‘I have always thought that writers of fiction are our teachers before any others [. . .] I decided to try to walk through my own life with Conrad at my side’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 5–6). However, he writes, ‘the plan proved to be too ambitious for my powers. I had to relieve Conrad of his assignment’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 6). Consequently, while ‘there are traces of the original project’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 6) in the book, Conrad is rarely overtly mentioned. At the same time, one can see where he would have fitted in: Lagercrantz describes his young self in terms reminiscent of the daydreaming Jim (Lagercrantz 1982a, 31); his mother as similar to Kurtz’s Intended (Lagercrantz 1982a, 50–1); and his father appears as a MacWhirr, dutifully protecting ‘the wonderful machine that technology and capital had built together’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 136). More generally, clues to what Lagercrantz wanted to use Conrad for can be found in the main themes of the book, which are similar to those he elsewhere ascribes to Conrad: the destructive influence of an aristocratic, patriarchal society on its own members and the even more destructive results of capitalism on colonized countries. In the context of his grandmother’s brother – one of the richest men in Europe, based in England, France and Belgium as well as

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in Sweden – Lagercrantz describes the havoc wreaked on the world by the invention of the limited liability company: The director of the company was responsible only for the invested capital and this capital did not speak, did not feel, did not smell [. . .] If this capital took slaves in far-off countries, bought murderers with or without uniforms or committed other crimes [. . .] was none of the shareholders’ business. Their hands were always clean. With the limited liability company, society took an enormous step towards anonymity. It became possible to trade without dirtying one’s hands, to kill without seeing anyone fall, to exploit without seeing anyone starve. It was the first step towards a society where war is started by pressing buttons. Lagercrantz 1982a, 42 The world thus becomes double, not by nature as Plato or Schopenhauer would have argued, but as a result of political and economic developments: on the one hand the benign world of appearances and on the other the horrible reality underneath. It is to expose this doubleness that he needs Conrad. ‘It is my conviction, as it was Conrad’s, that we live in an evil and false world, which we simultaneously regard as the best of all worlds.’ This is how he sums up the message of the book in an interview in Dagens Nyheter (Vinterhed 1982, 32). Echoes of Kurtz’s Intended also appear towards the end of the book where he presents a young German woman he gets to know at a Swiss sanatorium in the 1930s: ‘she had everything one could ask of refinement, insight, charm, and she was a glowing – Nazi’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 157). She regarded Hitler as a new Messiah who would bring the war that would purify Germany. Lagercrantz himself had only recently ‘been cured’ of a similarly romantic view of war as a holy sacrifice to womanhood and saw the young German woman as ‘lethal’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 157). A comparison to the Intended is clearly implied: in the debate over the German people’s guilt, the young woman was ‘guiltless [. . .] in the same sense that we who live today are guiltless because the selection of information about the world that reaches us is forged or utterly capricious’ (Lagercrantz 1982a, 158). We are all complicit, but we remain unaware of our guilt because of the way the world is organized and how information is filtered. A similar view of the fallen world also permeates Lagercrantz’s short book on Heart of Darkness: Färd med Mörkrets hjärta (1987). In his close-reading of the novella, Lagercrantz focuses, like his friend Ekelöf, on the complexity of Conrad’s writing. ‘Conrad,’ he writes, ‘is to a greater extent than other writers I have studied at every moment the prey of contradictory impulses and that gives to his texts, when he is at the height of his powers, a peculiar force: he is deeply serious when he is laughing, mocking when he is praising, safe when he is frightened’ (Lagercrantz 1987, 36). Similarly, in Om konsten att läsa och skriva (On the art of reading and writing) in 1985, he argues that Conrad’s works are ‘always ambiguous, trembling in their very foundations’ (Lagercrantz 1985, 65). It is through this doubleness that Conrad explores what Lagencrantz in an interview calls ‘the mechanisms of power’ (Ohlsson 1987, 30).3 Even Conrad’s ships are not just social microcosms but also bear traces of hidden genocide and the mass murder of animals (Lagercrantz 1985, 62). Like the dominoes and piano keys in Heart of

3

The novelist Bengt Ohlsson would later dramatize The Secret Agent for radio (2011).

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Darkness, little ivory pieces in European homes stand there as silent witnesses to the rape of the wilderness (Lagercrantz 1985, 64). As this suggests, it is with the effects of Conrad’s journey on Europe that Lagercrantz’s interest primarily lies. If Fredriksson and Lagercrantz were interested in colonialism primarily as an extension of capitalism, Sven Lindqvist in Utrota varenda jävel (1992, translated into English as Exterminate all the Brutes in 1997) instead sees capitalism as an extension of colonialism. He takes off from Kurtz’s scribble ‘Exterminate all the brutes!’ and contextualizes it by reference to the colonial theory and practice of the 1890s. By looking at the history of genocide in the West, Lindqvist, like Arendt, comes to the conclusion that ‘[i]t was in the British and other Western European peoples that Hitler found his precursors’, and the extermination of the Jews is ‘a distorted copy’ of their earlier practices (Lindqvist 1992, 21). In other words, ‘Auschwitz was the modern, industrial application of a policy of extermination, on which European domination had long rested’ (Lindqvist 1992, 225). Accordingly, Lindqvist does not see Conrad’s novella as just an historical document, but rather as testimony to a still ongoing process that has produced both the Holocaust and today’s global inequality and resulting mass migrations. The book concludes with the observation that it is not knowledge that we lack; it is the courage to see what we know. What Conrad provides is insight into the mechanisms of our blindness. The response to these books follows a predictable pattern: the more left-leaning Dagens Nyheter and Aftonbladet praised them, and the conservative Svenska Dagbladet reserved its praise for their style while questioning their conclusions. The main issue is whether Conrad’s work tends to a complete condemnation of capitalism and colonialism as intrinsically tainted by a greed that will always lead to slaughter, or whether it leaves room for reformism, seeing greed and murder as temporary aberrations caused by human nature within historical movements that are in themselves neither good nor bad. These narratives are, in their turn, inscribed into two larger narratives of the Cold War: on the left, what matters is the conflict between oppressors and oppressed, with Conrad as a powerful ally in the fight against capitalism and colonialism; on the right, what matters is the conflict between democracy and totalitarianism, and, if the left does not give their wholehearted support to the democratic countries of the West, they play into the hands of the totalitarian powers of the East. That argument was presented most forcefully by the politician Per Ahlmark in Vänstern och tyranniet: det galna kvartsseklet (The Left and tyranny: the mad quarter century; 1994), which attacks Lagercrantz, Lindqvist, Fredriksson and Palme, among others, for failing to stand up for democratic values. These different worldviews are also reflected in the reception of Fredriksson, Lagercrantz and Lindqvist’s books. Thus, critics connected to Dagens Nyheter and Aftonbladet tended to agree with the view of Conrad as an anti-capitalist and anti-colonialist, while critics connected to Svenska Dagbladet opposed what they saw as an attempt to use Conrad to legitimize a socialist worldview. Rather than as an heroic prophet, they regarded Conrad as unavoidably and fairly honourably complicit in colonialism, in the same way that contemporary defenders of the West are unavoidably and fairly honourably complicit in capitalism. In other words, Conrad came to epitomize the difficulty of standing outside currently hegemonic ideologies: if he could, then anyone can, and if even he could not resist, then others who could not can be excused. Consequently, while Fredriksson’s book was praised by Lagercrantz in Dagens Nyheter, as previously mentioned, it was given a more critical review in Svenska Dagbladet. This review was written by the culture editor Leif Carlsson (1930–2002), who himself had previously 376

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singled out Lord Jim as ‘my novel’ (Carlsson 1970, 5). He particularly questioned Fredriksson’s analysis of Nostromo: ‘Fredriksson thinks himself to have read an editorial in Aftonbladet or Dagens Nyheter directed against American imperialism in Latin America. I believe myself to have read something completely different’ (Carlsson 1982, 16). He concludes by saying that ‘Gunnar Fredriksson is undeniably a gentleman – and a white, cultivated one. It would save ink if he admitted this obvious state of affairs’ (Carlsson 1982, 16). While Carlsson thus exposes what he thinks is Fredriksson’s hypocrisy, he is also presupposing that they share an identity as ‘white gentlemen’ in opposition to those with whom Fredriksson would rather seek kinship. While much of Lagercrantz’s Färd med Mörkrets hjärta is not overtly political, the highly politicized position of the writer ensured that it was largely received as a political book, with predictable responses from left and right. In a review in Dagens Nyheter (31 August 1987), the novelist and essayist Carl-Göran Ekerwald (b. 1923) agreed with Lagercrantz’s contention that Heart of Darkness is ‘an allegory of the twentieth century’s brutal politics of conquest, its uninhibited greed for profit, the self-conceited attitudes of “civilised” Westerners, in short, the misery of our times’ (Ekerwald 1987, 4). In Svenska Dagbladet (31 August 1987), conversely, the novelist Lars Gustafsson (1936–2016) considered the study to be ‘unusable, in so far as it wants to be about Joseph Conrad, since it tries in an arbitrary and superficial fashion to draft the object of study for a fashionable modern political point of view that would have been completely alien to Conrad’ (Gustafsson 1987, 12). To Gustafsson, Conrad saw the British Empire as ‘a spreader of democracy and civilisation’, whereas Lagercrantz seems to see him as a sort of ‘Leninist neo-moralist’ who would sympathize with the Khmer Rouge (Gustafsson 1987, 12). Sven Lindqvist then came to Lagercrantz’s aid in Dagens Nyheter on 3 October 1987: ‘I don’t know if it is the charming dilettante Lars Gustafsson or the opportunist liar with the same name who has written this. Perhaps he is just childishly ignorant of the history of colonialism’ (Lindqvist 1987, 4). While Gustafsson saw Heart of Darkness as attacking only Belgian colonial practices of the 1890s, to Lindqvist it is ‘an indictment of the whole of the civilised world’, since the general public has always known what horrors are ‘committed in the name of Progress, Civilisation, Socialism and Democracy’ (Lindqvist 1987, 4). He ends by saying, ‘everywhere in the world where there is a generally known but deeply suppressed knowledge, which if it was made conscious would blow up our worldview and force us to question our deepest convictions, there we find the “Heart of Darkness” ’ (Lindqvist 1987, 4). It is hence in this review that Lindqvist first tries out some of the ideas that he later presented in Utrota varenda jävel. Lindqvist’s Utrota varenda jävel gave rise to a far bigger debate than Fredriksson’s or Lagercrantz’s books. His analysis of the connection between colonial ideas about genocide and the Holocaust is sparsely sourced and contains some exaggerated claims that soon drew the critics’ attention. While generally well received, the book occasioned a long and heated discussion in the Swedish press, mainly about Lindqvist’s analysis of Nazism, but also about whether King Leopold’s Congo was unique, symptomatic of a larger trend in colonialism or even an unavoidable product of colonialism itself. Into this debate was also brought the question of whether Conrad was in favour of colonialism in general or not, first by Lars Lönnroth in Svenska Dagbladet. Lönnroth (b. 1935) was culture editor of the newspaper, Professor of Comparative Literature at the University of Gothenburg and coincidentally Lagercrantz’s nephew. In an article titled ‘Lindqvist and Conrad are not comrades in arms’, Lönnroth argues that 377

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Lindqvist completely misrepresents the intentions behind Heart of Darkness. Like most Victorians Conrad thought that the West Europeans did have a civilising task in the African colonies, and it was because of this that he became deeply upset when he discovered that the Belgian colonists had betrayed this civilising mission. Lönnroth 1992a, 30 To back up his view, Lönnroth goes on to say that ‘the international research on Conrad completely discounts the possibility that Conrad should have any for his time radical ideas about colonialism, which was then generally accepted’, the imputation being that Lindqvist is insufficiently informed and a dilettante (Lönnroth 1992a, 30). A few days later, Gunnar Fredriksson dismissed Lönnroth’s contribution as part of ‘a rightwing campaign against Lindqvist’, suggesting in Aftonbladet that Conrad would have turned in his grave if he had read Lönnroth: ‘there is nothing in Lönnroth’s peculiar contribution that makes Conrad different from Kipling, but if there is anything that the international research on Conrad has shown, then it is the fundamental difference between the two’ (Fredriksson 1992, 4). Fredriksson repeatedly uses the term ‘the international research on Conrad’ to make fun of Lönnroth and to demonstrate his own knowledge of the field. Lönnroth responded in Svenska Dagbladet by repudiating the idea that he had compared Conrad and Kipling. His point was instead that ‘Conrad’s moral worldview is based on the presupposition that the individual can withstand evil’ (Fredriksson 1992b, 30). Much of this debate obviously derives from the basic political premises of the two camps: Fredriksson, Lagercrantz and Lindqvist see the primary conflict as one between an oppressive West and an oppressed South, while Gustafsson and the writers in Svenska Dagbladet instead see the primary conflict as one between a democratic West and an oppressive East. That Conrad’s intentions took such a prominent place in Swedish public debate in the 1980s and 1990s is largely because it was also a debate over the legacy of colonialism. Indeed, one might argue that Conrad was the catalyst for the introduction of post-colonial theory in Sweden. In a survey of the history of post-colonial studies in Sweden, Klas Grinell points to Raoul Granqvist’s critical review of a lecture by Lagercrantz in Umeå in 1984 as one of the first Swedish texts to use a post-colonial perspective (Grinell, referring to Granqvist 1984a). Granqvist, an expert on African literature and later Professor of English Literature at Umeå University, was especially critical of Lagercrantz’s downplaying of the importance of Africa in Heart of Darkness and reminds the reader of Achebe’s reasons for calling Conrad a racist. In a footnote to his 1985 book, Lagercrantz duly mentions Achebe’s accusations (Lagercrantz 1985,185–6), also referring to Granqvist’s ‘Stereotypes in Western Fiction on Africa’ (1984b), but he makes no other comment than that ‘Achebe’s judgement over Conrad seems to me to give a foretaste of what we whites should expect when the blacks get power and independence’ (Lagercrantz 1985, 186). Granqvist develops his argument with Lagercrantz in Karavan, a magazine about nonWestern literature: ‘Mörkrets hjärta i Sverige’ (Heart of Darkness in Sweden; Granqvist 2001a), an article also available in a revised English version (Granqvist 2001b). In both versions, Granqvist is partly concerned with Swedish uses of the novella, but even more with Swedish uses of the Congo. Where I have presented Lagercrantz and Lindqvist as being on the same side and the debates their books gave rise to as forming part of a single, larger debate, Granqvist sees Lagercrantz’s book as being aligned with Lindqvist’s critics as well as with early popular 378

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fiction about Africa, all having the same reductive attitude towards Africa as merely a tool for Europeans (Granqvist 2001a, 48; not in the English version). He argues that Lagercrantz may be opposed to colonialism but his anti-colonial project, like Conrad’s, is concerned only with the colonizers, not with the colonized (Granqvist 2001a, 56, 487). The criticism with which Lindqvist’s book was met is in Granqvist’s view similarly connected to ‘the complex and contradictory Swedish relationship with the Africa that we have here referred to as the “Congo” ’ (Granqvist 2001a, 129). In other words, critics chose to focus on Lindqvist’s discussion of the Holocaust precisely in order not to have to come to terms with what he says about Africa. Whatever the truth in this, it is indubitable that the discussion of Conrad in Sweden closely reflects the various critics’ perspective on the world at large. Despite the emphasis on ‘the international research on Conrad’ in the debate outlined above, Chinua Achebe’s attack on Conrad as a racist was largely ignored in Sweden. With the exception of Granqvist, Achebe’s view simply did not fit into the greater narratives of which Conrad was made part. Later writers have not had that problem, and have, like Granqvist, rather looked askance at the earlier writers’ uncritical reading of Conrad. For example, in a review of a new translation of Heart of Darkness in 2006, for which Gunnar Fredriksson wrote the postscript, Magnus Eriksson (b. 1956) echoes Achebe: ‘Conrad thought like a colonialist. His collective description of the natives underscores this tendency. They are presented as an anonymous mass’ (Eriksson 2006). This view is contrasted with Fredriksson’s postscript: ‘but still Gunnar Fredriksson expresses surprise at the post-colonial criticism of Conrad’ (Eriksson 2006). Eriksson’s explanation of Fredriksson’s surprise is that ‘he has sworn himself to the simplified notion of Conrad as anti-colonialist, even though a quick reading of the text is enough to see that things are not that simple’ (Eriksson 2006). Instead, it is precisely the novella’s complexity that makes it a masterpiece, according to Eriksson, and especially ‘the contrast between the idea of colonialism as it is manifested in the British and its reality, manifested in the continentals’ (Eriksson 2006). As late as 2014, in a book entitled Förlorare (Losers; 2014), the critic Peter Luthersson (b. 1954), former culture editor of Svenska Dagbladet, polemicizes against both Lagercrantz’s and Lindqvist’s views of Conrad, arguing that reading Conrad as primarily an anti-colonial writer both reduces Conrad’s work and hides the fact that Conrad was in fact more of a racist than Kipling. According to Luthersson, this reduction makes both Conrad and Kipling losers in literary history. Today, Conrad’s position in Sweden seems secure. Fifteen titles have been published in new editions since 2000, as has a translation of Maya Jasanoff ’s biography (2019). Twenty-three titles have also been published as audiobooks, as have the books by Fredriksson, Lagercrantz and Lindqvist. Academic interest in Conrad at Swedish-language universities is also strong, as is demonstrated by three doctoral theses (Pettersson 1982; Donovan 2001; and Claes E. Lindskog 2008); three conference volumes (Hansson 1998; Bell 2002; and Narcissus 1998); and a number of scholarly articles and book chapters by Donovan, Forselius, Granqvist, Holm, Annika J. Lindskog, Claes E. Lindskog and Thavenius. Last but not least, Conrad first: the Joseph Conrad Periodical Archive was set up during this period by Stephen Donovan at Uppsala University. At the same time, in Sweden today Conrad is almost exclusively known as the anti-colonial author of Heart of Darkness. The novella is available in three different translations both in print and as an audiobook and is taught on many university courses. It was dramatized for radio in 2008, with one of Sweden’s foremost contemporary dramatists, Lars Norén, as Kurtz, in his only 379

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acting part to date. In 2011, Swedish Radio broadcast a satirical play entitled ‘Mörkrets ärta’ or ‘Fart of Darkness’, in which a Swedish ‘climate entrepreneur’ called Kurt goes to the Congo to buy emission rights. Two German adaptations of the novel – by Roland Schimmelpfennig and Wolfram Lotz – have been performed on Swedish stages, in 2012 and 2016, and, also in 2016, the experimental theatre company Teater Insite produced a walk-through performance – inspired by Heart of Darkness but set in a science-fiction milieu – at an abandoned train shed in Malmo. Conrad was thus first introduced to a Swedish audience in 1898 with a story about European colonization in Africa and that is still the subject that he is best known for today, although with reference to a different African story. Superficially, it might seem that nothing has happened. However, as this chapter has demonstrated, the ways in which that subject has been approached have varied enormously, in line with the general development of Swedish cultural life. By and large, critics have found themselves in Conrad. In the early twentieth century, Conrad’s works were assumed to reflect a largely racist and colonialist worldview, and in the late twentieth century, they were assumed to be anti-colonialist. Critics with pro-British or anti-Western perspectives have each seen their sympathies reflected in Conrad. Somewhat dishearteningly, it seems that not only is it hard for critics to expand their interpretations beyond the horizons generated by the field in which they work, but doing so would directly counteract the main function of the interpretation itself, which is to legitimize the critic’s position in the field.

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CHAPTER 27 CONRAD IN THE ACADEMY: RECENT SWEDISH ACADEMIC SCHOLARSHIP Johan Warodell

In May 2016, two op-eds in one of Sweden’s oldest and arguably most reputable newspapers, Svenska Dagbladet, lamented the recent tendency of Swedish humanities scholars to publish their research increasingly in international Anglo-Saxon journals.1 The publication of research in international journals, they argued, lessened the focus on publication in the Swedish language, thereby making the investment in research less accessible to Swedish society at large. As they explained, and as the previous chapter shows, Swedish humanities scholars have traditionally voiced their opinions and published research-based studies in newspapers, journals and books written for a general audience, rather than in specialized journals primarily read by other researchers. More recently, however, there has been a tendency to publish research articles in international journals, and there is empirical evidence to support the criticism of this tendency voiced by Svenska Dagbladet. A bibliometric study of the publication practices in the Faculty of Arts at Uppsala University (one of Sweden’s largest and oldest universities) found that up until the year 2012 most journal articles by humanities scholars at Uppsala University were written in Swedish, and up to the date of the study (2013), most published monographs were in Swedish. The same study also showed that, while ‘only a little more than one out of four journal articles (28%) were written in English in 2006, almost three out of five articles (58%) were [written] in English in 2013’ (Hammarfelt and de Rijcke 2015). Conrad studies in Sweden has not been wholly immune from this trend. In this chapter, I will discuss five research articles on Conrad written in Swedish published between 1989 and 2017. These five essays are just a sample of recent Conrad scholarship published in Swedish in Sweden, but are intended to be a representative one. They demonstrate that Conrad studies in Swedish continues to explore a wide-ranging set of texts – including works as diverse as ‘Amy Foster’ ‘Heart of Darkness’ and Under Western Eyes – and deploys different critical methods, ranging from historicism and comparative studies to more theory-based approaches. One of the five essays is written in response to another of the selected essays. Some of the essays make reference to Swedish writers, such as Sven Delblanc, Selma Lagerlöf and August Strindberg. Although the essays are all published in Swedish, it is notable that most rely to a high degree on international Conrad scholarship, referring to studies by Keith Carabine, Sarah Cole, Gail Fraser, Jürgen Kramer, Myrtle Hooper, Peter Hyland, Nina Pelikan Straus, Johanna M. Smith and others. However, while Swedish Conrad scholarship readily engages with Anglophone scholarship, the reverse does not occur with Swedish-language scholarship: apart from one of the essays, which has been translated into English, none of the essays has been discussed in a non-Swedish context. By discussing research articles written for a scholarly audience over the 1

https://www.svd.se/lanken-mellan-universitet-och-samhalle-riskerar-att-brytas https://www.svd.se/humaniora-hotasfran-flera-hall.

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last thirty years, the present chapter aims to complement Claes Lindskog’s meticulously researched chapter on how Conrad has been presented in Swedish to the general public, in newspapers, essays and translations. In his chapter, Lindskog maintains that recent Conrad research in Sweden has mainly situated itself in relation to the international scholarly discussion in English. The present chapter therefore serves as an extended footnote to Lindskog’s chapter, by introducing a number of essays that, by reason of the language in which they are written, are positioned on the margins of contemporary Conrad scholarship. It will discuss, in chronological order, work on Conrad published by Birgitta Holm in 1989; Sven Arne Bergmann, in 2004; Anders Tyrberg, in 2006; Tilda Maria Forselius, in 2008; and Johan Lundberg in 2017.

Conrad in the Academy Professor Emerita Birgitta Holm is well known for her book-length studies of Swedish female authors, notably Fredrika Bremer, Selma Lagerlöf, Sara Lidman, Victoria Benedictsson and Rut Hillarp. Her article on Joseph Conrad, ‘Hjärta av mörker. Om Orfeus, Eurydike och Joseph Conrads roman’ (Heart of Darkness: Orpheus and Eurydice, and Joseph Conrad’s Novel), was first published in the Swedish journal Bonniers Litterära Magasin in 1989. The essay starts by noting that ‘Heart of Darkness’ is a male narrative that takes place in a male world and is written for male readers: it is, in short, a literary embodiment of male consciousness. According to Holm, the novella has a distinctly allegorical quality, reminiscent of the story about the legendary musician Orpheus, who sought to rescue his wife, Eurydice, from the underworld. After his wife’s death from being bitten by a viper, Orpheus descends into the underworld to bring her back to life – a project that ultimately fails as Orpheus breaks his promise not to look back at her until they both have reached the upper world. Holm maintains that Kurtz and Marlow are both like Orpheus – gifted with a voice and on a journey to the underworld. In both cases, this journey is sanctioned and motivated by women: the Intended in Kurtz’s case; Marlow’s aunt, and the knitters of black wool in the sepulchral city, in Marlow’s case. In this account, Kurtz’s African ‘mistress’ is the underworld’s counterpart to the Intended. According to Holm, ‘Heart of Darkness’ is a male fantasy where women are marginalized and silenced, as in the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Sven Arne Bergmann started his academic career as a teacher of Swedish at University College London. Returning to Sweden, he taught at secondary schools before gaining his PhD (at the age of seventy) on Selma Lagerlöf ’s novel En herrgårdssägen (published in English in 1922 as The Tale of a Manor and Other Sketches). Bergmann’s 2004 essay on Conrad is written as a corrective to Holm’s 1989 essay. Bergmann starts by noting that Holm’s essay is frequently assigned as core reading in Swedish classes in comparative literature and, in particular, in feminist literary studies. Bergmann directly challenges the use of Holm’s essay as core critical reading: he argues that Holm’s essay presents a straw-man in order to project her own views onto the book. He claims that she misreads the text and simplifies its message and meaning for the sake of her ‘allegory’. She overlooks Anglophone research on racism in ‘Heart of Darkness’, as well as significant feminist criticism of the novella, including essays by Nina Pelikan Straus (1987), Peter Hyland (1988) and, less reasonably, Johanna M. Smith (1989). The result, he argues, is a simplified view of Conrad and the novella for the sake of using ‘Heart of Darkness’ for her own political agenda. 382

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In 2006, Anders Tyrberg (of Karlstad University) published a chapter in the anthology Berätta för att förstå (Narrating for understanding) by Karlstad University Press. The chapter, entitled ‘Berätta, beslöja, uppenbara: Joseph Conrads Heart of Darkness och Sven Delblancs Jerusalems natt’ (Narrate, conceal, reveal: Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and Sven Delblanc’s Jerusalems natt [Jerusalem at Night]), contrasts ‘Heart of Darkness’ with Jerusalems natt (1983), a novel telling the story of a single day in 70 BC, during the Siege of Jerusalem by the Roman army. Written by the Swedish author Sven Delblanc (1931–92), Jerusalems natt uses a similar narrative structure to that of ‘Heart of Darkness’. With two detailed diagrams (taking up two full pages in the book), Tyrberg demonstrates how both stories are structured like ‘Chinese boxes’ with primary and secondary narrators framing the stories. Tyrberg argues that Conrad’s and Delbanc’s stories rely on secular narrators who question the possibilities of interpersonal communication, and that the lack of a reliable and authoritative voice guiding the reader links the two stories, which are each concerned with retelling and understanding the final words of a dying man who is also a dying God. In 2008, Tilda Maria Forselius, an adjunct lecturer at Stockholm University, published an article on ‘Amy Foster’ (‘Dr Kennedys skeva diagnos: Om berättarens makt och begränsning i Joseph Conrads “Amy Foster” ’ (Dr Kennedy’s partial diagnosis: On the narrator’s power and limitation in Joseph Conrad’s ‘Amy Foster’)) in the Swedish journal Tidskrift för litteraturvetenskap. In this ten-page article, Forselius maintains that ‘Amy Foster’ is not just a story about exile and immigration, but rather a story about storytelling, particularly about the narrator’s influence on the story. Following the work of Jürgen Kramer, Myrtle Hooper and Gail Fraser, Forselius argues that although the country doctor Kennedy in ‘Amy Foster’ is presented as having a scientific mind – able to carefully and objectively evaluate the evidence – Kennedy’s narration is actually unreliable; when describing Amy, for example, he uses misogynistic speech, sweeping statements and multiple derogatory adjectives. Forselius concludes by claiming that Kennedy ultimately succeeds in telling the story of Amy’s husband, Yanko Goorall, by downplaying and marginalizing Amy’s story. In 2017, Johan Lundberg, a senior lecturer at Stockholm University, published his sixth book, a wide-ranging monograph on more than ten authors and philosophers, entitled Europas skugga: om Henry James och frihetens väsen (The Shade of Europe: Henry James and the Freedom of the Spirit). In his chapter on Joseph Conrad, Lundberg discusses Under Western Eyes by productively drawing on earlier scholarship by Jacques Berthoud, Keith Carabine, Sarah Cole and Thomas Moser. In a lengthy section, Lundberg reiterates the main points of Moser’s 1984 article, ‘An English Context for Conrad’s Russian Characters: Sergey Stepniak and the Diary of Olive Garnett’. Following Moser, Lundberg maintains that Conrad may have had the exiled Russian revolutionist Sergey Stepniak in mind in his creation of the Russian student-turned-spy Razumov in Under Western Eyes. Following Moser again, Lundberg notes that Stepniak’s relationship with Olive Garnett (Edward Garnett’s sister) ends in tragedy: not heeding the whistles of the approaching train, as if he were deaf (like Razumov), Stepniak is struck down and killed. Moser’s original study had concluded that it ‘seems likely that Stepniak’s deed of terrorism, his flight to the West, Olive’s love for him, Ivanoff ’s exposure of him, his ambiguous death on the railway tracks, and Olive’s grief were to provide important material for Under Western Eyes’ (Moser 1984, 31). Lundberg’s chapter, apart from engaging with this historical scholarship, also makes observations of a more philosophical nature. He concludes by noting that Razumov’s thoughts 383

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and beliefs are difficult to place on the ideological spectrum, arguing that his rejection of individualism does not make him an advocate for collectivism. Discussing Henrik Ibsen, Albert Camus and Isaiah Berlin, Lundberg emphasizes that the freedom the revolutionaries in Under Western Eyes desire for Russia is not just a replication of the peaceful living they enjoy in Switzerland, but something more absolute, unsettling and demanding. As these five essays collectively demonstrate, even recent academic Conrad criticism published in Swedish is largely independent of international Anglophone Conrad research; although the essays engage with (and make use of) work by some of the world’s most celebrated Conrad scholars, the essays themselves are addressed to an audience of Swedish researchers, students and enthusiasts. Indeed, as we have seen, one of these essays is written, in Swedish, as a corrective to another of the essays, also written in Swedish, in the context of Swedish classroom practices. There is, however, a surprising international relevance in what might be seen as linguistic provincialism. By engaging with Swedish authors, many of whom have not been connected to Conrad studies before, some of these essays open up new fields of research, and demonstrate the ever-ready relevance of Conrad’s work to stimulate and connect, across cultures, nations and languages.

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CHAPTER 28 ONE OF US: CONRAD’S RECEPTION IN UKRAINE Ludmilla Voitkovska

The name of Joseph Conrad unites three elements, three cultural forces: the land of Ukraine, the spirit of Poland, and the majesty of the English language.1 Dmytro Pavlychko, Visitors’ Book, Joseph Conrad Museum Terekhove For Ukrainian readers, Joseph Conrad, an English writer of Polish descent born in Ukraine, has always been, first and foremost, their compatriot. Despite the country’s artificial isolation from the rest of the world, which existed throughout the period of the Soviet Union, and despite the presence of a constant intermediary for all contact, namely the Russian imperial ‘third party’ that carefully selected everything made accessible to the public, the Ukrainian audience proudly expressed their sense of a strong affinity with Conrad. The cultural and linguistic closeness between Poles and Ukrainians is a significant factor in this rapport. Both groups belong to a common Central-Eastern European cultural stratum that is an essential and fundamental component of their cultures. They share common historic experiences, particularly in the twentieth century, which created a remarkable and active reaction evident in the attitude of both societies to the longlasting Russian (Soviet) territorial, political, military and cultural expansion on Ukrainian and Polish lands. These factors engendered a high level of mutual interest in each culture’s literary achievements and created similar literary phenomena. In particular, this led to the national engagement of artists and to the creation of an image of the writer as a social activist. Ukraine’s declaration of independence in 1991 brought significant changes to its cultural landscape. Ukrainian readers, who throughout the twentieth century were sympathetic to Poland’s struggle for independence, were now free to form their own relationship with Polish culture independently from Russian political narratives and to express their sentiments without institutionally enforced prejudices. Culturally diverse and inherently open-minded to immigration, the Ukrainian audience has been able to engage with transculturalism as a social phenomenon and an existential experience. Ardent interest in their own history and cultural values that were previously displaced by the narratives of the dominant regime intensified the Ukrainian need to remember the forbidden names of national authors and to uncover the unknown artists of their Polish neighbours whose artistic legacy had a powerful antitotalitarian potential. At the same time, post-Soviet intellectuals were seeking literature related to recent historical events rather than existential and ontological topics. As a result, in the period 1991–6, Ukrainian literary journals translated previously suppressed or forbidden Polish writers and thinkers such as Czeslaw Milosz, Witold Gombrowicz, Gustaw HerlingGrudzinski, Leszek Kolakowski and Wislawa Szymborska. At the same time, the Ukrainian audience enthusiastically embraced émigré authors and artists who were born and lived in Ukraine, such as Paul Celan, Lee Strasberg, Irene Nemirowsky and Joseph Conrad. ‘В імені Джозефа Конрада поєднуються трі культурні сили – українська земля, польській дух і велич англійської мови.’

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Subsequently, the twenty-first century has witnessed an explosion of Conradian studies in Ukraine. Ukrainian readers, who never fully accepted the Soviet attitude to emigration, which equated emigration to treason, identified with the personal narrative of the orphaned son of a Polish revolutionary who sacrificed his life in the righteous fight for the liberation of his people from Russian domination. They admired Conrad’s personal story as an ‘old sea wolf from Berdychiv’ (Pustynnikova)2 who changed his name, became a sailor, a navigator and a captain. Ukrainians, who historically maintained close connections with the rest of Europe and were conscious of the multicultural fabric of their civilization, were appreciative of an author who spoke French, wrote in English and was said to dream in Polish. Aspiring for greater integration with Europe, they admired the fact that Conrad, their compatriot, produced works of world significance and became ‘one of the greatest innovators in the history of world fiction’ (Kochur 1960, 134).3 They could also look back to earlier admirers of Conrad’s fiction. Yuri Yanovsky, a Ukrainian neo-romantic, observed that Conrad’s Victory had had the most important literary influence on his work. He also loved the narrative device of a story told by an old sailor. In his 1928 novel, Ship Master, Yanovsky’s narrator, the sailor Bohdan, is inspired by Conrad’s Captain Marlow. Conrad’s perceived ‘do or die’ philosophy, and the ethos of reserved courage and imperturbable stoicism, were intimately familiar to him (Panchenko 2011, 9). In a later period, Conrad’s attention to ‘unrest as a state of the soul that breaks out of the boundaries of ordinariness’4 is echoed in Yuri Smolych’s 1968–9 cycle of memoirs about literature, entitled Stories of Unrest (an obvious homage to Conrad’s Tales of Unrest), and in Mykola Bazhan’s Four Stories of Hope of 1967 (Panchenko 2011, 9). It was also the case that a number of Conrad’s works were translated into Ukrainian in the 1920s by Mykhailo Kalynovych, an eminent Ukrainian linguist and critic and member of the Academy of Sciences of Ukraine. Despite the existence of these early translations, during the Soviet period Conrad’s fiction was available in Ukraine predominantly in Russian translations, but even these were scarce. Despite Russia’s ambivalent attitude towards Conrad, which dominated the critical space, the fact that Conrad was born in Ukraine has always been an important point of departure for Ukrainian Conrad studies; in fact, it defines the tenor of the overall reception of his work by Ukrainian readers today. ‘For us, Ukrainians,’ says Valentyn Kornienko, ‘it is interesting that “the golden fund” of a child’s experiences that determine the mentality of an adult was accumulated by Conrad in Ukraine’ (Kornienko 1999, 1). For a Ukrainian reader, Conrad’s famous paeon to home in Lord Jim, describing one’s feelings towards the land of one’s birth, reads as a homage to his native Ukraine: ‘Each blade of grass has its spot on earth whence it draws its life, its strength; and so is man rooted to the land from which he draws his faith together with his life’ (LJ, 222). Indeed, in his A Personal Record Conrad refers to Ukraine as the land of his childhood, and his description of his visit to Kazimirowka in February 1890 has the poignant intimacy of the homecoming of a prodigal son: I saw again the sun setting on the plains as I saw it in the travels of my childhood. It set, clear and red, dipping into the snow in full view as if it were setting on the sea. It was twenty-three years since I had seen the sun set over that land; and we drove on in the ‘старий морський вовк з Бердичіва’. ‘один з найвидатніших новаторів в історії світової літератури’. 4 ‘із неспокоєм як станом душі людини, яка поривається за межі узвичаєності’. 2 3

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darkness which fell swiftly upon the livid expanse of snows till, out of the waste of a white earth joining a bestarred sky, surged up black shapes, the clumps of trees about a village of the Ukrainian plain. APR, 22 Conrad remembers Ukraine as a ‘kindly, bread-giving land’ (APR, 26) and recalls its people ‘whose friendly faces had been familiar to [him] in [his] early childhood’ (APR, 27). O. Vozniuk agrees with the eminent Polish critic and writer Jerzy Stempowski who believes that it was Conrad’s exposure to different cultures and civilizations in Ukraine from his early years that gave him the ‘ability to penetrate into the depth of souls of people of different nations’ (Vozniuk 2007, 241).5

Ukrainian footsteps The fact that Conrad was born in Ukraine has inevitably generated an interest in following his Ukrainian footsteps. Critics have meticulously mapped the years that he later referred to as ‘the happiest period’ of his life (Tsybulska 1974, 109):6 the early years, ‘not far from Berdychiv’ where he was born; his life in Zhytomyr; his visits to his uncle Tadeusz Bobrowski in Novofastov; the difficult months in Chernihiv and his mother’s death; his travels around Ukraine with his father and meeting mountaineers from the South Carpathians who gave him material for Yanko Gooral; his school years in Lviv, the city of Conrad’s first love; the trip to Odessa where he fell in love with the sea; his separation from his family, who remained in Ukraine when he went to Marseilles; his subsequent return in 1890 when he spent two months in Kazimirowka; and his failed attempt to show his motherland to his sons in 1914. Conrad’s Ukrainian years drew the attention of a fast-growing new generation of Ukrainian Conradians as well as regional historians and geographers: M. Kostrytsia,7 V. Zborovsky, P. Skavronsky, M. Bed’, O. I. Shalahinova and Lilia Omelyan. Their research into the Korzeniowskis’ and Bobrowskis’ family history is an important part of Ukraine’s endeavours to restore the missing chapters of its history – in this case, the research lends a personal dimension to the story of the contribution of Polish szlachta to the fight for independence from the Russian Empire, a chapter that was completely erased from Ukraine’s official history during the Soviet period.8 Ukrainian

‘Дж.Конрад саме з України вивіз це вміння проникати углиб душі людей інших національностей’. ‘найщасливішим періодом життя’. 7 Mykola Kostrytsia, an eminent geographer, is the author of eighty books, over 400 scholarly articles, 850 popular science articles in history, geography and economics, and the local history of the Zhytomyr region and greater Volhynia. He is a member of the executive board and an honorary member of the National Union of Local Historians of Ukraine; a laureate of the prize For the Revival of Volhynia and the recipient of an award from the International Biographical Centre (Cambridge, UK). 8 The Zhytomyr Regional Archive contains numerous reports to the Provincial Procurator about decisions to prosecute women for wearing political mourning and Polish national costumes; keeping handwritten articles from the newspaper Ruch Polski and caricatures and poems with anti-government content; wearing cufflinks with the one-headed Polish eagle and other Polish national objects; wearing Polish national hats; and the dissemination of information about the Polish insurrection of 1863 among peasants. The estates of the participants of the Polish uprising of 1863–4 were confiscated. During the Soviet period, the main strategy for dealing with the suppression of what was referred to as ‘the Polish issue’ was total erasure. 5 6

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historians consider Apollo Korzeniowski’s sympathy for the Ukrainian Cossacks’ liberation movement and his statements in favour of Ukrainian independence, as well as his departure from the political views of Russian democrats, such as Goertzen and Ogarev who saw the future Russia as a federation of ethnic groups, to be a testament to his forward political thinking. Apollo’s position that ‘a cornerstone of democratic changes should be the independence of all peoples of the empire’9 and particularly his sympathy with the Ukrainian people whose situation in the Russian Empire was similar to the fortune of the Poles (Kostrytsia 2009, 6) aligns his political position with the Ukrainian people’s battle for independence. In fact, he is referred to as an ‘outstanding Polish writer of right-bank Ukraine’ (Ershov 2007, 38).10 In this respect, Ershov maintains, Apollo Korzeniowski was more conscious of Ukraine as an agent in the political process than Conrad himself, who appeared to consider Ukraine as part of Poland when he wrote in his A Personal Record that he was ‘on [his] way to Poland, or more precisely Ukraine’ (APR, 25). Given Conrad’s family connections to Podolia and Galicia, Ukrainian Conradians devote particular attention to the issue of the connection of his oeuvre with the land of his birth. Research into the Korzeniowski’s family history and Conrad’s childhood experiences in Ukraine lead to discussions of a ‘Ukrainian footprint’ in Conrad’s writing (Panchenko 2011, 7). Mark Sokolyanski and Victoria Tsybulska, both from the University of Odessa, one of the centres of Conradian studies in Ukraine, identify Ukraine as Conrad’s geographical motherland. They feel that his description of the Ukrainian countryside and Ukrainian villagers in A Personal Record is a sincere reflection of ‘something dear, familiar from childhood’.11 Conrad’s description of a Ukrainian village in winter ‘impresses not only with the accuracy of its details, but with the far from indifferent attitude of a person who saw this landscape and fell in love with it in childhood’ (Sokolyansky, Tsubulska 1996, 140).12 They also note that the novella ‘Prince Roman’ takes the reader back to the summer in 1866 that Conrad spent visiting his uncle in Novofastov, where he met Prince Roman Sanguszko, a friend of Conrad’s grandfather. The novella describes not only the old Polish aristocrat but the picturesque landscape of a Ukrainian village (Sokolyansky and Tsubulska 1996, 139). Critics also draw parallels between Yanko Gooral, who came from the Eastern Carpathians, and Ukrainian Hutsuls, while the fortune of the Ukrainian painter, Stephen, who leaves his homeland in The Sisters, is seen to evoke the Ukrainian readers’ own search for identity and a creed to live by.

Translations Ukrainian language and culture suffered greatly from the Еmsky Act issued by the Russian Tsar Alexander II in 1876, which was intended to erase the Ukrainian language and reduce it to the status of an inferior dialect of Russian. The Act removed Ukrainian from the public cultural domain, in areas such as the Church, music and book publishing, and banned Ukrainian from elementary schools. Moreover, it prohibited the publication of works by Ukrainian authors, ‘Коженьовський наріжним каменем демократичних перетворень вбачав повну незалежність народів імперіі’. The ‘right bank’ of the Dnieper river. 11 ‘щось справді рідне, знайоме з дитячих років’. 12 ‘Змальована Конрадом картина зимового українського села вражає не тільки точністю деталей, а й далеким від байдужості ставленням людини, котра побачила цей пейзаж і закохалася в нього ще у дитинстві’. 9

10

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stage productions of Ukrainian plays, concerts featuring Ukrainian songs, and translations of foreign literature into Ukrainian. Subsequently, during the Soviet period, foreign authors were translated predominantly into Russian, so most Ukrainian readers developed an appreciation of Conrad through ‘the third party’. However, Ukrainian translations, although less numerous, are significant not only for Ukrainian Conradian studies but also for the Ukrainian cultural revival – and the critical introductions to them are particularly important. In the Soviet period, translators had to work under extremely difficult political conditions: they were closely watched and the most talented of them were persecuted or otherwise neutralized. One of Conrad’s translators, Hanna Kas’yanenko (1891–1969), was arrested and sentenced to the labour camps for eight years; she was exonerated in 1956. Another Conrad translator, Serhij Vilkhovyj (Tytarenko, 1889–1976), was arrested in 1929 and exiled to Voronezh; he later emigrated to the USA. Hryhorij Kochur (1908–94) was arrested in 1943, served time in a camp near Inta in Northern Russia, was released in 1953 and exonerated in 1962. After his release, as an informal leader of Ukrainian translators, he signed the famous ‘Letter of 139’ against illegal political trials in Ukraine. This led to his expulsion from the Union of Writers of Ukraine, which meant he was banned from publishing. In 1988, after perestroika, his membership of the Union of Writers was reinstated. Despite these difficulties, there were numerous Ukrainian translations of Conrad’s works during the Soviet period. Other translators who engaged with Conrad’s oeuvre included Serhiy Vilkhovyj (Tytarenko), Mykhailo Kalynovych, Viktor Petrovskyj, Hanna Kasyanenko, Maria Lysychenko, Mykola Roshkovskyj, E. Khomenko, Oleksandr Mokrobolskyj, Liydmula Honchar, Petro Tarashchuk, Ihor Andrushchenko, Maria Holovko, Taras Boyko, Olha Fira and Andrij Bodnar. Ukrainian readers were first introduced to Conrad’s work in the 1920s during the period of national renaissance called korenizatsiya, or indigenization, a political and cultural campaign intended to ease political tension between the Soviet authorities and the people of Ukraine. Loosely referred to as ukrainization, it allowed for the expansion of the use of Ukrainian in education, the media and art. In this same period, one of the important avenues for the elevation of the cultural level of the masses was the introduction of the masterpieces of world literature via translation. Conrad made his debut on the Ukrainian literary landscape in 1926 with a collection entitled An Outpost of Progress: Short Stories and published in Kyiv by the Slovo (Word) press. It included ‘Tomorrow’, ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘An Outpost of Progress’, translated by S. Vilkhovyj. It was followed, in 1928, by a translation of The End of the Tether by M. Kalynovych. Two further collections came out in 1929. The first one, from Slovo, included The Rescue and Almayer’s Folly, both translated by Viktor Petrovskyj. The second one, from the Kharkiv publishing house Knyhospilka (the Ukrainian Cooperative Publishing Association), included The Rescue: A Romance of the Shallows translated by Hanna Kas’yanenko, and Almayer’s Folly (again) translated by Maria Lysychenko. M. Rozhkivsky’s translation of Typhoon appeared from the Kharkiv-Kyiv press DVU in 1930. In the 1930s the Communist Party’s support for the Ukrainian cultural renaissance came to an end; in fact, it gave way to a policy of intolerance towards any manifestations of national self-expression. This explains the twenty-year gap in the history of Ukrainian translations of Conrad. However, towards the end of the 1950s, at the height of the ‘thaw’ period, translation studies began to be viewed as an essential part of the literary process, and this led to increased interest in the works of foreign authors. In response to these developments, the Kyiv publisher Radyans’kyj Pys’mennyk reissued some of the 1920s’ translations of Conrad’s works. The 389

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volume included selected stories, such as ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘Tomorrow’, and the novel The Rescue. In 1960, the Kyiv press Molod’ published E. Y. Khomenko’s translation of Freya of the Seven Isles. However, it would be a further twenty years before the first translation of Lord Jim in Ukrainian appeared, from Molod’ press.13 During this period, Ukrainian publishing houses also released Russian translations of Conrad. A collection of Russian translations entitled The Mirror of the Sea that included ‘The Mirror of the Sea’, ‘Youth’, ‘The End of the Tether’, ‘The Black Mate’ and ‘The Lagoon’ was published in 1979 by Mayak publishing house in Odessa, a city with a large number of Russian speakers. Similarly, Krivtsova’s version of Lord Jim, entitled The Jump Overboard, was reprinted in Kharkiv in Eastern Ukraine, where Russian is spoken more than Ukrainian. In the twenty-first century, Ukrainian translations of Conrad’s works became more numerous and, more importantly, moved beyond the narratives of sea adventures. In 2015, Heart of Darkness came out in two separate translations: by Ihor Andrushchenko from Astrolabia (Lviv) and by Maria Holovko from Znannya (Kyiv). These were followed by a third translation of the novel by Taras Boyko from Folio (Kharkiv) in 2016. The Kyiv publishing houses Znannya and Lviv Astrolabia have been most active in promoting Conrad’s works: their steady output includes new translations of Almayer’s Folly by Maria Lysychenko (2017); ‘The Shadow-Line’ and ‘Typhoon’ by Olha Fira and Mykola Rozhkivsky (2019); and ‘Falk’, ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘Tomorrow’ by Olena O’Lir (2018). In addition, the 1920s’ translations of Almayer’s Folly, ‘An Outpost of Progress’ and ‘The End of the Tether’ were republished as part of the prestigious series Svitova Biblioteka (World Library) in 2017. However, the most significant role in changing Conrad’s Ukrainian reception – and moving on from his reputation as a master of nautical tales and exotic melodramas – belongs to the Kyiv publishing house Tempora. In 2019, it published a four-volume collected edition that included the 1920s’ translation of Almayer’s Folly by V. Petrovsky, as well as new translations of The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, An Outcast of the Islands, and Tales of Unrest by Andriy Bodnar, and new translations of The Secret Agent, Under Western Eyes and ‘Autocracy and War’ by Petro Tarashchuk. This edition, intended to become an authoritative source for the study of Conrad in Ukraine, provides a chronology of the author’s life and a bibliography of criticism by major British and American scholars. Historical commentary by Vitaliy Pavliuk situates each work in the context of the realities of Conrad’s life. The collection, according to Dmytro Kozak, the editor, is intended not only to fill a gap in the literary process and introduce Conrad’s novels (previously unavailable in Ukrainian translations) to a Ukrainian readership, but also to offer a new perspective on his oeuvre. It is important that Ukrainian readers see Conrad as a master of modernism who ‘experiments with the form of the novel’ showing the ‘international, urbanistic, pessimistic sensibility behind these artistic structures’ (Prymitka 2018, 451).14 Robert Hampson’s comprehensive introduction to the Tempora collected edition brings a Western perspective on Conrad as an innovative writer whose fiction is experimental and complex, that simultaneously rethinks and incorporates popular genres into serious literary texts. Hampson invites Ukrainian readers, whose view of Conrad as an author of imperial

13

Translated by Lyudmyla Honchar, this appeared in 1985. ‘Джозеф Конрад є взірцевим модерністом – модерністом у тому, як він працює із формою роману, і модерністічна у тому, яка інтернаціональна, урбаністична, пессимістична свідомість стоїть за цими художніми конструкціями’. 14

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adventure romance might have been formed on the basis of the previously translated works, to appreciate why he became part of the British canon of English literature as one of the most important English twentieth-century novelists, a major contributor to the development of literary modernism who ‘broke from and subverted familiar British fictional conventions of form and narrative’ (Hampson 2018, xxxviii). Hampson’s introduction allows readers to understand Conrad’s important role in the conceptualization and reception of modernism in Britain and North America through his critical place in the academy. Ukrainian readers, who are introduced to some of Conrad’s works for the first time, will thus be able to appreciate why ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘Typhoon’, Lord Jim, Nostromo, The Secret Agent, Under Western Eyes and Victory ‘informed the teaching of generations of British literature students in sixth forms and at university’ (Hampson 2018, xxxix).

Criticism Although the contribution of Ukrainian scholars to Conradian studies is relatively modest, their response to Conrad impresses through their unbiased analysis of the political context, their appreciation of Conrad’s family circumstances and their nuanced readings. The first article by a Ukrainian scholar on Conrad was M. Mohylans’ky’s ‘J. Conrad. An Outpost of Progress’, published in 1925 in the journal Zhyttya I Revolutsia (Life and Revolution). However, it was the first extensive work of Ukrainian Conradian criticism, Mykhailo Kalynovych’s essay, ‘Joseph Conrad’, published as an introduction to S. Vilkhovyj’s 1926 translation of Conrad’s stories, that set the tone for further discussions of Conrad’s life and work in Ukrainian criticism. Kalynovych (1888–1949) was an eminent Ukrainian critic, linguist and translator and a member of the Academy of Sciences of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. Introducing Conrad as a Polish author from Ukraine, he provides extensive information regarding Conrad’s background, emphasizing that Conrad was born into a family of Polish intellectuals. After describing Apollo Korzeniowski as ‘an ardent patriot’ (Kalynovych 1926, vii),15 he outlines the impact of the complex political environment on Conrad during the important formative years of his life. He mentions Ewelina Bobrowska’s noble origin and her untimely death in exile, gives credit to Apollo Korzeniowski’s literary achievements and describes in detail his political activity as ‘one of the ideologues of the secret National Committee that intended to resist the politics of russification of the imperial government’ (Kalynovych 1926, vii).16 The biographical segment includes commentary on the atmosphere of mourning for the cause of an independent Poland that the Korzeniowskis maintained; the family’s suffering in exile; little Conrad’s peregrinations around Ukraine with his father; Apollo’s literary influence on his son; Conrad’s introduction to English and French literature through Apollo’s translations of Shakespeare and Hugo; Apollo’s death and funeral; Conrad’s life in Cracow under the tutelage of Tadeusz Bobrowski, ‘a gentleman and a kind soul’ (Kalynovych 1926, ix);17 Conrad’s interest in Dickens, Voltaire, Scott and Thackeray; the development of his interest in travel and his love of the sea; ‘палкий патріот’. ‘Він був один з ідеологів тайного Національного Комітету, що мав на меті моральний опір проти русифікаційної політики імперського уряду’. 17 ‘джентльмен і добряча душа’. 15 16

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and his departure to Marseille. Kalynovych’s detailed account of Conrad’s life, which refers to Ukraine as the family’s ‘native land’ (Kalynovych 1926, viii),18 allows the reader to understand the complexity of the Korzeniowskis’ situation as Polish patriots in Ukraine at the time of Russian occupation. Kalynovych appreciates that the most remarkable feature of Conrad’s oeuvre is that, in spite of his fiction’s engagement with ‘adventures and exotic setting’ (Kalynovych 1926, xix),19 his writing presents a significant departure from adventure fiction as a genre. According to Kalynovych, Conrad’s plots are devoid of all the necessary attributes of a Stevenson novel: The development of his plot depends neither on eavesdropped secrets, nor on wills that liberate the protagonist from the most hopeless situation; one-legged ship’s cooks and hard-core scoundrels do not burst into his village hotels in the middle of the night to look for keys to treasures buried in dangerous islands; on his ships criminal sailors do not conspire in dark corners to kill the captain in order to raise the black flag of piracy. Kalynovych 1926, xx20 Kalynovych also suggests that Conrad’s fiction is different from adventure novels thematically in another respect, for unlike adventure stories, where vice is punished and virtue rewarded, Conrad’s narratives do not offer happy endings. Instead, Conrad is ‘an anatomist of the human heart, focused on the mysteries of life’ (Kalynovych 1926, xx).21 Nevertheless, Kalynovych insists that Conrad’s fiction started ‘the new dawn of exoticism’ when the ‘thirst for the unknown translated into new hymns to strange skies’ (Kalynovych 1926, xxi).22 However, Conrad did not ‘explore the soul of black and yellow colonies through kisses and embraces, did not create yet another set of bucolics under golden and pink sunsets in unreal skies’ (Kalynovych 1926, xxiv).23 Rather, he saw ‘all the multiplicity of the world’ and resisted ‘the entrapment by the tested ancient attraction of the old East’ and ‘the superficial glitter of unspoiled Americas’ (Kalynovych 1926, xxv).24 At the same time, Kalynovych criticizes Western scholars’ tendency to explain away Conrad’s psychological depth and his tragic tone by reference to his Slavic heritage. He suggests that the ‘ethereal body’ of the Slavic soul has been clad in numerous attires: ‘the rags of a vagabond, the vestments of a saint, the burka and Corybantic hat of an eternal rebel’ (Kalynovych 1926, xxvii).25 Conrad, he argues, renounced it in all its disguises

‘рідні місця’. ‘від його книжок можна сподіватись пригод і екзотики’. 20 ‘Розвиток його фабул не залежить ні від підслуханих випадково таїн, ні від духівниць, що визволяють героя з найнебезпечнішого становища, в його сільські готелі не вдираються опівночі одноногі корабельні куховари, неприторенні шахраї, шукати скриньок, де заховано ключі від скарбів, закопаних на розбійницькому острові, на його кораблях злочинні матроси не змовляються по темних закутках убити капітана, щоб підняти на щоглі корсарський стяг.’ 21 ‘анатом людського серця, зосереджений на таємницях життя’. 22 ‘його жадоба до незнаного перетворилася на нові гімни чужому небу, нову зорю екзотитизму’. 23 ‘Конрад [. . .] не пізнає душу чорних і жовтих колоній в обіймах та поцілунках, не творить нових пасторалів під золотими і рожевими загравами небувалого неба’. 24 ‘Він бачив усю різноманітність світу – і не дав себе поневолити ні випробуваній, багатовіковій привабності старого Сходу, ні позверховному блискові незайманих Америк’. 25 ‘Слов’янська душа! Чи є такі вбрання, що в них не одягали її безплотне тіло? Лахміття мандрівниці, шати святої, керея і фригійська шапка одвічної бунтарки’. 18 19

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and maintained his independence from all racial influences. He believed that all the traditional features of a Slavic mentality (disorder, flabby humanitarianism) could not in any way be applied to Poland with its traditions of self-governance, its chivalric sense of moral duty and its respect for human rights. The Polish spirit was developed in Italy and France by its continuous connection with the flow of free European thought. Kalynovych insists that Western scholars, who fail to see this particular distinction in Conrad’s version of Slavonism, tend to focus on ‘the most subtle differences in the direction of thinking and the actions of Conrad’s characters that set them apart from people of the West’ (Kalynovych 1926, xxvii).26 Conrad’s world, Kalynovych believes, was bigger than such cultural differences as it ‘unite[d] East and West, gripping will and humiliating submission, the anarchy of restless thought and the obstinate spirit of life construction’ (Kalynovych 1926, xxvii).27 From the outset, Ukrainian critics did not see Conrad’s nautical tales and sea stories as a way of reducing his role in English literature to being the heir of Stevenson and Kipling, but, instead, viewed the sea as a medium to convey ‘a philosophy of life in the middle of ordeals, which at times demand super-human efforts, intense struggle not only with the elements, but also with oneself ’ (Panchenko 2011, 4).28 The critics of the 1920s offered a remarkably nuanced analysis of Conrad’s fiction within the context of adventure fiction and colonial romance, but suggested that, while the writer revitalized the forsaken genre, he also ‘totally destroyed the old tradition’ (Nemerovs’ka 1928, 129–30).29 Unlike in traditional adventure novels, where a mystery is based on external coincidences that create a web of circumstances which the author slowly unravels, Conrad’s novels, Nemerovs’ka maintains, are rooted in a psychological mystery. Instead of clarifying the circumstances, the nature of his characters and their motives as the novel progresses, Conrad drives the mystery into a virtuous cycle where everything becomes more complicated. Thus ‘the mystery turns into a psychological problem where the plot, often quite ingenious and unpretentious, becomes significant, complex and remarkable’ (Nemerovs’ka 1928, 130).30 This psychologism, the critic concludes, this ‘enveloping of simple facts into a slow sophisticated psychological analysis is the main distinguishing feature of Conrad’s fiction as it transforms not only his characters but the whole structure of his novels’ (Nemerovs’ka 1928, 130).31 According to Nemerovs’ka, Conrad’s complex background as a Pole from Ukraine, who was not raised in the traditions of English, his adopted culture, allowed him to handle the material in a unique way by avoiding stereotypes that could easily lead to clichés (Nemerovs’ka 1928, 139). In a similar vein, Volodymyr Panchenko accurately sums up the overall nature of Conrad’s fiction: it is ‘a philosophical prose that “pretends” to be adventurous’,32 since his works always have several layers, some of which are reminiscent of 26 ‘ті найтонші відміни в напрямі думок і в учинках Конрадових персонажів, що відрізняють останніх від західної людини’. 27 ‘У ньому Захід поєднався з Сходом, напружена воля з призирливою покорою, анархіє неспокійної думки з упертим духом життьового будівництва’. 28 ‘ціла філософія життя серед випробувань, які часом вимагають від людини надзусиль, напруженої боротьби не тільки із стихіями, а із самим собою’. 29 ‘до щенту зруйнував стару традицію’. 30 ‘Таким чином, тайна переходить в психологічну проблему, що на її тлі і властиво фабульна нитка, іноді дуже нехитра і небагата на факти, стає важливою, складною і незвичайною’. 31 ‘цей психологізм, це обволікання простих фактів повільною і вимисливою психологичною аналізою і є одно з головних джерел конрадовської своєрідности, бо перетворює його героя і цілу структуру його романів’. 32 ‘філософська проза що “прикидається” пригодницькою’.

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semantic parables (Panchenko 2011, 4). Panchenko believes that Conrad’s importance for English writing lies in his demonstrating that a national literature is always enriched by foreign experience; he compares Conrad’s role in English fiction, in this respect, to the phenomenon of Nikolai Gogol, a Ukrainian author who became a major novelist of the Golden Age of Russian literature. Some 1920s’ critics viewed Conrad as a moralist, who was conscious of the crippling influence of convention on human nature, as it ‘turns individuals with different capabilities into look-alike mannequins’ (Majfet 1928, 128).33 In his 1928 article ‘The Critic of Civilization’, Hryhorij Majfet appreciates the fact that Conrad is interested in the individual’s struggle ‘outside civilization, outside the demands of conventions, the struggle where he alone determines his own criteria of good and evil’ (Majfet 1928, 128).34 This article is notable for its in-depth analysis of Conrad’s manner of narration, which incorporates multiple points of view, several subplots, uses of counter-point, indirect narration through various storytellers, and demolition of linear chronology. Conrad’s literary style, with its mixture of Polish, English and French influences, makes him a very difficult author to translate; moreover, Majfet points out, very few writers lose as much in translation as Conrad. Ukrainian Conradian criticism of the 1930s was heavily dominated by the Russian vulgar sociological approach of socialist realism that demanded that every work of art be interpreted from the perspective of class struggle. The mainstream literary historical narrative now erased or minimized Apollo Korzeniowski’s revolutionary activity, foregrounded Conrad’s status as an outsider in English literature and shifted from the nuanced analysis of his fiction towards political pronouncements involving the petit bourgeoisie and the struggles of Eastern colonies against their white invaders. E. Adelheim’s 1930 introduction to Typhoon demonstrates this shift in Ukrainian Conradian studies, аs Conrad is reduced to a writer of nautical tales and romantic melodramas. Accordingly, Adelheim attributes Conrad’s extraordinary success to his ability to provide the ‘Western bourgeoisie’35 with an ‘easy escape from reality’ by describing ‘dark skinned and beautiful chiefs’, ‘ardent and often tragic love’, ‘dark jungles and the impenetrable wilds of human psychology’ and ‘imaginary designs drawn by Fortune in the hearts of characters’ (Adelheim 1930, vii).36 Discussing the literary environment that shaped Conrad’s themes and aesthetics, and following the Soviet critical discourse that asserted that Conrad owed his mastery to poorly understood Russian writers, Adelheim pays particular attention to Russian literature, especially Dostoevsky and Turgenev, and to the adventure novels of Stevenson and Defoe. At the same time, having made these politically-expected pronouncements, the author does not then reduce Conrad’s fiction to nautical adventures and romantic melodramas, but, instead, portrays the writer as a literary master who engages in a thoughtful analysis of human psychology, depicting destruction; the human struggle with fate; the loss of that which is dear; the ruin of one’s major, cherished life ideals; and death as liberation from solitude and earthly tortures (Adelheim 1930, xii–xix). By foregrounding these ‘перетворює людей з різними здібностями на подібні один до одного манекени’. ‘його цікавить боротьба людини з життям поза санкціями цивілізації, поза вимогами звичаю, – боротьба, коли людина самостійно визначає свій власний критерій добра та зла’. 35 ‘ось чому припав до смаку Джозеф Конрад західній буржуазіі’. 36 ‘Серед темношкірих і прекрасних ватажків, серед палкого і часто трагічного кохання, серед темних лісових нетрів і непрохідних хащів людської психології, серед химерних візерунків, що їх креслить Фатум в серцях героїв – так легко забути сучасність!’ 33 34

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themes, Adelheim successfully demonstrates that ships, sailors and exotic travel serve for Conrad as the medium rather than the purpose of his narrative. The Soviet period in Ukraine produced mostly introductions, newspaper articles and chapters in university histories of English literature, which placed Conrad among the authors of world fiction who ‘sought to rescue bourgeois literature from decay’ and who managed to create great works ‘even at the time of the decline of capitalist society’ (Sharandak 1959, 355)37 by developing humanistic values. However, critical approaches to Conrad in this period are limited by the dominant Marxist ideology. On the one hand, Conrad is viewed as ‘a progressive writer of his time’ who ‘tried to offer truthful descriptions of life and struggle’ and ‘dreamed of a better life for the working people’.38 On the other hand, [. . .] living during the disintegration of the bourgeois culture, [. . . he], of course, could not save his works from decadent influences as he was an individualistic writer who was far from the political and revolutionary struggle of his time; like his characters, he was escaping reality. This was the reason for considerable drawbacks in his works – naturalism, excessive psychologism, individualism. They diminish the artistic value of Conrad’s books, make them more controversial and at times very pessimistic. Sharandak 1959, 35639 The period of relative liberalization in the Soviet Union (Ottepel, or thaw) in the mid-1950s to early 1960s that denounced Stalinism and relaxed repression and censorship also brought a change of discourse in Conradian criticism. The simplistic Marxist perspective that enlisted Conrad in the cohort of defenders of the interests of the ruling classes as а proponent of ‘imperialistic tendencies’ gave way to more nuanced methodologies. H. Kochur’s 1960 review of the latest edition of selected works by Conrad is critical of the vulgar sociological approach to Conrad’s writing, such as Sharandak’s, which, according to Kochur, is based on ‘primitive oppositions’40 between realism and decadence where ‘optimistic work is good, pessimistic is bad, irrespective of sociological considerations that makes one prefer Conrad’s pessimism to, say, Kipling’s optimism’ (Kochur 1960, 134).41 Instead, Kochur acclaims Conrad as ‘one of the greatest innovators in the history of fiction’ (Kochur 1960, 134)42 in the areas of language, narrative structure and psychological characterization.

37 ‘Джозеф Конрад належить до славної когорти діячів світівої культури, які намагалися врятувати буржуазну літературу від загнивання і навіть в час розкладу та занепаду капіталістичного суспільства створили визначні твори.’ 38 ‘Конрад був прогресивним письменником свого часу, який намагався правдиво зображувати життя й боротьбу і мріяв про кращу долю для трудящих.’ 39 ‘Живучи в період розкладу буржуазної культури, Конрад, звичайно, не міг уберегти свої твори від занепадницьких впливів, – і не дивно, бо він був письменником-індивідуалістом, далеким від політигної й революційної боротьби свого часу; так само, як і його герої, тікав від дійсності. Це й спричинилось до значних недоліків в його творах – натуралізм, надмірна психологізація, індивідуалізм. Вони знижують художнє значення книг Конрада, роблять їх досить суперечливими, а ініді й дуже песиместичними.’ 40 ‘примітивне протиставлення’. 41 ‘реалізм-декаденство, твір оптимістичний – це добре, песимістичний – погано, і то незалежно від мотивів ідейних, які змушують, наприклад, віддати перевагу пессимізмові Конрада перед оптимізмом, скажімо, Кіплінга’. 42 ‘один з найбільших новаторів у всій історії художньої прози’.

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Before Ukraine’s independence in 1991, only some twenty critical works on Conrad had appeared in the country. These included critical introductions to his novels, newspaper journalism and two 1988 Ukrainian Literary Encyclopaedia entries, one on Conrad specifically and another, much broader one, on English literature, where Conrad’s name was mentioned. In the years following independence, Ukrainian Conradian studies saw an explosion of scholarly activity, which included scholarly articles, dissertations and new translations of Conrad’s oeuvre. And, as we have seen, publishing houses, most active among them Tempora in Kyiv and Astrolabia in Lviv, were reprinting translations from the 1920s and bringing out new translations. In contrast to the previous period, over fifty scholarly articles and dissertations were published in the twenty-five years following Ukraine’s independence. In addition to the University of Odessa, which has been involved in Conradian studies since Soviet times, the universities of Lviv and Kyiv emerged as important centres of Ukrainian Conrad research. Where early translations presented an image of Conrad as a writer of nautical yarns and exotic adventures, the public perception is changing due to the recent translations of his political novels. Ukrainian critics, who always recognized Conrad’s place in world literature, demonstrate an appreciation for Conrad as a philosophical writer and a great innovator. For H. Kostenko, for example, Conrad had ‘created a national consolidating authorial myth about the country of sailors in which a captain of a ship became a writer and created a new understanding of a person’s role in the world’ (Kostenko 2011, 89).43 Other Ukrainian scholars realized that consideration of an author with such a complex background as Conrad has to involve multiple strategies: in addition to traditional critical methodologies, one needs to employ cultural, geographical and ethnographic approaches. Most importantly, Conradian studies in Ukraine are seen to serve a bigger purpose than simply widening readers’ literary horizons, as important as that may be. While Ukrainian criticism is greatly indebted to Conrad, discussions of the writer’s Polish and Ukrainian roots help readers embrace the multiculturalism of their new republic and move their democracy from ethnocentrism to a mature civic society.

Education Such is the Ukrainian attachment to Conrad that, to honour their famous fellow-countryman, Conrad aficionados in Ukraine have opened two Conrad museums. In 1987 they managed to obtain the permission of the Soviet authorities to create a Conrad museum in Terekhove (near Berdychiv), which many Ukrainian scholars believe to have been Conrad’s actual birthplace. The People’s Joseph Conrad Museum in Terekhove was founded by Mykola Shepeliuk (1919– 2007), an outstanding pedagogue, local historian and writer, who was a self-described firm nationalist with a wartime history with the nationalist Banderists, spoke only Ukrainian and decried the use of Russian. His personal collection of documents relating to Conrad’s life and family history became the foundation of the museum’s display. Shepeliuk inspired a team of enthusiasts and was able to obtain the permission of the Communist Party and the Soviet District to open a museum dedicated to a ‘bourgeois’ writer – which was no easy task. The ‘Створив національно-консолідуючий авторський міф про країну моряків, в якій капітан корабля став письменником та створив нове уявлення про роль людини у світі’.

43

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director of the museum, a prolific local historian, M. M. Bed’, has elevated the museum’s profile through his publications on Conrad in scholarly collections and in Berdychiv newspapers. In 2007, the Zhytomyr Scientific Society of Researchers of Volyn’ and the Berdychiv Department of the Ukrainian Geographic Society jointly held an international conference entitled ‘The Land of Berdychiv in the Flow of Time’, dedicated to the 150th anniversary of Conrad’s birth. The conference participants unveiled a memorial plaque on the house in Terekhove that belonged to Ewa Pilchowska (née Poradowska), Conrad’s mother’s maternal grandmother, which was most likely his birthplace.44 The plaque reads, ‘The Famous English Writer Joseph Conrad (Teodor Józef Korzeniowski) was born in this house (03.12.1857–03.08.1924).45 On 3 December 2008 (Conrad’s birthday), the International Museum of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski was opened at the Berdychiv monastery of Discalced Carmelites, which had participated in Conrad’s christening. The establishment of this museum, possibly as a result of the efforts of Zdisław Naider, became an important regional event: the opening was attended by senior representatives of the Zhytomyr City Administration as well as by the ambassadors of Poland to Ukraine and to Russia, representatives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Poland and Conradian scholars from Poland, the United Kingdom and Ukraine. In the same period, the Polish Institute in Kyiv established a Joseph Conrad-Korzeniowski Literary Prize to be awarded to a Ukrainian writer under forty for innovation in fiction and the breaking of stereotypes.46 The prize is intended to draw the attention of Ukrainian readers to Conrad’s Ukrainian origins and to underscore the historic and artistic connections between the Polish and Ukrainian people. Conrad’s works are studied in Ukrainian schools, and Ukrainian pedagogues publish advice on ways to teach Conrad as part of both literary and local studies (Hryshyn-Hryshchuk 1997). In the Zhytomyr region, for example, school teachers take their students on field trips to the Conrad Museum in Terekhove, and a selection of the students’ essays written as a result of the visit are then included in the museum’s exhibits.47 A number of pedagogical publications intended for schools and educational institutions are designed to help teachers organize extracurricular activities around the Conrad Museum (T. Babijchuk 2012). The activities suggested by Babijchuk are intended to ensure that students are not merely passive observers of the museum exhibits, but rather engage actively with Conrad’s life and works. These activities include organizing a photography exhibition based on the excursion; writing an article to a local newspaper; offering advice on how to read Conrad in the twenty-first century; arranging a discussion of Conrad’s novel Lord Jim; organizing a scholarly conference dedicated to Conrad; organizing an exhibition related to Conrad’s writing; and watching and discussing films based on Conrad’s works (Babijchuk, 2012, 36). The Conrad Museum is thus used to promote critical and creative engagement with Conrad’s works on the part of young readers. 44 The house had been in the Pilchowski family since 1763. It was confiscated by the Russian authorities in 1832, because of the Pilchowski family’s active part in the Polish liberation movement. However, Ewa Plichowski was granted use of the house for her lifetime. After her death, the estate was transferred to the Russian treasury. 45 ‘В цьому будинку народився відомий англійський письменник Джозеф Конрад (Теодор Юзеф Коженьовський) 03.12.1857-03.08.1924.’ 46 The recipients of the prize, awarded biannually, have been Taras Prokhasko (2007), Serhij Zhadan (2009), Natalka Sniadanko (2011), Tanya Malarchuk (2013) and Sofia Andrukhovych (2015). 47 An essay by the Khazhyn student Oksana Luk’yanchuk, entitled ‘Ukrainian Diamond in the British Crown’, reflects the overall tenor of the Ukrainian readers’ response to Conrad, the man and the writer: one of pride and acceptance – as an example to be followed.

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CHAPTER 29 THE EARLY UKRAINIAN CRITICAL RECEPTION OF JOSEPH CONRAD Dmytro Kozak

In the turbulent early years of the twentieth century, in one of the columns of Proletarskaia Pravda (Proletarian Truth), appeared a brief mention of a novelist, at that time unknown to Ukrainian readers. The author informed readers of the death of a popular English writer, Joseph Conrad, who was regarded as more talented than H. G. Wells and George Bernard Shaw, both familiar names in Ukraine. To further capture the readers’ interest, the journalist provided a compact account of Conrad’s life, entrusting to others the task of discussing his oeuvre. Two days later, on 14 August 1924, the newspaper Dilo (Affair) published a second, more detailed obituary, and eleven days later Vechernieye Radio (Evening Radio) issued its own belated plagiarized version. Thus, by the end of the August, the Ukrainian public had been informed of Conrad’s death, but were somewhat unable to apprehend the nature of the loss. It took two more years for the first translations to come into existence. The crucial part played by Conrad’s early reception in the 1920s in the rise and crystallization of subsequent critical discourse on him is hard to overstate. The dominant ideas of that time cast their shadows even into the present. Before engaging in a more nuanced analysis of this early critical reception, it is important to stress the uneven and disrupted line the reception took. There are two important historical moments, but in between is a long, arid gap of almost complete oblivion. The two important moments are the 1920s in Soviet Ukraine and the period after 1991 in independent Ukraine. The first period has not merely historical but also high conceptual significance, since it established the matrix of the writer’s subsequent reception. This chapter will focus on that earlier moment.

Korenizatsia: the political, social and cultural context of the first translations A necessary preliminary to the discussion of Conrad’s reception is a brief overview of the Ukrainian political setting of that time. After four years of bloodthirsty conflicts, Ukraine had been finally absorbed into a broader political entity, the USSR, in 1922. Naturally, this had an immense impact on the very foundations of society, its demographics and institutions, as well as determining the cultural and discursive landscape of the newly emerged state. The Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic was a Communist polity, which included the central and eastern parts of modern Ukraine, whilst the western lands were given to Poland, Romania and Czechoslovakia. From the very beginning and throughout its history, the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic remained under the inescapable influence of the Moscow government. However, in the early 1920s Moscow did not have an absolute, fully established control over the territories and thus aimed at cementing its rule. At that time, the central communist regime preferred gaining the loyalty of local elites through the politics of korenizatsia (‘putting down 399

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roots’; Plohiy 2016, 299–300). A far-reaching strategic goal of this political programme was to ensure the stability of the relevant region and win over its key social and cultural actors. Moreover, since an extensive stratum of Ukrainian peasantry seemed to be strongly opposed to Communist rule, the decision of the party to address rural and working-class people in their own language and to support the popular culture was no doubt sensible. The Conradian critical discourse in Ukraine rose out of translations, forewords and articles, produced in the primarily well-disposed atmosphere of the Ukrainian version of korenizatsia, namely, ukrainisatsia (ukrainization politics), during the period 1923–32. The central Moscow government broadly supported the efforts of Soviet Ukraine to promote the native language and culture. To take just a few examples, all public employees had to enrol on Ukrainian language courses and successfully complete them, gaining the necessary certificate. Office work and business correspondence had to be carried out in Ukrainian. By 1926 the number of Ukrainians in the ranks of the ruling Communist Party of Ukraine reached 47 per cent, compared to 37 per cent the previous year (Striha 2006, 145). These examples are far from exhaustive. More importantly, at that time there was neither an intimidating censorship (directly descended from the vertical power structure or manipulated by it), nor the later mass killings of the intelligentsia by means of fabricated legal cases. This all started in 1929 and culminated in 1933 with the termination of the unprecedented rise of Ukrainian culture, subsequently known as the ‘Executed Renaissance’ (Lavrinenko 1959, 936). However, in the middle of the 1920s, the general climate in Soviet Ukraine was still highly favourable and uncontrolled. Among other things, ukrainization presupposed the flourishing of translations and of the publishing business more generally. Of course, such a rapid boom did not necessarily produce top-quality works (Striha 2006, 150). Joseph Conrad was lucky in this regard due to the editorial and translational skill of those engaged in transmitting his legacy. The first of his books appeared from the Kyivan publishing house Slovo (Word) in 1926. It was a small collection of short stories, including ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘To-morrow’, translated by Serhiy Vilhovy and prefaced and edited by Mykhailo Kalynovych, a professional linguist, literary scholar and lexicographer who occupied a prominent professorial chair in a Kyivan university (Kolomiets 2015, 250). Significantly, Kalynovych was also the translator of Conrad’s second Ukrainian publication.

Three major interpretative paradigms All the Conrad translations that appeared in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic between 1926 and 1930 existed largely within a single thematic frame. As the titles of the translated works suggest (The End of the Tether, published in 1928 in a translation by Kalynovych; The Rescue, translated by Hanna Kasianenko and published in 1929; Almayer’s Folly, published in two versions, one translated by Victor Petrovsky and the other by Mariia Lysychenko, both in 1929; and Typhoon, translated by Mykola Roshkivsky and published in 1930), Joseph Conrad entered the field of Ukrainian culture, so to say, on a ship.1 This particular selective principle, whether conscious or due to chance, along with the supporting prefaces and related critical 1

Almayer’s Folly is obviously the exception. The popularity of Almayer’s Folly with publishers relates to another paradigm: the adventure story in an exotic location.

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materials, became one of the dominant factors in creating the receptive matrix of the Ukrainian readership. Conrad obviously dedicated a lot of time to describing the sea, placing the action of various stories at sea and endowing the sea with a sense of sublime transcendence and metaphorical meaning, yet, as the case of Almayer’s Folly indicates, his oeuvre cannot be reduced exclusively to sea stories. Nonetheless, Conrad’s ‘urban’ novels failed to find publishers until very recently, with the appearance of The Secret Agent in 2018. On the thematic level he became and remained, first and foremost, a seascape writer. In the critical understanding of Conrad, a certain paradigm shift is evident throughout the late 1920s. An initial psychological perspective, introduced by Kalynovych (1926, 1928) and supported by Nemerovska (1928), gradually drifted towards a psycho-sociological one, represented by Maifet (1928), and ended by becoming purely sociological and Marxist owing to Adelheim (1930). In this same period, however, a foreword by the Ukrainian intellectual Andriy Nikovsky was published in 1929, whose rhetoric and general line of argument one might describe as a counter-discourse, since it disputed the dominant ideas of that time regarding both Conrad’s philosophy and style. It is noteworthy that all scholars, literary critics and even newspaper journalists unanimously recognized and agreed upon Conrad’s anticolonial attitude. Perhaps, that first volume of short stories of 1926, with its ironic anti-colonial stance as well as the Ukrainian sensitivity to oppression, played its part in producing this unanimity. Forewords to translated novels served to set the terms of debate, but two influential articles (by Nemerovska and Maifet) originated in specialized journals. Conrad’s style became a vibrant issue among Ukrainian literary critics as well, and each one of them also paid his or her attention to the narrative strategy of the writer, occasionally trying to incorporate formalistic conclusions into the wider conceptual scheme. Finally, and perhaps more importantly, the Ukrainian critical discourse on Conrad emerged in dialogue with English and French critics and various foreign writers who were often cited and referred to.

A foundational reading: the psychological perspective Mykhailo Kalynovych’s foreword to the brief collection of short stories An Outpost of Progress (1926) became a foundational critical piece on Joseph Conrad. It not only introduced the writer and provided a somewhat fictionalized biography,2 but, more importantly, it equipped readers with a perceptual framework as well as accentuated some key motifs. It focused attention on the author’s close examination of the human psyche and demonstrated the distinct place of the novelist among other English writers. According to Kalynovych, Conrad differs from Kipling in his attitude towards indigenous people and from Stevenson in the ultimate purpose of his use of adventure plots. Whereas Stevenson constructed the narrative to entertain, Conrad pursued the serious novelistic enterprise of scrutinizing the individual psyche. Accordingly, Kalynovych classed Conrad as ‘an anatomist of the human heart’ (Kalynovych 1926, xx) and claimed that the key text to understand Conrad’s legacy was Heart of Darkness (Kalynovych 1926, xv). Apparently, the gloomy atmosphere of the foreign sky effectively highlighted Marlow’s inner anabasis, so that 2

Not in the sense that Kalynovych fabricated facts or omitted pivotal points, but rather that he selected particular episodes of Conrad’s life and arranged them in a narrative scheme of predestination.

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the reader might observe ‘the only object of Conrad’s scrutiny, the mystery of the human heart’ in depth (Kalynovych 1926, xvii). The most noteworthy feature of this psychological perspective (as with other psychological approaches) is its inability to go beyond itself and position the individual struggle within a wider context. In that vein, Kalynovych argued that Conrad insistently suggested that perseverance and the individual will were the ultimate human resources against challenges and hardships (Kalynovych 1926, xxxi). Another Ukrainian critic, Mykhailo Mohylyansky, had presented an alternative interpretation that stressed Conrad’s concern for solidarity (Mohylyansky 1925, 108), but this attempt went unnoticed for the most part. Many years later, an influential contemporary Ukrainian scholar, Volodymyr Panchenko, in his preface to the collection of stories Zroby abo Pomry (Do or Die; 2011), essentially repeated the same stoic idea. Apart from emphasizing the role of the individual character in the face of life’s miseries, Kalynovych was the first critic in Soviet Ukraine to describe Conrad as a romanticist (Kalynovych 1928, xix). This notion was embraced by Olha Nemerovska, who, in 1928, produced one of the most thoughtful pieces on Joseph Conrad. Like Kalynovych and later scholars, she apparently read the novels in English, since she based her arguments and conclusions on a wide array of Conrad’s works that were, at that time, inaccessible in Ukrainian. Nemerovska elaborated earlier ideas regarding Conrad’s romanticism and psychologism and agreed with the dominant view that Conrad was primarily a writer of the sea (Nemerovska 1928, 130); her original contribution lay in the attempt to conceptualize Conrad within the framework of genre. Nemerovska explored how the literary conventions of the adventure novel entered the works of Joseph Conrad and how he utilized them, updating a declining genre. One of the core elements of the adventure novel is mystery. The mystery is usually presented as a material consequence of some forgotten, prior events, whereas the Conradian mystery has more of a metaphysical nature. It penetrates the narrative and shines out from characters, iterations, environments. By these means, Nemerovska suggests, Conrad psychologized mystery itself (Nemerovska 1928, 130). The external mystery typically turns out to be a proxy for the real one, the mystery of the hero’s heart. A substantial part of her analysis was dedicated to the formal aspect of Conrad’s fiction. Nemerovska recognized the deliberate and conscious sophistication of Conrad’s narratives and praised his versatility in using different devices to achieve his specific ends. In the traditional adventure novel, the protagonist served primarily a compositional role, that of binding together various plot twists; Conrad flipped this technique and used plot twists to direct the narrative towards a deeper exploration of the protagonist (Nemerovska 1928, 132). Nemerovska concludes her article by mentioning Conrad’s high status among English readers because of his rich imagistic language.

An intermediate reading: the psycho-sociological perspective The issue of language and style was the central concern of another Ukrainian literary scholar, Hryhory Maifet. A month after Nemerovska’s article appeared in 1928, Maifet published a critical essay, ‘The Critic of Civilization’, a considerable part of which was dedicated to a formalistic analysis of Conradian narration. Maifet praised the complex, non-linear structure of the novels and laid emphasis on the ex abrupto beginning of Almayer’s Folly, Conrad’s 402

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tendency to provide a ‘regressive sequence of episodes’ combined with objective narration, his use of several focal points and the way he encodes different interpretative keys in the polysemy of the titles (Maifet 1928, 134). Equally important, Maifet effectively shifted the critical paradigm by suggesting a psychosociological framework of reading. According to Maifet, Conrad’s oeuvre might be conceived not as a circle surrounding the central theme of the individual psyche, but rather as an ellipsis with two focal points, namely the environment and ‘something human’ (Maifet 1928, 132). For Maifet, the environment (among other things) includes the social fabric, or, as he calls it, ‘civilization’, which infuses the individual with a set of norms and convictions that alienate the individual from their true self. This Rousseauian idea meant that the individual had to confront not only fate and nature but also society. Unlike Kalynovych and Nemerovska, Maifet fully recognized the role played by the community in the character’s worldly struggle, but he positioned it as another enemy of the individual. In his reading, civilization appears as a maskgenerating machine and thus should be perceived as an obstacle to authentic living. The courage to resist hardships expands to perseverance in the face of social isolation. In this context, Maifet goes as far as to compare the protagonist of The Rescue with Ibsen’s Dr Stockmann in An Enemy of the People.

The rise of a counter-discourse, the final shift to a sociological perspective and further decline A year later, Andriy Nikovsky added quite a peculiar piece to the growing body of Conrad criticism. In his foreword to The Rescue. A Romance of the Shallows (1929), he systematically disputed every established opinion on Joseph Conrad, creating what I have termed a counterdiscourse. Nikovsky ignored the thrilling nature of Conrad’s life, which both Kalynovych and Mohylyansky had used as a hook to draw in Ukrainian readers; he denied the profundity of Conrad’s characters, whereas Nemerovska had convincingly demonstrated the innovative nature of Conrad’s romantic psychologism in the context of the adventure novel; and he described the narrative style as ‘simple and unrefined’, whereas Maifet had explored the effectiveness of various narrative techniques (Nikovsky 1929, xxi). Despite all this, the reader does not leave the foreword with a feeling of Conrad’s insignificance. Instead, the overarching frenzy of Nikovsky’s criticism arouses suspicions. At the end of the foreword, Nikovsky attempts to strike his final blow, by debunking the familiar image of Conrad as a ‘seadog’ and offering the picture of an ‘armchair writer’ instead (Nivovsky 1929, xxiv). In his very last sentence, Nikovsky clearly states that he recognizes the great cultural achievements of Joseph Conrad. Thus, Nikovsky shattered the consensus of the early Ukrainian critical reception, while managing to preserve the interest of Ukrainian readers in Conrad’s works and attracting the attention of future scholars. The final paradigm shift in Conrad’s critical reception in Soviet Ukraine came in the foreword to Typhoon (1930) written by Evheniy Adelheim.3 First I should mention that 3

In 1929, Alexander Leites had written the foreword to an edition of Almayer’s Folly, which put the symbolic meaning of Nina’s refusal of her father in a more positive light. However, this foreword had little impact on the general discursive landscape. For that reason, I have omitted it from my account.

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Adelheim’s foreword raises doubts about his expertise and his qualification to write about Conrad, for there are several factual mistakes that proved useful to him in constructing a particular narrative about Conrad’s success. For instance, Adelheim claimed that Conrad’s fame came after the Great War (Adelheim 1930, vi), and he has an explanation for this: namely, that an exhausted European bourgeoisie needed some relief from the horrors of the recent massacre, and Conrad’s exotic novels suited this purpose (Adelheim 1930, vii). However, Conrad actually found his fame before the war, in 1913, when Chance became popular among American readers. Nevertheless, despite several serious errors, Adelheim’s foreword contained some insightful ideas. After asserting the significance of fate as a motif in Conrad’s fiction, Adelheim recalled that Conrad was critical of the replacement of sailing ships by steam: his career as a sailor depended upon the whims of the sea and the arbitrary results of capitalist competition (Adelheim 1930, xviii). The earlier ‘fate’ motif thus acquired socio-economic parameters. Courageous sailors and merchants (embodied in Lingard and his individual colonial business enterprises) were gradually and inescapably being replaced by competition from the organized monopolies of big trading companies. For Adelheim, the underlying story of Conrad’s fiction is how a new phase of European capitalism spread through the colonies and pushed brave sailors and local peoples out of business. Within this sociological framework, Adelheim presented Conrad primarily as the ‘mouthpiece of a dying class’ (Adelheim 1930, xxxii). An article by Luka Lutsiv, which appeared in 1931, was the final independent critical statement about Conrad, before the Soviet regime unfolded its repression in full, exterminating the Ukrainian cultural and political elites through deportations and killings. Lutsiv’s essay did not contain significantly original thoughts on Conrad, but the essay is of interest for the way in which the author tried to challenge Adelheim’s reading and put the focus back onto the psychology of the characters. The next important critical essay on Conrad did not appear until some years later, in 1936, after the initial line of critical reception was destroyed, while the Ukrainian reader had to wait for more than twenty years for the next original translation. One of the noteworthy features of this translation was the kind of Ukrainian language it used. Back in 1928, a committee of qualified experts had developed a grammatical and orthographical rulebook, based upon older Ukrainian dictionaries and the linguistic praxis of that earlier time. This rulebook was designed to unify the spelling and codify the fast-evolving language. However, the central Communist government directed that this edition be abandoned and another one be produced, instead, using different guidelines. As the distinguished Ukrainian sociolinguist Larysa Masenko has emphasized, this was an unprecedented instance of a government hampering the development of a language not by means of external prohibitions but rather by means of intralinguistic penetration. The usage of capital letters, punctuation, spelling and grammatical terminology were aligned with Russian language practices (Masenko 2015, 9). This ruthlessly edited new translation appeared in 1933, containing 126 corrections of an ideological, quasi-linguistic nature (Striha 2006, 148). The new Soviet translations of Conrad’s works followed these new rules. *

*

*

Conrad first entered the Ukrainian cultural arena in the early 1920s. His significance was revealed through a number of critical essays and through the forewords of editions in the later 404

The Early Ukrainian Critical Reception of Joseph Conrad

part of the same decade, when the first translations started appearing. Although the early critics agreed that he was a writer of the sea with a strong anti-colonial attitude, there was no unified vision of his philosophy. During the intense years of this early period of his reception, the paradigm seemed to shift from a purely psychological one (with its immanent focus on the individual) through a psycho-sociological approach that introduced the idea of community into the equation to a purely sociological reading that reduced all relations to their social parameters. In the same period, there was also the appearance of a counter-discourse that made a somewhat awkward attempt to challenge each generally accepted view of Conrad. This shift in focus from the individual towards wider social formations reflected a deeper upheaval and the consequential cultural transformations within the newly formed polity of the Soviet Ukraine with its unresolved future.

405

406

BIBLIOGRAPHY

The bibliography is divided to correspond to the chapters of this book. Translation and editions are listed for each country by the work, the works being listed in alphabetical order, and translations/editions being listed chronologically for each work.

Introduction Works cited Asparuhov, Asparuh and Margreta Grigorova (2013) ‘Under Bulgarian Eyes: The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Bulgaria’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, Poland, 8: 47–63. Borges, Jorge Luis (1970/1999) ‘Guayaquil’, in Collected Fictions, trans. Andrew Hurley, 390–6. New York: Penguin. Curreli, Mario (2009a) ‘Translations’, in Allan H. Simmons (ed.), Joseph Conrad in Context, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 99–106. Curreli, Mario (2009b) Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia, Pisa: Edizioni ETS. Curreli, Mario (2015) Conrad in Italy, Lublin: Maria Curie-Skłodowska University. Erdinast-Vulcan, Daphna (2019) ‘Whose Story? Whose History? The Conradian Hetero-text of Latin American Fiction’, Partial Answers, 17.2 (June) 363–81. Ford, Ford Madox (1930/1983) The English Novel, Manchester: Carcanet Press. Fothergill, Anthony (2006) Secret Sharers: Joseph Conrad’s Cultural Reception in Germany, Bern: Peter Lang. Hampson, Robert (2020) Joseph Conrad, London: Reaktion Books. Harrison, Becky and Magda Raczyńska (eds) (2017) Conradology, Manchester: Comma Press. Lothe, Jakob (ed.) (1995) Conrad in Scandinavia, Lublin: Maria Curie-Skłodowska University. Micka, Tadeusz (1997) ‘Literature, painting and film: Wajda’s adaptation of The Shadow-Line’, in Gene M. Moore (ed.), Conrad on Film, 135–50. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Moore, Gene M. (ed.) (1997) Conrad on Film, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Paccaud-Huguet, Josiane (2006) Conrad in France, Lublin: Maria Curie-Skłodowska University. Panogopoulos, Nic (2021) ‘Conrad and the City’, Routledge Encyclopaedia of Urban Literary Studies. Steltenpool, Robert (n.d.) ‘The First Serialization and Translation of Conrad: Almayer’s Folly in Het Nieuws van den Dag (Amsterdam), May–July 1896’, Conrad First, conradfirst.net/conrad/ scholarship/authors/steltenpool.html.

Chapter 1: The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Poland (1896–2021) There were two early collected editions, both under the general editorship of Stefan Żeromski. The first, a Selected Writings (Pisma wybrane), was published between 1923 and 1926; the second, a Collected Writings (Pisma zbiorowe), was published between 1928 and 1939. A third collected edition was published by Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy between 1956 and 1970. This was an almost complete edition of Conrad’s fiction, which included two of his collaborations with Ford Madox Ford, The Inheritors and Romance, but excluded The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes. A fourth collected edition came out from the same publisher between 1972 and 1974. Individual volumes are listed below. The numerous magazine publications of individual stories are not included.

407

Bibliography

Translations AF: (1923/1924) Fantazja Almayera, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Ignis. (1928) Szaleństwo Almayera, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1947) Szaleństwo Almayera, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Rome: Polskiej Dom Wydawniczy. (1956) Szaleństwo Almayera, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1972. (1986) Szaleństwo Almayera, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Szczecin: Glob. (1987) Szaleństwo Almayera, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with OI, trans. Aniela Zagórska; NN, trans. B. Zeliński], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. AG: (1948) Złota strzała, trans. Aniela Zagórska and Jadwiga Korniłowiczowa, Cracow: Instytut Wydawniczy ‘Poziom’. (1958) Złota strzała, trans. Aniela Zagórska and Jadwiga Korniłowiczowa, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1973. (1985) Złota strzała, trans. Aniela Zagórska and J. Korniłowiczowa, Szczecin: Glob. (1987) Złota strzała, trans. Aniela Zagórska and J. Korniłowiczowa [with V, trans. Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. APR: (1934) Ze wspomnień [With reminiscences], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1965) Ze wspomnień, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1973. (1987) Ze wspomnień, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with MS, trans. Aniela Zagórska; C, trans. T. Tatarkiewiczowa], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. C: (1955) Los: Opowieść w dwóch częściach [Fate: A story in two parts], trans. T. Tatarkiewiczowa, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr 1961. (1973) Gra losu [Game of fate], trans. T. Tatarkiewiczowa, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Gra losu, trans. T. Tatarkiewiczowa [with APR and MS, trans. Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. In: (1959) Spadkobiercy, trans. H. Krzeczkowski, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1974. LE: (1974) Ostatnie szkice, trans. H. Carroll-Najder, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. LJ: (1904) Lord Jim, 2 vols, trans Emilia Węsławska, Warsaw : Biblioteka Dzieł Wyborowych. (1933) Lord Jim, 2 vols, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1946) Lord Jim, 2 vols, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Jerusalem: Interim Treasury Committee for Polish Question, Educational Branch. (1949) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr.1956, 1960, 1964, 1966, 1968, 1972, 1973, 1978, 1979, 1983. (1978) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Wrocław, Cracow: Ossolineum. (1981) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Iskry. (1987) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with UWE, trans. W. Tarnawski], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1991) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Chimera. MoS: (1935) Zwierciadło morza, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1949) Zwierciadło morza, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1963, 1972. 408

Bibliography (1987) Zwierciadło morza, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with APR, trans. Aniela Zagórska; C, trans. T. Tatarkiewiczowa], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. N: (1928) Nostromo, 2 vols, trans. Stanisław Wyrzykowski, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1959) Nostromo, trans. Jadwiga Korniłowiczowa, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1972. (1981) Nostromo, trans. J. J. Szczepański, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Nostromo, trans. J. J. Szczepański [with SA, trans. A. Glinczanka], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. NLL: (1974) O życiu i literaturze, trans. M. Boduszyńska-Borowikowa and J. Miłobędzki, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. NN: (1923) Murzyn z załogi ‘Narcyza’, trans. Jan Lemański, Warsaw: Ignis. (1928) Murzyn z załogi ‘Narcyza’, trans. Jan Lemański, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1947) Murzyn z załogi ‘Narcyza’, trans. Jan Lemański, Rome: Polski Dom Wydawniczy. (1961) Murzyn z załogi ‘Narcyza’, trans. B. Zieliński, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1972. (1987) Murzyn z załogi ‘Narcyza’, trans. B. Zieliński [with AF and OI, trans. Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. OI: (1936) Wykolejeniec, powieść [Derelict: a story], 2 vols, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1956) Wykolejeniec, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1972) Wyrzutek [Outcast], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Wyrzutek, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with AF, trans. Aniela Zagórska; NN, trans. B. Zeliński], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Res: (1929) Ocalenie, 2 vols, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1957) Ocalenie, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1974. (1984) Ocalenie, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Szczecin: Glob. (1987) Ocalenie trans. Aniela Zagórska [with Rov, trans. E. Krasnowolska; SL, trans. J. J. Szczepański], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Rom: (1960) Przygoda [Adventure], trans. A. Glinczanka, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1974. Rov: (1925) Korsarz, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : Wacław Czerski. (1929) Korsarz, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1947) Korsarz, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : Biblioteka Polska; Łódż: Jemiołkowski, Evert. (1958) Korsarz, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1963, 1966, 1974. (1974) Korsarz, trans. E. Krasnowolska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Korsarz, trans. E. Krasnowolska [with Res, trans. Aniela Zagórska; SL, trans. J. J. Szczepański], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1988) Korsarz, trans. E. Krasnowolska, Szczecin: Glob. S: (1960) Oczekiwanie [Expectations], trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1974) W zawieszeniu [In abeyance], trans. A. Przedpełska-Trzeciakowska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. 409

Bibliography SA: (1902) Tajny agent, 2 vols, trans. M. G. [Maria Gąsiorowska], Warsaw : G. Centnerszwer. (1908) Tajny agent, 2 vols, trans. M. G. [Maria Gąsiorowska], Warsaw : Biblioteka Dzieł Wyborowych. (1920) Provokator, trans. F. Nossiq, Lwów : Lud. Tow. Wydawniczy. (1939) Tajny Agent, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1973) Tajny Agent, trans. A. Glinczanka, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1992. (1987) Tainy Agent, trans. A. Glinczanka [with N, trans. J. J. Szczepański], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Si: (1967) Siostry, trans. W. Tarnawski, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. SL: (1925) Smuga cienia, trans. Jadwiga Sienkiewiczówna, Warsaw: Ignis. (1930) Smuga cienia, trans. Jadwiga Sienkiewiczówna, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1945) Smuga cienia, trans. Jadwiga Sienkiewiczówna, Rome: Oddział Kultury i Prasy z Korpusu. (1950) Smuga cienia, trans. Jadwiga Sienkiewiczówna, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1958) Smuga cienia, trans. J. Korniłowiczowa, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1973) Smuga cienia, trans. J. J. Szczepański, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1976. (1987) Smuga cienia, trans. J. J. Szczepański [with Res, trans. Aniela Zagórska; Rov, trans. E. Krasnowolska], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1989) Smuga cienia, trans. J. J. Szczepański, Katowice: Książnica. (1992) Smuga cienia, trans. J. Sienkiewiczówna, Warsaw : Interart. SoS: (1924/1925) Sześć opowieści, trans. W. Horzyca, L. Piwiński and T. Pułjanowski, Warsaw: Ignis. (1928) Gaspar Ruiz, trans. A. Lerer, Warsaw: Nakł. A. Ryba. (1935) Gaspar Ruiz, trans. W. Horzyca, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1938) Sześć opowieści, trans. W. Horzyca, L. Piwiński and T. Pułjanowski, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1958) Sześć opowieści, trans. W. Horzyca, L. Piwiński and T. Pułjanowski, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1973) Sześć opowieści, trans. K. Tarnowska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Sześć opowieści, trans. K. Tarnowska [with TH, trans. Teresa Sapieżyna and Stanisław Wyrzykowski; TLS, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska; WT, trans. M. Skibniewska], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. SS: (1946) Ukryty sojusznik, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Rome: Polskiej Dom Wydawniczy. TH: (1928) Opowieści zasłyszane, trans. Teresa Sapieżyna and Stanisław Wyrzykowski, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1936) Książe Roman [Prince Roman], trans. Teresa Sapieżyna, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1974) Książe Roman [Prince Roman], trans. J. Jasieńczyk and W. Tarnawski, London: Polski Fundusz Kultury. (1974) Opowieści zasłyszane, trans. H. Carroll-Najder, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Opowieści zasłyszane, trans. Teresa Sapieżyna and Stanisław Wyrzykowski [with SoS, trans. K. Tarnowska; TLS, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska; WT, trans. M. Skibniewska], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. TLS: (1924) Między lądem a morzem, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Ignis. (1929) Między lądem a morzem, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. 410

Bibliography (1946) Freja z Siedmiu Wysp [Freya of the Seven Isles], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Rome: War Relief Service. (1946) Uśmiech szczęścia [A Smile of Fortune], trans. Jan Lemański, Rome: Polskiej Dom Wydawniczy. (1962) Między lądem a morzem, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1968) Freja z Siedmiu Wysp [Freya of the Seven Isles], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw, KiW. (1973) Między lądem a morzem, trans. Aniela Zagórska and H. Carroll-Najder, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Między lądem a morzem, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska [with SoS, trans. K. Tarnowska; TH, trans. Teresa Sapieżyna and Stanisław Wyrzykowski; WT, trans. M. Skibniewska], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1988) Między lądem a morzem, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska, Szczecin: Glob. TU: (1925) Opowieści niepokojące, trans. Helena Gay and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: W. Czarski. (1939) Opowieści niepokojące, trans. Helena Gay and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1964) Opowieści niepokojące, trans. Helena Gay and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1967) Laguna [The Lagoon], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : KiW. (1972) Opowieści niepokojące, trans. Helena Gay, Aniela Zagórska and H. Carroll-Najder, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Opowieści niepokojące, trans. Helena Gay and Aniela Zagórska [with Ty, Taifun i inne opowiadania, trans. J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska; Y, Młodość i inne opowiadania, trans. Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Ty: (1914) Janko Góral [‘Amy Foster’], trans. M. Bunikiewiczowa, Lviv : Wyd. im. P. Skarqi. (1925) Taifun, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej; repr. 1926, 1928. (1932) Falk, Amy Foster, Jutro, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1938) Amy Foster, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Biblioteka Polska. (1945) Taifun, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Rome: Oddział Kultury i Prasy z Korpusu. (1946) Falk, Amy Foster, Jutro, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Rome: Polish YMCA. (1947) Taifun, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej; Lodz: Jemiołkowski, Evert. (1957) Taifun i inne opowiadania [Typhoon, Amy Foster, Falk, Tomorrow], trans. J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1966, 1968, 1971. (1968) Taifun, trans. J. B. Rychliński, Warsaw : KiW (Koliber Series). (1972) Taifun i inne opowiadania [Typhoon and other stories], trans. J. B. Rychliński and H. CarrollNajder, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1973, 1977, 1978. (1987) Taifun i inne opowiadania, trans. J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska [with TU, trans. Helena Gay and Aniela Zagórska; Y, trans. Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. UWE: (1925) W oczach zachodu, trans. H. J. Pajzderska, Warsaw: Ignis. (1934) W oczach zachodu, trans. H. J. Pajzderska, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1955) W oczach zachodu, trans. W. Tarnawski, London: Biblioteka Polska Veritas; repr. 1965. (1974) W oczach zachodu, trans. W. Tarnawski, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1992. (1985) W oczach zachodu, trans. W. Tarnawski, Łódz: Wydawniczy Łódzkie. (1987) W oczach zachodu, trans. W. Tarnawski [with LJ, trans. Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. V: (1927) Zwycięstwo, 2 vols., trans. Aniela Zagórska, Lviv: Ossolineum Publishing House. (1931) Zwycięstwo, 2 vols., trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1947) Zwycięstwo, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Rome: Polski Dom Wydawniczy. (1957) Zwycięstwo, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1973. 411

Bibliography (1987) Zwycięstwo, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with AG, trans. Aniela Zagórska and J. Korniłowiczowa], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. WT: (1928) Wśród prądów, trans. Teresa Tatarkiewiczowa, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1946) Plantator z Malaty [The Planter of Malata], trans. Teresa Tatarkiewiczowa, Rome: Polskiej Dom Wydawniczy. (1965) Wśród prądów, trans. Teresa Tatarkiewiczowa, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1969) Gospoda pod Dwiema Wiedźmami [The Inn of the Two Witches], trans. Teresa Tatarkiewiczowa, Warsaw: KiW. (1972) Wśród prądów, trans. M. Skibniewska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1981) Gospoda pod Dwiema Wiedźmami [The Inn of the Two Witches], trans. Teresa Tatarkiewiczowa, Warsaw, Iskry. (1987) Wśród prądów, trans. M. Skibniewska [with SoS, trans. K. Tarnowska; TH, trans. Teresa Sapieżyna and Stanisław Wyrzykowski; TLS, trans. Jan Lemański, J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Y: (1930) Młodość, Jądro ciemności [Youth, Heart of Darkness], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1939) U kresu sił [The End of the Tether], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej. (1946) Młodość, Jądro ciemności [Youth, Heart of Darkness], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Jerusalem: Wydział Kultury i Prasy. (1952) Opowieści wybrane [Selected stories – HoD, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘The Partner’], trans. Aniela Zagórska and A. Niklewicz, Warsaw: Pax. (1957) Młodość i inne opowiadania [Youth and other stories], trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy; repr. 1972. (1972) Wybór opowiadań [Selected stories – Y, HoD, ‘Amy Foster’, SS, ‘Prince Roman’, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. H. Carroll-Najder and Aniela Zagórska, Wrocław: Ossolineum. (1978) Opowiadania wybrane [Selected Stories – Y, HoD, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Falk’, ‘The Duel’, SS, ‘Prince Roman’), trans. H. Carroll-Najder, K. Tarnowska and A. Zagórska, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (1987) Młodość i inne opowiadania, trans. Aniela Zagórska [with Ty, trans. J. B. Rychliński and Aniela Zagórska; TU, trans. Helena Gay and Aniela Zagórska], Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy.

Works cited Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2007a) Interpretacje Lorda Jima Conrada [Interpretations of Conrad’s Lord Jim], Cracow : Universitas. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2007b) ‘Gustaw Herling-Grudziński as a Reader of Conrad’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 3: 181–93. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2012) ‘Pidgin English and Sailors’ Jargon in Polish Translations of Conrad’s Typhoon’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 7: 85–96. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2013a) Seria w przekładzie. Polskie warianty prozy J. Conrada [Retranslations. Polish Variants of J. Conrad’s Prose], Katowice: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2013b) ‘Conrad in Polish Periodicals’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 8: 85–101. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2013c) ‘Polish Retranslations of Conrad’s The Shadow Line’, in W. Krajka (ed.), From Szlachta Culture to the 21st Century, Between East and West, 283–300. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs, vol. 22; Lublin: UMCS; New York: Columbia University Press. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2015) ‘Conrad’s Visit to Poland Under Polish Eyes’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 10: 7–26. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2016) Podróże z Conradem [Travels with Conrad], Cracow: Universitas. 412

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Chapter 2: The Polish Translation and Reception of Lord Jim Translations LJ: (1904) Lord Jim, trans. (and preface) Emilia Węsławska, Warsaw: Druk Józefa Sikorskiego. (1933) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska, Warsaw : Dom Książki Polskiej. (1972) Lord Jim, trans. Aniela Zagórska, ed. Zdzisław Najder, Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. (2001) Lord Jim, trans. Michał Kłobukowski, Cracow : Znak. (2003) Lord Jim, trans. Michał Filipczuk, Cracow : Wydawnictwo Zielona Sowa. OI: (1897) Wyrzutek, trans. M. G. [Maria Gąsiorowska], Tygodnik Romansów i Powieści, 1–26.

Works cited Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2001) ‘Conrad żywy. Nowy przekład Lorda Jima’ [Conrad Alive. A New Translation of Lord Jim], Tygodnik Powszechny, 14: 21. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2002) ‘Nowe oblicze Lorda Jima’ [The New Face of Lord Jim], Poradnik Językowy, 8: 58–67. Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka (2009) ‘Polskie przekłady Tajfunu Josepha Conrada’ [Polish Translations of Typhoon by Joseph Conrad], in Piotr Fast (ed.), Struktura przekładu – interpretacje [The Structure of Translation – Interpretations], 125–40. Katowice: Śląsk. Anon. (1933) ‘O Lordzie Jimie’ [On Lord Jim], Kurier Poznański, 259: 8. Blüth, Rafał (1932) ‘Ewolucja heroizmu u Conrada’ [Evolution of Heroism in Conrad], Ruch Literacki, 8: 230–6. Borowy, Wacław (1952) Studia i rozprawy [Essays and Treatises], vol. 2, Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich. Chwalewik, Witold (1932) ‘Józef Conrad w Cardyfie’ [Józef Conrad in Cardiff ], Ruch Literacki, 8: 225–9. Chwalewik, Witold (1934) ‘Przekłady. Literatura angielska i anglo-amerykańska’ [Translations. English and Anglo-American Literature (review of Lord Jim)], in Zygmunt Szweykowski (ed.), Rocznik Literacki za rok 1933, 137–41. Warsaw: Instytut Literacki. Conrad, Joseph. (1968) Joseph Conrad. Listy [Joseph Conrad. Letters], ed. Zdzisław Najder, trans. Halina Carroll-Najder, Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Dürr, Jan (1932) ‘Józef Conrad na drodze do Polski’ [Józef Conrad on the Way to Poland], Ruch Literacki, 8: 236–43. 416

Bibliography Fryde, Ludwik (1935) ‘Kryzys powieści psychologicznej’ [The Crisis of the Psychological Novel], Tygodnik Ilustrowany, 30: 587–8. Gillon, Adam (1976) ‘Joseph Conrad’s Reception in Poland for the Last Sixty Years’, in Norman Sherry (ed.), Joseph Conrad: A Commemoration, 206–18. London: Macmillan Press. Gołubiew, Antoni (1971) ‘Okruchy Conradowskie’ [Conradiana], Tygodnik Powszechny, 50. Gomulicki, Wiktor (1905) ‘Polak czy Anglik?’ [A Pole or an Englishman?], Życie i sztuka (supplement to the St. Petersburg Kraj magazine), 1. Grzegorczyk, Piotr (1927) ‘Z dziejów J. Conrada-Korzeniowskiego w Polsce’ [On the History of J. Conrad-Korzeniowski in Poland], Ruch Literacki, 5: 136–8. Hertz, Paweł (1955) ‘O tłumaczeniu ksiąg’ [On the Translation of Books], in Michał Rusinek (ed.), O sztuce tłumaczenia [On the Art of Translation], 207–30. Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich. Hervouet, Yves (1990) The French Face of Joseph Conrad, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kott, Jan (1945) ‘O laickim tragizmie’ [On the Lay Tragedy], Twórczość, 2: 137–60. Krzyżanowski, Julian (1932) ‘U źródeł publicystyki Józefa Conrada’ [The Sources of Joseph Conrad’s Political Essays], Ruch Literacki, 8: 243–8. Kujawska-Lis, Ewa (2011) Marlow pod polską banderą. Tetralogia Josepha Conrada w przekładach z lat 1904–2004 [Marlow under the Polish Flag. Joseph Conrad’s Tetralogy in Polish translations from 1904–2004], Olsztyn: Wydawnictwo UWM. Kujawska-Lis, Ewa (2015) ‘Mediating the Exotic in Joseph Conrad’s Prose. A Diachronic Perspective on Translators’ Choices’, in Ewa Kujawska-Lis and Iwona Anna NDiaye (eds), Komunikacja międzykulturowa w świetle współczesnej translatologii. Tom 3, Kulturowe, językowe i biograficzne konteksty przekładu literackiego [Intercultural Communication in the Light of Modern Translation Studies, vol. 3, Cultural, Linguistic and Biographical Contexts of Literary Translation], 15–31. Olsztyn: Katedra Filologii Angielskiej UWM. Lucas, Michael A. (2000) Aspects of Conrad’s Literary Language, Social Science Monographs, Lublin: UMCS; New York: Columbia University Press. Lutosławski, Wincenty (1899) ‘Emigracja zdolności’ [The Emigration of Talent], Kraj, 12: 3–4. Marzec, Bartosz (2009) ‘Nowe lustro dla Lorda Jima’ [A New Mirror for Lord Jim], Rzeczpospolita (online version). Masłoń, Krzysztof (2001) ‘Nowy przekład Lorda Jima’ [A New Translation of Lord Jim], Rzeczpospolita, 18: A10. Młynarska, Maria [Tarnawska] (1957), ‘Lord Jim w powstaniu warszawskim’ [Lord Jim in the Warsaw Uprising], in Wit Tarnawski (ed.), Conrad żywy [Conrad Alive], 262–6. London: B. Świderski. Najder, Zdzisław (1972) ‘Wstęp’ [Introduction], in Joseph Conrad, Szaleństwo Almayera [Almayer’s Folly], Dzieła [Works], vol. 1, 5–18. Warsaw : Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy. Najder, Zdzisław (1975) ‘Conrad w przekładach Anieli Zagórskiej’ [Conrad in Aniela Zagórska’s Translations], in Seweryn Pollak (ed.), Przekład artystyczny. O sztuce tłumaczenia. Księga druga [Artistic Translation. On the Art of Translation. Book Two], 197–210. Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich. Najder, Zdzisław (2007) Joseph Conrad: A Life. Rochester, NY: Camden House. Orzeszkowa, Eliza (1899) ‘Emigracja zdolności’ [The Emigration of Talent], Kraj, 16: 8–11. Parandowski, Jan (1955) ‘O znaczeniu i godności tłumacza’ [On the Significance and Dignity of the Translator], in Michał Rusinek (ed.), O sztuce tłumaczenia [On the Art of Translation], 11–20. Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich. Szczepański, Jan Józef (1957) ‘Conrad mojego pokolenia’ [The Conrad of My Generation], Życie Literackie, 49. Tatarkiewicz, Anna (2001) ‘Dramat Lorda Jima’ [The Tragedy of Lord Jim], Przegląd, 19: 18. Waliszewski, Kazimierz (1904) ‘Polski powieściopisarz w angielskiej literaturze’ [A Polish Writer in English Literature], Życie i sztuka [Life and Art; supplement to the St. Petersburg Kraj magazine) 3: 1–2; 4: 8–9; 5: 9–10; 7: 4–6. Włast [Maria Komornicka] (1905) Review of Lord Jim, Chimera, 9.26: 333–4. English version in Zdzisław Najder (ed.) (1983), Conrad Under Familal Eyes, trans. Halina Carroll-Najder, 192–3. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 417

Bibliography Zabierowski, Stefan (1979) Conrad w perspektywie odbioru [Conrad from the Perspective of Reception], Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo morskie. Zabierowski, Stefan (1986) ‘Czytanie Conrada’ [Reading Conrad], Odra, 12: 41–7. Zabierowski, Stefan (1998), ‘Lord Jim Conrada – kamień milowy polskiej świadomości’ [Conrad’s Lord Jim – A Milestone of Polish Consciousness], Tytuł, 4: 20–34. Zabierowski, Stefan (2000) ‘Lord Jim po raz trzeci’ [Lord Jim for the Third Time], Tytuł, 3: 211–14. Zabierowski, Stefan (2008) W kręgu Conrada [In the Circle of Conrad], Katowice: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego. Zabierowski, Stefan (2015) ‘ “He was one of us”. The Polish Reception of the Work of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski’, Yearbook of Joseph Conrad Studies, 10: 171–91. Zagórska, Aniela (1928/1996) ‘Kilka wspomnień o Conradzie’ [Some Recollections of Conrad], in Zdzisław Najder (ed.), Conrad wśród swoich. Listy. Dokumenty. Wspomnienia [Conrad Under Familial Eyes. Letters. Documents. Recollections], 306–25. Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, Żeromski, Stefan (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Wiadomości Literackie, 33: 1.

Chapter 3: Polonizing Siberia’s Heart of Darkness: Conrad Written Back in Jacek Dukaj’s Ice Works cited Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin (2002) The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-colonial Literatures, 2nd edn, London; New York: Routledge. Conrad, Joseph (2010) Youth. Heart of Darkness. The End of the Tether, ed. Owen Knowles, Cambridge Edition of the Works of Joseph Conrad, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dukaj, Jacek (2007) Lód, Cracow : Wydawnictwo Literackie. Dukaj, Jacek (2009) Ice, trans. Stanley Bill, EUPL_2009_Jacek_Dukaj_Poland.pdf, 8–14, http://www. euprizeliterature.eu/author/2009/jacek-dukaj. Dukaj, Jacek (2011) Lëd, Russian trans. V. B. Marchenko, http://bukva.org.ua/yacek-dukay-lyod. html?page=127. Dukaj, Jacek (n.d.) Ice, trans. Stanley Bill, http://dukaj.wydawnictwoliterackie.pl/. Dukaj, Jacek (n.d.) Lëd, Belorussian trans. Ian Maksimiuk, http:// dukaj.wydawnictwoliterackie.pl/. Dunin-Wąsowicz, Paweł (2008) ‘Lód jak brylant’ [Ice like a diamond], http://ksiazki.onet.pl/recenzje/ lod-jak-brylant/vqlfy. Ďurišin, Dionýz (1984) Theory of Literary Comparatistics, Bratislava: Veda. Etkind, Alexander (2011) Internal Colonization: Russia’s Imperial Experience, Cambridge: Polity. Hampson, Robert (1990) ‘Heart of Darkness and “the speech that cannot be silenced” ’, English (Spring): 15–32. Hampson, Robert (2012) Conrad’s Secrets, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Jericho, Jeremy (1984) Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and The Secret Sharer, Woodbury, NY: Barron’s Educational Series (Barron’s Book Notes). Kaczyńska, Elżbieta (1991) Syberia: największe więżenie świata (1815–1914) [Siberia: The world’s biggest prison], Warsaw: Gryf. Kaplan, Carola M., Peter Mallios and Andrea White (eds) (2005) Conrad in the Twenty-First Century: Contemporary Approaches and Perspectives, New York; London: Routledge. Kaźmierczak, Marta (2013) ‘Translating Sensitive Texts in the Light of Cultural Turns: Jacek Dukaj’s Lód’, in Katarzyna Lukas, Izabela Olszewska and Marta Turska, Translation im Spannungsfeld der ‘cultural turns’, 129–42. Frankfurt a. M.: Lang Kijak, Aleksandra (2010) Odkrywca innej Syberii i Dalekiego Wschodu: o prozie Wacława Sieroszewskiego [The discoverer of the other Siberia and of the Far East: on the prose of Wacław Sieroszewski], Cracow: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego. Krapp, John (2002) An Aesthetics of Morality: Pedagogic Voice and Moral Dialogue in Mann, Camus, Conrad, and Dostoevsky, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. 418

Bibliography Krause, Michael (2010) Wie Nikola Tesla das 20. Jahrhundert erfand [How Nicola Tesla invented the twentieth century], Weinheim: Wiley-VCH Verlag. Kuczyński, Antoni (ed.) (2007) Syberia: 400 lat polskiej diaspory: zesłania, martyrologia i sukces cywilizacyjny Polaków. Rys historyczny. Antologia [400 years of Polish diaspora: deportations, martyrology, and the success of civilization of Poles], rev. and enlarged edn, Krzeszowice: Kubajak. Lebow, Richard Ned (2010) Forbidden Fruit: Counterfactuals and International Relations, Princeton, NJ; Oxford: Princeton University Press. Lemann, Natalia (2012) ‘PODobni – NiePODobni: muza dalekich podróży Teodora Parnackiego i Lód Jacka Dukaja jako przykład dwóch sposobów alternatywizacji historii’ [People similar and dissimilar: The Muse of Long-Distance Travels by Teodor Parnacki and Ice by Jacek Dukaj as examples for two ways of creating an alternative history], Porównania, 10: 173–88. Mazower, Mark, A. (1999) Dark Continent: Europe’s Twentieth Century, London: Penguin. Miller, Christopher L. (1985) Blank Darkness: Africanist Discourse in French, Chicago; London: University of Chicago Press. Mrowiec, Magdalena (2009) ‘Juliusz Słowacki i Jacek Dukaj – lodowaty dialog między tekstami’ [Juliusz Słowacki and Jacek Dukaj – an icy dialogue between the texts], Postscriptum Polonistyczne, 2.4: 123–41. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1988) Sämtliche Werke: kritische Studienausgabe in 15 Einzelbänden [Complete works: critical study edition in fifteen volumes], vol. 3, 2nd edn, Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag and de Gruyter. Peters, John G. (ed.) (2010) A Historical Guide to Joseph Conrad, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Roberts, Andrew Michael (ed.) (1998) Joseph Conrad. London; New York: Longman. Room, Adrian (2008) African Placenames: Origins and Meanings of the Names for Natural Features, Towns, Cities, Provinces and Counties, 2nd edn, Jefferson, NC; London: McFarland & Company. Rymut, Kazimierz (ed.) (1993) Słownik nazwisk współcześnie w Polsce używanych [Dictionary of surnames currently used in Poland], vol. 3, Cracow : Wydawnictwo Instytutu Języka Polskiego PAN. Rymut, Kazimierz (ed.) (1999) Nazwiska Polaków: słownik historyczno-etymologiczny [Surnames of the Poles: a historical and etymological dictionary], vol. 1, Cracow: Wydawnictwo Instytutu Języka Polskiego PAN. Said, Edward W. (1966) Joseph Conrad and the Fiction of Autobiography, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Schenkel, Elmar and Hans-Christian Trepte (2010) Zwischen Ost und West: Joseph Conrad im europäischen Gespräch [Between East and West: Joseph Conrad in dialogue across Europe], Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag (Schriftenreihe der Societas Jablonoviana 2). Schruba, Manfred (2012) ‘Russland als Schauplatz der polnischen Gegenwartsliteratur (Sławomir Mrożek, Janusz Głowacki, Jacek Dukaj)’, Zeitschrift für Slavische Philologie, 68.2: 259–75. Schümann, Daniel (2013) ‘Kontrfakticheskoe puteshestvie v sibirskoe serdce t’my: roman Jacka Dukaja “Led” (perevod s nemeckogo O. V. Shcherbakovoj)’ [Counterfactual journey into the Siberian heart of darkness: Jacek Dukaj’s novel Ice (translated from the German by O. V. Ščerbakova)], in Antonella D’Amelia et al. (eds), Russija – Italija – Germanija: Literatura putešestvij, 331–43. Tomsk: Izdatel’stvo Tomskogo universiteta. Simmons, Allan (2006) Joseph Conrad, Critical Issues, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Woleński, Jan (ed.) (1990) Kotarbiński: Logic, Semantics and Ontology, Nijhoff International Philosophy Series 40, Dordrecht: Kluwer. Żbikowski, Piotr (1996) Droga krzyżowa Polaków: motyw zsyłek na Sybir i do łagrów sowieckich w literaturze polskiej [The crusade of the Poles: The motif of deportations to Siberia and to Soviet prison camps in Polish literature], Rzeszów : Wydawnictwo Wyższej Szkoły Pedagogicznej.

Chapter 4: Conrad’s Early Reception in the Context of the French Roman D’Aventures Because of the focus of this chapter, the list that follows is confined to the early translations. 419

Bibliography

Translations AF: (1919) La folie-Almayer, trans. G. Séligmann-Lui, Paris: Gallimard. AG: (1929) La fleche d’or, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard. APR: (1924) Des souvenirs, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Nouvelle Revue Française. C: (1933) Fortune, trans. Philippe Neel, Paris: Gallimard. LJ: (1924) Lord Jim, trans. Philippe Neel, Paris: Nouvelle Revue Française. (1926) Lord Jim, trans. Philippe Neel, Paris: Gallimard. MS: (1946) Le mirior de la mer, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard. N: (1926) Nostromo, 2 vols, trans. Philippe Neel, Paris: Gallimard; repr. 1935. NN: (1910) Le nègre de ‘Narcissus’, trans. Robert d’Humières, Paris: Mercure de France. (1938) Le nègre de ‘Narcissus’, trans. Robert d’Humières, Paris: Gallimard. OI: (1937) Un paria des îles, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard. Res: (1936) La rescousse, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Nouvelle Revue Française. Rom: (1926) L’aventure, trans. Marc Chadourne, Bruges: n.p. Rov: (1928) La-frêre-de-la-côte, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard. SA: (1912) L’agent secret, trans. Henry D. Davray, Paris: Mercure de France. SL: (1930) La ligne d’ombre, une confession, trans. Hélène and Henri Hoppenot, Paris: Gallimard. SoS: (1928) Gaspar Ruiz, trans. Philippe Neel, Paris: Galimard. (Includes all six stories.) TLS: (1930) Entre terre et mer, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard. TU: (1932) Histoires inquiètes, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard. TT: (1931) Au bout du rouleau, trans. Gabrielle d’Harcourt, Paris: Nouvelle Revue Française. Ty: (1923) Typhon, trans. André Gide, Paris: Gallimard. (1937) Typhon, trans. André Gide, Lausanne: La guilde de livre.

420

Bibliography UWE: (1920) Sous les yeux d’occident, trans. Philippe Neel, Paris: Gallimard. V: (1923) Une Victoire, 2 vols, trans. Isabelle Rivière and Philippe Neel, Paris: Gallimard. WT: (1921) En marge des marées, trans. G. J. Aubry, Paris: Gallimard.

Works cited Copeau, Jacques (1912) ‘Les Romans – L’Envers du décor, Paul Bourget’, La Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 7 (February): 280–4. Davray, Henry-D. (1899) ‘Lettres anglaises – The Nigger of the “Narcissus” ’, Mercure de France, Paris, 31 (July). Davray, Henry-D. (1901) ‘Lettres anglaises – The Life and Death of Richard Yea and Nay’, Mercure de France, Paris, 39 (July). Davray, Henry-D. (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Mercure de France, Paris, 175 (October): 32–55. de Smet, Joseph (1912) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Mercure de France, Paris, 97 (May): 51–75. Droz, Juliette (1918) ‘A propos d’un livre de M. Joseph Conrad’, La Revue hebdomadaire, Paris (September): 322–37. Ghéon, Henri (1900) ‘Les Livres (on Camille de Sainte-Croix, Pantalonie)’, La Revue blanche, Paris, 22 (May). Ghéon, Henri (1912) ‘Notes – L’Histoire de M. Polly, par H.G. Wells, trad. H.D. Davray et Kosakiewicz (Mercure de France)’, La Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 7 (January): 126–8. Gide, André (1900) ‘Les Livres’, La Revue blanche, 1 May : 13. Jaloux, Edmond (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad et le roman d’aventures anglais’, La Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 135.1 (December); repr. as ‘Hommage à Joseph Conrad’ (1991), La Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris: Gallimard, 71–7. Larbaud, Valéry (1914) ‘Chance par Joseph Conrad’, Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 65.1 (March); repr. as Valéry Larbaud (1998), ‘Un roman de Joseph Conrad 1857–1924’, in Béatrice Mousli (ed.), Ce vice impuni, la lecture – Domaine anglais, suivi de Pages retrouvées, rev. and updated edn, Paris: Gallimard. Mauclair, Camille (1898) ‘Le Roman de demain’, La Revue du Palais, Paris (January). Rivière, Jacques (1913) ‘Le Roman d’aventure’, La Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 9.53, 54, 55 (May– July); repr. Jacques Rivière (2000) Le Roman d’aventure, Paris: Éd. des Syrtes. Schwob, Marcel (1891/2008) Cœur double – Le Livre de Monelle, ed. Jean-Pierre Bertrand, Paris: Flammarion. Waliszewski, Kazimierz (1903) ‘Un cas de naturalisation littéraire: Joseph Conrad’, La Revue des Revues, Paris, 47 (December): 734–48. Wittman, Emilie (2013) ‘ “Un des nôtres”: Joseph Conrad and La Nouvelle Revue Française’, Conrad First, http://www.conradfirst.net/conrad/scholarship/authors/wittman.html.

Chapter 5: The French Reception of Joseph Conrad from the 1930s to the Present Day Translations Between 1982 and 1992, Gallimard brought out the complete works of Conrad in the Pléiade edition. Since these are discussed in the chapter, this bibliography does not include the individual volumes of that edition.

421

Bibliography HoD: (1980) trans. Jean-Jacques Mayoux, Paris: Montaigne. (2009) trans. Claudine Lesage, Éditions des Équateurs. LJ: (1996) trans. Odette Lamolle, Paris: Autrement. SL: (1996) trans. Jean-Pierre Naugrette, Paris: Flammarion. SS: (1980) trans. Jean-Jacques Mayoux, Paris: Montaigne. TLS: (2010) ‘A Smile of Fortune’, trans. Jean-Pierre Naugrette, n.p.p: n.p. Ty: (1980) ‘Amy Foster’, trans. Jean-Jacques Mayoux, Paris: Montaigne. (1983) ‘Typhoon’, trans. Jean-François Ménard, Paris: Librairie Générale Française. (1998) ‘Typhoon’, trans. Odette Lamolle, Paris: Autrement. (1999) ‘Typhoon’, trans. Marc Porée, Paris: Flammarion. (2005) ‘Typhoon’, trans. François Maspéro, Paris: J’ai lu, Librio collection.

Works cited Achebe, Chinua (1977) ‘An Image of Africa’, Massachusetts Review, 18: 782–94. Assouline, Pierre (ed.) (2000) Les Grands Entretiens de Lire, Paris: Omnibus. Casanova, Pascale (1999) La République mondiale des lettres, Paris: Editions Seuil. Casanova, Pascale (2004) The World Republic of Letters (La République mondiale des lettres, 1999), Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Celine, Louis-Ferdinand (1932) Voyage au bout de la nuit, Paris: Danöel and Steel. Celine, Louis-Ferdinand (2006) Journey to the End of the Night, trans. Ralph Manheim, New York: New Directions. Darrieussecq, Marie (2013) Il faut beaucoup aimer les hommes, Paris: P.O.L. Davray, H.-D. (1931) ‘Lettres anglaises’, Mercure de France (April). Delavignette, Robert (1931) Les Paysans noirs [The Black Peasants], Paris: Stock. Delmas, Catherine (2013) ‘Revisiting Almayer’s Folly: Displacement and Reterritorialisation in Chantal Akerman’s Film Adaptation of Conrad’s Novel’, Limoges: L’Epoque Conradienne, 2013, 11–22. Duras, Marguerite (1987), La vie matèrielle, Paris: P.O.L. Enard, Mathias (2012) Rue des voleurs, Arles: Actes Sud. Enard, Mathias (2014) Street of Thieves, trans. Charlotte Mandell, London: Fitzcarraldo. Enard, Mathias (2015) ‘Conrad m’a ouvert deux mondes’, Paris: Odéon Théâtre de l’Europe, Lettre no. 17, December. Farn, Reginald (2005) Colonial and Postcolonial Rewritings of ‘Heart of Darkness’: A Century of Dialogue with Joseph Conrad, Dissertation.Com. Favre, Ann (2007) ‘Albert Londres et la réalité coloniale: le discours de la presse, ses héritages, ses nouvelles missions, ses ambivalences’, http://www.crlv.org/viatica/avril-2007/albert-londres-et-lar%C3%A9alit%C3%A9–coloniale. Fitzpatrick, Mark (2017) ‘ “Une harmonie de terreur et de beauté”: Henry-D. Davray as Conrad’s French Critic’, The Conradian, 42.1 (Spring): 75–95. Gnocchi, Maria Chiara (2016) ‘Un René Guillot Inconnu: le romancier des années 1930’, Revue Italienne d’Études Françaises, 6: 1–12, https://journals.openedition.org/rief/1163. Guillaume, Isabelle (2006) ‘La Voie Royale et Voyage au bout de la nuit: deux récritures françaises de Heart of Darkness, Cahiers de narratologie, 13 (September), https://doi.org/10.4000/narratologie.331. Guillot, René (1932) Le Blanc qui s’était fait Nègre, Paris: L’Harmattan (coll. Autrement Mêmes). 422

Bibliography Guillot, René (1936) Ras El Gua. Poste du Sud. Roman des sables, Casablanca: Les Editions du Maghreb. Guillot, René (1941) Looga, Dakar: Ars Africae. Guillot, René (1944) Atonement in the Sun, trans. Philip John Stead, London: Staples Press. Hindus, Milton (1951) L.-F. Céline tel que je l’ai vu, Paris: L’Herne. Jaloux, Edmond (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad et le roman d’aventures anglais’, La Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris: Gallimard, 71–7. Kalck, Pierre (1967) ‘Robert Delavignette et la décolonisation’, Outre-Mers: Revue d’histoire: 52–64. Kessel, Joseph (1933) Le Marché d’esclaves [The Slave Market], n.p.p.: Les Editions de France. Le Clézio, Jean-Marie Gustav (2008) Interview with Horace Engdahl, nobelprize.org. Le Clézio, Jean-Marie Gustav (2014) Tempête: deux novellas [Tempest: two novellas], Paris: Gallimard. Leiris, Michel (1934) L’Afrique fantôme [Phantom Africa], Paris: Gallimard. Maissonat, Claude (2015) Cahier Conrad, ed. Claude Maisonnat and Josiane Paccaud-Huguet, Paris: L’Herne. Malraux, André (1930) La Voie Royale, Paris: Grasset. Malraux, André (1935) The Royal Way, trans. Stuart Gilbert, London: Methuen. Malraux, André (1976) Le Miroir des Limbes, La Pléiade 263, Paris: Gallimard. Malraux, André (1977) L’Homme précaire et la literature, Paris: Gallimard. Malraux, Clara (1973) Voici que vient l’été, Paris: Grasset. Miquel, Stéphane and Loïc Godart (2014) Au Coeur des ténèbres, Toulon; Paris: Soleil. Paccaud-Huguet, Josiane (2006), Conrad in France, Lublin: Marie Curie-Skłodowska University. Perrissin, Christian and Tom Tirabosco (2013) Kongo: Le Ténébreux voyage de Jόzef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski [Congo: The Dark Voyage of JTKC], Paris: Futuropolis. Raimond, Michel (1966) Le Roman depuis la Révolution, Paris: Armand Colin. Randau, Robert (1929a) Diko, frère de la côte, Paris: Albin Michel. Randau, Robert (1929b), ‘La Littérature coloniale hier et aujourd’hui’, Paris: La Revue des Deux Mondes, 416–34. Rasson, Luc (1988) ‘ “Chacun Sa Place”: L’Anticolonialisme Dans Heart of Darkness (1899) et Voyage au bout de la Nuit (1932)’, L’exotisme: Actes du colloque de St Denis de Réunion: 267–80. Timol, Umar with Jason Kibiswa and Edimo Christophe Pov (2010) Les yeux des autres [The Eyes of The Others], in Visions d’Afrique, Paris: L’Harmattan. Todorov, Tzvetan (1975) ‘Connaissance du vide: Coeur des Ténèbres’ [Knowledge of the void), Nouvelle Revue de Psychoanalyse, 11 (Spring): 145–54. Webber, Olivier (2011) Joseph Conrad, Le Voyageur de l’inquiétude [Joseph Conrad: The Traveller of Unrest], Paris: Arthaud-Flammarion. Wilfert-Portal, Blaise (2002) ‘Cosmopolis et l’homme invisible: Les importateurs de littérature étrangère en France, 1885–1914’, Actes de la Recherche en Sciences Sociales, 144.4: 33–46, https://www.cairn. info/revue-actes-de-la-recherche-en-sciences-sociales-2002–4–page-33.htm. Wilfert-Portal, Blaise (2007) ‘Des Bâtisseurs de Frontières, traduction et nationalisme culturelle en France, 1880–1930’, de la traduction et des transferts Cutlurels, Paris: L’Hartmann, 27–53.

Chapter 6: Publishing under Pressure: Conrad’s Reception in Germany 1900–1945 – and After Translations This is a selective list, focused on the period up to 1939, with some more recent translations. It does not include later editions by the same translator, with the same or different publisher. An exhaustive list of German-language translations is offered by Frank Főrster in his Die literarische Rezeption. Joseph Conrad im deutschsprachigen Raum, Leipziger Universitätsverlag (2005). Főrster’s study also gives detailed figures of publication numbers across editions. 423

Bibliography This list does not include the many works published in English by German publishers, mainly in The Collection of British and American Authors, Tauchnitz Edition, Verlag Bernhard Tauchnitz (Leipzig), from 1896 onwards. Other later, English-language publishers included Verlags The Albatross (Hamburg), which was linked to Tauchnitz, and the Verlag Könemann (Cologne). There are also many volumes of shorter works and stories in German translation, all previously published and collected together, selected from different Conrad works. These have not been included here. AF: (1935) Almayers Wahn, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer (1949) Almayers Traum. Die Geschichte von einem fernőstlichen Fluss, trans. Benvenuto Hauptmann, Zurich: Classen. AG: (1932) Der goldene Pfeil. Geschichte zwischen zwei Aufzeichnungen, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1966) Der goldene Pfeil. Geschichte zwischen zwei Aufzeichnungen, trans. Walter Schürenberg, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. APR: (1928) Lebenserinnerungen (1928), trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1965) Über Mich Selbst, trans. Günther Danehl, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. C: (1926) Spiel des Zufalls, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1974) Spiel des Zufalls, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag. (1984) Spiel des Zufalls, trans. Fritz Lorch, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. LJ: (1927) Lord Jim, trans. Hedwig Lachmann and Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1962) Lord Jim. Ein Bericht, trans. Fritz Lorch, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. MoS: (1939) Spiegel der See. Erinnerungen und Eindrücke, trans. Görge Spervogel, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1973) Der Spiegel der See. Erinnerungen und Eindrücke, trans. Ernst Wagner, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. N: (1927) Nostromo, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1967) Nostromo. Eine Geschichte von der Meeresküste, trans. Fritz Lorch, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. (1983) Nostromo. Eine Geschichte von der Küste, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag. NN: (1912) Der Nigger vom ‘Narzissus’, trans. E. W. Günter (=Freissler), Munich: A. Langen. (1927), Der Nigger vom ‘Narzissus’, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1971) Der Nigger von der ‘Narzissus’ – Die Schattenlinie, trans. Ernst Wagner, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. (1977) Der Nigger von der ‘Narcissus’, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag. (1994) Der Bimbo von der ‘Narcissus’, trans. Wolfgang Krege, Zurich: Haffmans. OI: (1934) Der Verdammte der Inseln, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1964) Der Verdammte der Inseln – Almayers Wahn (1964), trans. Günther Danehl, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Res: (1931) Die Rettung, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1965) Die Rettung. Ein Roman von den Untiefen, trans. Hermann Stresau, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Rov: (1930) Der Freibeuter, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1969) Der Freibeuter, trans. Gűnther Danehl, Frankfurt: S. Fischer.

424

Bibliography S: (1936) Spannung, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1976) Spannung. Ein Roman aus napoleonischer Zeit, trans. Günther Danehl, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. SA: (1926) Der Geheimagent, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1963) Der Geheimagent. Eine einfache Geschichte, trans. Günther Danehl, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. (1993) Der Geheimagent. Eine einfache Geschichte, trans. Eike Schönfeld, Zurich: Haffmans. SA (Drama): (1960) Der Geheimagent. Ein Drama in 4 Akten, trans. Elisabeth Freundlich, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. SL: (1926) Die Schattenlinie. Eine Beichte, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1973) Die Schattenlinie. Ein Bekenntnis ‘meiner unauslöschlichen Achtung würdig’, trans. Ernst Wagner, Frankfurt: Fischer-Taschenbuch-Verlag. SoS: (1912) Das Biest. Novellen [‘Das Biest’, ‘Der Spitzel’, ‘Der Anarchist’] , trans. E. W. Günther (=Freissler), Munich: A. Langen. (1914) Das Duell. Novellen (1914) [The remaining stories: ‘Das Duell’, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, ‘Il Conde’], trans. E. W. Günter (=Freissler), Munich: A. Langen. (1963) Sechs Erzählungen, trans Fritz Lorch, Frankfurt: Fischer-Verlag. (1984) Gaspar Ruiz und Andere Erzählungen, Frankfurt: Fischer-Taschenbuch-Verlag. TH: (1938) Geschichten vom Hörensagen [‘Der schwarze Maat’, ‘Prinz Roman’, ‘Das Herz des Kriegers’, ‘Eine Geschichte’], trans. Richard Kraushaar and Hans Reisiger, Berlin: S. Fischer. TLS: There is no complete volume pre-1945. Stories were published separately until 1978. (1927) Der heimliche Teilhaber [The Secret Sharer], trans. Elsie McCalman, Neue Rundschau, 2. (1929) Freya von den sieben Inseln, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1930) Ein Lächeln des Glücks. Eine Hafengeschichte [A Smile of Fortune], trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin-Charlottenburg: Volksverband der Bücherfreunde, Wegweiser-Verlag. (1978) Zwischen Land und See, trans. Ernst Wagner, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. TU: Some of the tales appeared separately; the complete volume was only published in 1963. (1900) ‘Karain – eine Erinnerung’, trans. Charlotte Stein. (1901) ‘Die Vorposten der Kultur’ [An Outpost of Progress], trans. anon., Vita’s Novellenschatz – Moderne kurze Geschichten, 19: 3–49 (Berlin: Vita, Deutsches Verlagshaus). (1902) ‘Die Idioten’, trans. Charlotte Stein, Aus Fremden Zungen, 12: 416–27. Ty: (1908) Im Taifun [‘Typhoon’, ‘Amy Foster’, but not ‘Falk’ or ‘To-morrow’], trans. Elise Eckert, Stuttgart: Engelhorn. (1928) Sonderbare Käuze [‘The Odd Sort’; includes ‘Falk’, ‘Morgen’ and ‘Amy Foster’], trans. Elise Eckert, Stuttgart: Engelhorn. UWE: (1913) Mit den Augen des Westens, trans. E. W. Günter (=Freissler), Munich: A. Langen. (1933) Mit den Augen des Westens, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1967) Mit den Augen des Westens, trans. Günther Danehl, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. V: (1927) Sieg. Eine Inselgeschichte, trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1962) Sieg. Eine Inselgeschichte, trans. Walter Schűrenberg, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. (1985) Sieg. Geschichte einer Insel, trans. Peter Meier, Leipzig: Dietrich. 425

Bibliography WT: (1937) Zwischen Ebbe und Flut [‘Der Pflanzer von Malata’, ‘Der Teilhaber’, ‘Das Gasthaus der Hexen’, ‘Wegen der Dollars’], trans. Elsie McCalman, Berlin: S. Fischer. Y: (1926) Jugend [‘Jugend’, ‘Das Herz der Finsternis’, ‘Das Ende vom Lied’], trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1933) Das Herz der Finsternis, Berlin: S. Fischer. (1937) Jugend [on its own], Leipzig: Insel Verlag.

Works cited An early version of this chapter was presented in Gdańsk in 1996 at the conference organized by Zdzisław Najder on ‘Various National Perspectives on Conrad’. It was published as ‘ “All Europe contributed to the making . . .”: Conrad and his German Relations’ (Fothergill, 1999). Aigner, Dietrich (1971) ‘Die Indizierung, “schädlichen und unerwünschten Schriftums“ im Dritten Reich’, in Archiv für die Geschichte des Buchwesens, vol. 11.3–5, 933–1034. Frankfurt: Buchhändler Vereinigung. Almanach. Das XXV. Jahr (1911) Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Almanach. Das vierzigste Jahr. 1886–1926 (1926) Berlin: S. Fischer. Almanach 1928 (1927) Berlin: S. Fischer. Balázs, Béla (1929) ‘Männlichkeit oder kriegsblind?’ [Manliness or blinded by War?], Die Weltbühne, 25.1, cited in Anton Kaes (1983), Weimarer Republik: Manifeste und Dokumente zur deutschen Literatur, 1918–1933, Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, 333–4. Barbian, Jan-Pieter (1993) Literaturpolitik im ‘Dritten Reich’, Munich: dtv. Barnouw, Dagmar (1988) Weimar Intellectuals and the Threat of Modernity, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Beck, Knut (1986) 100 Jahre S. Fischer Verlag, 1886–1986. Eine Bibliographie, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Benjamin, Walter (1973) ‘Die Aufgabe des Űbersetzers’, in Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 4/1, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1977; ‘The Task of the Translator’, in Illuminations, trans. Harry Zohn, London: Fontana, 1973. Binding, Rudolf G. (1954) Gesammeltes Werk, vol. 1, Hamburg: Hans Dulk. Blair, Clay (1996, 1998) Hitler’s U-Boat War, 2 vols, New York: Random House. Bluhm, Lothar (1991) Das Tagebuch zum Dritten Reich. Zeugnisse der Inneren Emigration, Bonn: Bouvier. Borges, Jorge Luis (1970) Labyrinths, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Brecht, Bertolt (1967) Gesammelte Werke, vol. 4, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Brecht, Bertolt, John Willett and Ralph Manheim (eds) (1976) Bertolt Brecht: Poems 1913–1956, London: Eyre Methuen. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1973) Das Boot, Munich: Piper. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1976a) Das Boot, Munich: dtv. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1976b) U-Boot Krieg, Munich: R. Piper. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1978) The U-Boat War, London: Collins. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1982) Afterword, Das Joseph Conrad Buch, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1988) Malerbuch, Bergisch-Gladbach: Gustav Lübbe. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (1999) Das Boot/The Boat, translator not identified, London: Cassell. Buchheim, Lothar-Günther (2000) Der Abschied, Munich: Piper. Denkler, Horst and Karl Primm (eds) (1976) Die deutsche Literatur im Dritten Reich: Themen, Traditionen, Wirkungen, Stuttgart: Reclam. Denkler, Horst and Karl Primm (eds) (2004) Was war und was bleibt? Zur deutschen Literatur im Dritten Reich, Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Fischer, Samuel (1926) ‘Bemerkungen zur Bücherkrise’, Die literarische Welt, 2.43 (22 October): 1–2. Fischer, Samuel and Hedwig Fischer (1989) Briefwechsel mit Autoren, ed. Dieter Rodewald and Corinna Fiedler, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. 426

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Bibliography Saalmann, Dieter (1992) ‘Elective Affinities: Christa Wolf ’s Störfall and Heart of Darkness’, Comparative Literature Studies, 29.3: 238–58. Said, Edward (1966) Joseph Conrad and the Fiction of Autobiography, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Said, Edward (1976) ‘Nietzsche and Conrad’, in Norman Sherry (ed.), Joseph Conrad: A Commemoration, 65–76. London: Macmillan. Schäfer, Hans Dieter (1981) Das gespaltene Bewußtsein. Über deutsche Kultur und Lebenswirklichkeit 1933–1945, Munich: Hanser. Schenkel, Elmar (2007) Fahrt ins Geheimnis. Joseph Conrad Eine Biographie, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Schivelbusch, Wolfgang (2000) Die Kultur der Niederlage, Berlin: Alexander Fest. Schivelbusch, Wolfgang (2003) The Culture of Defeat, trans. Jefferson Chase, London: Granta. Schlawe, Fritz (1962) Literarische Zeitschriften, Teil II, 1910–1933, Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler. Schnack, F. (1927) ‘Die Romane Josef Conrads’, Der Kunstwart, 40.7: 398–400. Schwarz, Falk (1972) Literarisches Zeitgespräch im Dritten Reich, dargestellt an der Zeitschrift ‘Neue Rundschau’, Sonderdruck in Archiv für die Geschichte des Buchwesens, 12, 1282–484, Frankfurt: Buchhändler-Vereinigung. Schwarz, Falk (1976) ‘Die gelenkte Literatur: Die Neue Rundschau im Konflikt mit den Kontrollstellen des NS-Staates und der nationalsozialistischen Bewegung’, in Paul Cronin (ed.), Herzog on Herzog, 66–82. London: Faber. Sebald, Winfried Georg (1999) Luftkrieg und Literatur, Munich: Hanser. Sebald, Winfried Georg (2003) On the Natural History of Destruction, London: Hamish Hamilton. Seela, Torsten (1992) Bücher und Bibliotheken in nationalsozialistischen Konzentrationslagern. Das gedruckte Wort im antifaschistitischen Widerstand der Häftlinge, Munich: K.G. Sauer. Sontheimer, Kurt (1978) Antidemokratisches Denken in der Weimarer Republik, Munich: dtv. Stach, Reiner (1986) 100 Jahre S. Fischer Verlag, 1886–1986. Kleine Verlagsgeschichte, Frankfurt: S. Fischer. Stapel, Wilhelm (1937) Die literarische Vorherrschaft der Juden in Deutschland 1918–1933, Hamburg: Hanseatische Verlagsanstalt. Stern, Fritz (1961) The Politics of Cultural Despair: A Study in the Rise of the Germanic Ideology, Berkeley: University of California Press. Stresau, Hermann (1937) Joseph Conrad. Der Tragiker des Westens, Berlin: Die Runde. Stresau, Hermann (1940) ‘Englands Literatur zwischen zwei Kriegen’, Neue Rundschau, V: 247–9. Stresau, Hermann (1948) Von Jahr zu Jahr, Berlin: Minerva Verlag. Stresau, Hermann (1953) ‘Tragische Figuren im Konflikt mit der Wirklichkeit’ [Tragic Figures in Conflict with Reality], Deutsche Universitäts-zeitung, 8.10 (18 May): 7–10. Strothmann, Dieter (1985) Nationalsozialistische Literaturpolitik. Ein Beitrag zur Publizistik im Dritten Reich, Bonn: Bouvier. Süskind, W. E. (1926) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Neue Rundschau, 37.2: 536–48. Teets, Bruce E. and Helmut F. Gerber (1971), Joseph Conrad: An Annotated Bibliography of Writings about Him, De Kalb: Northern Illinois University Press; subsequent updates in Conradiana, Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press. Todd, William B. and Ann Bowden (eds) (1988) Tauchnitz International Editions in English 1841–1955. A Bibliographical History, New York: Bibliographical Society of America. Unseld, Siegfried (ed.) (1969) Hermann Hesse – Peter Suhrkamp. Briefwechsel 1945–1959, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Verzeichnis englischer und nordamerikanischer Schriftsteller (1942), Reichsministerium für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda, Leipzig: Abteilung Schrifttum. Vidan, Ivo (1993) ‘Conrad and Thomas Mann’, in Keith Carabine et al. (eds), Contexts for Conrad, 265–85. Boulder, CO; New York: Eastern European Monographs. Walberer, Ulrich (ed.) (1983) 10. Mai 1933: Buchverbrennung in Deutschland und die Folgen, Frankfurt: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag. Watts, C. T. (ed.) (1969) Joseph Conrad’s Letters to R.B. Cunninghame Graham, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 429

Bibliography Watts, C. T. (1982) A Preface to Conrad, London: Longman. Weber, Samuel (2008) Benjamin’s Abilities, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Weiβ, Ernst (1927) ‘Joseph Conrad’, in Die Kunst des Erzählens, 204–08. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1982. Weiβ, Ernst (1929) ‘Joseph Conrad, “Freya von den sieben Inseln” ’, in Die Kunst des Erzählens, 341–4. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1982. West, Russell (1996) Conrad and Gide: Translation, Transference and Intertextuality, Amsterdam: Rodopi. West, Russell (1997) ‘Christa Wolf reads Joseph Conrad: Störfall and Heart of Darkness’, German Life and Letters, 50: 254–65. Wohlfarth, Paul (1936a) ‘Der Gattenmord in Der Geheimagent von Joseph Conrad’, Monatsschrift für Kriminologie, 26–7: 523–31. Wohlfarth, Paul (1936b) ‘War Joseph Conrad ein englischer Dichter?’, Germanoslavica. Vierteljahresschrift für die Erforschung der germanisch-slavischen Kulturbeziehung, Brünn, 146–51. Wohlfarth, Paul (1936c) ‘Joseph Conrad’, C.V. Zeitung: Blätter für Deutschtum und Judentum. Organ des Centralvereins der Staatsbürger jüdischen Glaubens 2, Beiblatt 3. Wolf, Christa (1987) Störfall, Berlin: Luchterhand. Wolf, Christa (1989) ‘Dankrede für den Geschwister–Scholl–Preis der Stadt München 1987’, in Angela Drescher (ed.), Christa Wolf. Ein Arbeitsbuch. Studien, Dokumente, Bibliographie, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. Woolf, Virginia (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Times Literary Supplement, 14 August 1924; repr. The Common Reader I, London: Hogarth Press, 1925, 309–18. Wulf, Joseph (1963/1983) Literatur und Dichtung im Dritten Reich. Eine Dokumentation, Frankfurt: Ullstein.

Chapter 7: The German Democratic Republic: Conrad’s Reception under Socialist Eyes Translations The list below is of translations produced in the GDR. For an exhaustive list of German-language translations, see Frank Förster (2005) Die literarische Rezeption. Joseph Conrad im deutschsprachigen Raum, Leipziger Universitätsverlag. AF: (1966) Almayers Wahn. Roman, trans. Günther Danehl, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. (1971) Almayers Wahn, trans. Günther Danehl, Berlin: Volk und Welt. (1982) Almayers Wahn. Die Geschichte eines fernöstlichen Flusses, trans. Heide Steiner, Leipzig: Dieterich. APR: (1979) Bericht über mich selbst, trans. Renate Berger, Leipzig; Weimar: Kiepenheuer. C: (1974) Spiel des Zufalls. Roman, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. (1974) Spiel des Zufalls. Roman, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin: Buchclub 65. (1979) Spiel des Zufalls, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. LJ: (1963) Lord Jim. Roman, trans. Fritz Lorch, Berlin: Aufbau. (1981) Lord Jim. Ein Bericht, trans. Elli Berger, Leipzig: Dieterich. N: (1957) Nostromo. Roman, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: Aufbau. (1983) Nostromo. Eine Geschichte von der Küste, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. (1983) Nostromo. Eine Geschichte von der Küste, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin: Buchclub 65. (1988) Nostromo. Eine Geschichte von der Küste, trans. Lore Krüger, Leipzig: Dieterich. 430

Bibliography NN: (1977) Der Nigger von der ‘Narzissus’, trans. Lore Krüger, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag. OI: (1968) Der Verdammte der Inseln. Roman, trans. Günther Danehl, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. SL: (1967) Die Schattenlinie. Eine Beichte, trans. Elsie McCalman, Leipzig: Reclam. SoS: (1981) Der Spitzel [The Informer], trans. Sabine Thieme, in Ursula Krause (ed.), Der geheimnisvolle Reisende. Kriminalerzählungen [The mysterious traveller: Detective stories], 289–313. Berlin: Neues Leben. (1988) Das Duell. 6 Erzählungen, trans. Carmen Janetzki, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. TH: (1982) Der schwarze Steuermann [The Black Mate], trans. Günter Löffler, Berlin: Neues Leben. (1985) Der schwarze Steuermann [The Black Mate], trans. Günter Löffler, in Der Walfänger und andere Geschichten von den sieben Meeren [The whaler and other tales from the seven seas], 228–53. Berlin: Neues Leben. (1988) Das Soldatenherz [The Warrior’s Soul], trans. Günter Löffler, Berlin: Neues Leben. TU: (1980) Der Vorposten [An Outpost of Progress], trans. Günter Löffler, Berlin: Neues Leben. Ty: (1965) Taifun. Roman [Typhoon], trans. Elise Eckert, Leipzig: Dieterich. (1970) Taifun [Typhoon], trans. Elise Eckert, in Günther and Hilga Cwojdrak (eds), Anker auf! Abenteuer auf sieben Meeren [Anchor up! Adventure on the seven seas], 216–31 (extract). Berlin: Der Kinderbuchverlag. (1989) Amy Foster, trans. Günter Löffler, Berlin: Neues Leben. V: (1970) Sieg. Roman, trans. Walter Schürenberg, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau. (1985) Sieg. Geschichte einer Insel, trans. Peter Meier, Leipzig: Dieterich. WT: (1975) Der Partner [The Partner], trans. Margret Liepach, in Manfred Hoffmann and Walter Lewerenz (eds), Das große Abenteuerbuch [The big adventure book], 277–308. Berlin: Neues Leben. (1976) Der Partner [The Partner], trans. Margret Liepach, Berlin: Neues Leben. Y: (1955) Jugend [Youth], trans. Ernst W. Freissler, in Franz Fabian (ed.), Der Atem des Meeres. Seefahrergeschichten [The breath of the sea: Seafaring stories], 235–79. Weimar: Kiepenheuer. (1958) Das Herz der Finsternis [Heart of Darkness], trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Berlin: Aufbau. (1969) Jugend [Youth], trans. Fritz Lorch, in Kurt Böttcher and Paul Günter Krohn (eds), Schiff vor dem Wind. See-Erzählungen des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts [Ship downwind: Sea stories from the 19th and 20th century], 284–320. Berlin: Neues Leben.

Selected stories (1958) Wege ohne Heimkehr [Journeys without a homecoming; ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Amy Foster’], trans. (from a Polish edition) Waldemar Krause and Bernhard von Rautenberg-Garczynski, Berlin: Union. (1979) Erzählungen I [Stories; The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘Youth’, ‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Elli Berger, Leipzig: Dieterich. 431

Bibliography (1980) Erzählungen II [Stories; ‘The End of the Tether’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, The Shadow-Line], trans. Elli Berger and Gunter Riedel, Leipzig: Dieterich. (1981) Der schwarze Steuermann und andere Erzählungen [The Black mate and other stories; ‘Karain’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’, ‘Prince Roman’, ‘The Warrior’s Soul’, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, ‘The Black Mate’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Amy Foster’], trans. Günter Löffler, Berlin: Neues Leben. (1982) Das Ende vom Lied. Der geheime Teilhaber. Die Schattenlinie [‘The End of the Tether’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, The Shadow-Line], trans. by Elli Berger and Gunter Riedel, Leipzig; Weimar: Kiepenheuer. (1982) Der Nigger von der ‘Narcissus’, Jugend, Herz der Finsternis [The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘Youth’, ‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Elli Berger, Leipzig; Weimar: Kiepenheuer. (1982) Ein Vorposten des Fortschritts und andere Erzählungen [An Outpost of progress and other stories; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Falk’, ‘Amy Foster’], trans. Irmgard Nickel, Leipzig: Insel. (1984) Die Schattenlinie. Herz der Finsternis [The Shadow-Line, ‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Elli Berger, Berlin: Volk and Welt. (1989) Die schönsten Erzählungen [The best stories; ‘Karain’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’, The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, ‘The Black Mate’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Prince Roman’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘The Warrior’s Soul’, The Shadow-Line], trans. Elli Berger, Günter Löffler, Lore Krüger, Margret Liepach and Gunther Riedel, Berlin: Neues Leben.

Works cited Archival sources AdK = Akademie der Künste (Academy of Arts), Berlin. BArch = Bundesarchiv (Federal State Archive), Berlin. SBB = Staatsbibliothek (State Library), Berlin. I should like to express my thanks to the Federal Archives Berlin, the State Library Berlin and the German Literature Archive Marbach, who granted me access to their vast collections of documents. All translations from German into English are mine.

Published sources Anisimov, I. (ed.) (1958) Istoriˆı a angliĭskoĭ literatury, 3 [History of English literature, vol. 3], Moscow: Academii Nauk. Asparuhov, Asparuh and Margreta Grigorova (2013) ‘Under Bulgarian eyes: the reception of Joseph Conrad in Bulgaria’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies (Poland), Cracow, 8: 47–63. Beran, Zdeněk (2010) ‘Joseph Conrad’s Czech Footprints’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), In the Realms of Biography, Literature, Politics and Reception: Polish and East-Central European Joseph Conrad, 429–49. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Berger, Karl Heinz (1979) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Spiel des Zufalls, 397–409. Berlin: Aufbau. Bien, Horst (1955) ‘Joseph Conrad und der Anarchismus’ [Joseph Conrad and anarchism], Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, 3: 447–70. Czennia, Bärbel (1995a) ‘Mehrperspektivisches Erzählen in Joseph Conrads Lord Jim als Übersetzungsproblem’ [Multi-perspective narration in Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim as a translation problem], in Dorothea Kullmann (ed.), Erlebte Rede und impressionistischer Stil: europäische Erzählprosa im Vergleich mit ihren deutschen Übersetzungen, 239–82. Göttingen: Wallstein. Czennia, Bärbel (1995b) ‘Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness: Marlows ‘Impressionen’ und Reaktionsweisen deutscher Übersetzer’ [Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness: Marlow’s ‘impressions’ and ways of reacting as rendered by German translators], in Dorothea Kullmann (ed.), Erlebte Rede und impressionistischer Stil: europäische Erzählprosa im Vergleich mit ihren deutschen Übersetzungen, 491–527. Göttingen: Wallstein. 432

Bibliography Czennia, Bärbel (2007) ‘Conrad’s German voices: translating narrative innovation in “Heart of Darkness” ’, in Walter Göbel, Hans Ulrich Seeber and Martin Windisch (eds), Conrad in Germany, 35–68, Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Fehervary, Helen (2001) Anna Seghers, The Mythic Dimension. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press Förster, Frank (2005) Die literarische Rezeption Joseph Conrads im deutschsprachigen Raum [The literary reception of Joseph Conrad in German-speaking countries], Leipzig: Universitätsverlag. Förster, Frank (2010) ‘Joseph Conrad als transnationaler Erinnerungsraum’ [Joseph Conrad as transnational memory space], in Elmar Schenkel and Hans-Christian Trepte (eds), Zwischen Ost und West. Joseph Conrad im europäischen Gespräch, 249–63. Leipzig: Universitätsverlag. Förster, Frank (2013) ‘Illustrating Conrad for German readership’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), From Szlachta Culture to the 21st Century, between East and West: New Essays on Joseph Conrad’s Polishness, 407–64. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Förster, Frank (2018) ‘New Archival Material on the Translation of Conrad’s Works in the German Democratic Republic’, The Conradian, 43: 94–8. Häntzschel, Günter (ed.) (2005) Literatur in der DDR im Spiegel ihrer Anthologien [Literature in the GDR in the mirror of her anthologies], Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Kettle, Arnold (1953) An Introduction to the English Novel, vol. 2. London: Hutchinson. Klotz, Günther (1969) ‘Zwei Jahrzehnte englische und amerikanische Belletristik im Aufbau-Verlag und im Verlag Rütten & Loening’ [Two decades of English and American fiction in Aufbau-Verlag and Verlag Rütten & Loening], Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, 17: 406–20. Krehayn, Joachim (1960) Die englische Literatur im Überblick vom Beowulf bis zur Gegenwart [English literature at a glance from Beowulf to the present], Halle: Sprache and Literatur. Krehayn, Joachim (1963) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim, 403–16. Berlin: Aufbau. Krehayn, Joachim (1968) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Der Verdammte der Inseln, 351–59. Berlin: Aufbau. Krehayn, Joachim (1970) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Sieg, 396–404. Berlin: Aufbau. Krehayn, Joachim (1976) ‘Weltliteratur als Mass-Stab. Zur Rezeption der Belletristik Großbritanniens und der USA in der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik’ [World literature as a criterion: On the reception of the fiction of Great Britain and the USA in the German Democratic Republic], unpub. doctoral thesis, University of Greifswald. Krehayn, Joachim (1977) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Der Nigger von der ‘Narcissus’, 219–32. Berlin: Aufbau. Lorenz, Matthias N. (2017) Distant Kinship – Entfernte Verwandschaft, Stuttgart: Metzler. Omelan, Lilia (2013) ‘Conrad and Ukraine – Ukraine and Conrad’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), From Szlachta Culture to the 21st Century, between East and West: New Essays on Joseph Conrad’s Polishness, 379–405. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Pavlov, Grigor (1969) ‘Two studies in bourgeois individualism by Joseph Conrad’, Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, 17: 229–38. Schenkel, Elmar (2010) ‘In Search of German Conrads: Responses to Conrad in contemporary German language literature’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), In the Realms of Biography, Literature, Politics and Reception: Polish and East-Central European Joseph Conrad, 451–68. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Seehase, Georg (1977a) ‘Conrad, Joseph’, in Gerhard Steiner, Herbert Greiner-Mai and Wolfgang Lehmann (eds), Lexikon fremdsprachiger Schriftsteller von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart [Lexicon of foreign-language writers from the beginning to the present], 363–4. Leipzig: VEB Bibliographisches Institut. Seehase, Georg (1977b) ‘Fox, Ralph Winston’, in Gerhard Steiner, Herbert Greiner-Mai and Wolfgang Lehmann (eds), Lexikon fremdsprachiger Schriftsteller von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart [Lexicon of foreign-language writers from the beginning to the present], 537. Leipzig: VEB Bibliographisches Institut. Steiner, Gerhard (ed.) (1963) Lexikon der Weltliteratur. Fremdsprachige Schriftsteller und anonyme Werke von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart [Lexicon of world literature. Foreign-language writers and anonymous works from the beginning to the present], Weimar: Volksverlag. 433

Bibliography Szudra, Klaus Udo (1967) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Die Schattenlinie, 139–50. Leipzig: Reclam. Voitkovska, Ludmilla (2011) ‘A view from the East: the Russian reception of Under Western Eyes’, Conradiana, 36.2: 138–53. Volkmann, Lorenz (2007) ‘Conrad in Germany – a historical survey’, in Walter Göbel, Hans Ulrich Seeber and Martin Windisch (eds), Conrad in Germany, 11–34. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Wagner, Ernst (1965) ‘Mißhandelt und verstümmelt. Joseph Conrad unter den Händen seiner Übersetzer’ [Mistreated and mutilated. Joseph Conrad at the hands of his translators], Die Welt, 27 February. Walch, Günter (1970) ‘Roman und Wirklichkeit: 1880 bis zum ersten Weltkrieg’ [Novel and reality: 1880 to World War I], Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Berlin, 18: 88–110. Walch, Günter (1975a) ‘Werten und Gestalten. Wandlungsprozesse englischer Erzählkunst zwischen 1880 und dem Ersten Weltkrieg’ [Evaluate and shape: Conversion processes in English narrative art between 1880 and World War I], unpub. doctoral thesis, Humboldt University of Berlin. Walch, Günter (1975b) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Taifun, 164–79. Leipzig: Dieterich. Walch, Günter (1979) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Erzählungen I, 405–28. Leipzig: Dieterich. Walch, Günter (1980a) ‘The private life. Das Motiv des gedoppelten Menschen in der englischen Literatur der Jahrhundertwende’ [The private life: The motif of the double in English literature at the turn of the century], Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Berlin, 28: 101–12. Walch, Günter (1980b) ‘Literarisches Funktionsverständnis und Werkstruktur bei Joseph Conrad’ [Literary understanding of the function and structure of work by Joseph Conrad], Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Berlin, 28: 226–36. Walch, Günter (1980c) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Erzählungen II, 409–26. Leipzig: Dieterich. Walch, Günter (1981a) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Ein Vorposten des Fortschritts, 174–81. Leipzig: Insel. Walch, Günter (1981b) ‘Der strahlend weiße Held oder: Ein neuer Hamlet’ [The bright white hero or: A new Hamlet], in Joseph Conrad, Ein Vorposten des Fortschritts, 467–96. Leipzig: Dieterich. Walch, Günter (1983) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Nostromo, 557–77. Berlin: Aufbau. Walch, Günter (1984) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Der schwarze Steuermann und andere Erzählungen, 299–302. Berlin: Aufbau. Walch, Günter (1988) ‘Nachwort’ [Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Das Duell, 287–94. Berlin: Aufbau. Walch, Günter (1990) ‘Conrad’s Hamlets: Intertextuality and the Process of History’, Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Berlin, 38: 306–14. Walch, Günther et al. (1984) Funktionen der Literatur in Großbritannien und den USA in der Periode der Herausbildung des Imperialismus [Functions of literature in Britain and the U.S.A. in the period of the emergence of imperialism], Berlin: n.p. Walther, Joachim (1996) Sicherungsbereich Literatur. Schriftsteller und Staatssicherheit in der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik [Secured area literature. Writer and state security in the German Democratic Republic], Berlin: Ch. Links. Wąsik, Mateusz (2014) ‘Conrad and communist censorship: the story of the 28th volume of the Polish edition of Conrad’s collected works (1974–75)’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies (Poland), Cracow, 9: 90–4. Westdickenberg, Michael (2004) Die ‘Diktatur des anständigen Buches’: das Zensursystem der DDR für belletristische Prosaliteratur in den sechziger Jahren [The ‘dictatorship of the decent book’: the censorship system of the GDR for literary prose literature in the sixties], Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Zimmermann, Peter (1981) Auf der Suche nach Indien und Südostasien [In search of India and South East Asia], Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Zipser, Richard A. (1990) ‘The many faces of censorship in the GDR 1949–1989. Part I: A survey’, Germanic Review, 65.3: 111–17. 434

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Chapter 8: Conrad Translations in Austria and Switzerland Austrian translations Selected works (2002) Amy Foster oder Der Schiffbrüchige. 4 Erzählungen. [‘Amy Foster’ – ‘Ein Vorposten des Fortschritts’ – ‘Jugend’ – ‘Il Conde’] [Amy Foster or The Castaway: 4 Tales: ‘Amy Foster’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Youth’, and ‘Il Conde’], trans. Fritz Stockmann, Bad Vöslau: Stockmann.

Swiss translations AF: (1949) Almayers Traum. Die Geschichte von einem fernőstlichen Fluss, trans. Benvenuto Hauptmann, Zurich: Classen. LJ: (1974) Lord Jim. Roman, trans. Fritz Lorch, Zurich: Diogenes. (1998) Lord Jim. Eine Geschichte, trans. Fritz Lorch, Zurich: Haffmans. NN: (1994) Der Bimbo von der ‘Narcissus’, trans. Wolfgang Krege, Zurich: Haffmans. SA: (1955) Der Geheimagent, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, rev. Louis Erlacher, Zurich: Büchergilde Gutenberg. (1975) Der Geheimagent. Eine einfache Gechichte, trans. Günther Danehl, Zurich: Diogenes. (1993) Der Geheimagent. Eine einfache Geschichte, trans. Eike Schönfeld, Zurich: Haffmans. (1994) Der Geheimagent. Eine einfache Geschichte, trans. Fritz Lorch, Zurich: Manesse. SL: (1952) Die Schattenlinie.Eine Beichte, trans. Elsie McCalman, Zurich: Büchergilde Gutenberg. SS: (1951) Gaspar Ruiz, trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Aarau: Sauerländer. (1989) Das Duell. Sechs Erzählungen, trans. Carmen Janetzki, Zurich: Diogenes. TLS: (1996) Freya von den sieben Inseln. Eine Geschichte von seichten Gewässern, trans. Nikolaus Hansen, Zurich: Haffmans. Ty: (1948) Taifun und andere Erzählungen [includes ‘Typhoon’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Morgen’], trans. Elise Eckert, Zurich: Manesse. (1956) Taifun [‘Typhoon’], trans. Sonia Burkhard, Aarau: Sauerländer. V: (1986) Sieg. Die Geschichte einer Insel, trans. Peter Meier, Birsfelden-Basel: Schibli-Doppler. Y: (1955) Jugend. Erzählung [‘Youth’], trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Aarau: Sauerländer. (1955) Jugend. Erzählung [‘Youth’], trans. Ernst W. Freissler, Zurich: Verein Gute Schriften. (1977) Herz der Finsternis. Erzählung [‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Fritz Lorch, Zurich: Diogenes. (1992) Herz der Finsternis. Kongo-Tagebuch. Up-river Book [‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Urs Widmer, Zurich: Haffmans. 435

Bibliography (2001) Herz der Finsternis [‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Fritz Güttinger, Zurich: Manesse.

Selected works (1947) Meistererzählungen [‘Jugend’, ‘Das Herz der Finsternis’, ‘Freya von den sieben Inseln’], trans. Ernst W. Freissler and Elsie McCalman, Zurich: Manesse. (1977) Meistererzählungen [‘Die Tremolino’, ‘Die Lachmöwe’, ‘Das andere Ich’, ‘Freya von den sieben Inseln’, ‘Herz der Finsternis’], trans. Fritz Güttinger, Zurich: Manesse.

Works cited Böhmer, Otto A. (1993) ‘Mit unauslöschlichen Lettern: Der Dichter zur See Joseph Conrad [Nachwort] [In indelible letters: The sea poet Joseph Conrad [Postface]]’, in Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim, 529–43. Zurich: Diogenes. Böhmer, Otto A. (2003) ‘Sehnsucht als Kompass: Wie aus dem Polen Joseph Conrad ein britischer Seemann wurde’ [Longing as a compass: How the Pole Joseph Conrad became a British seaman], Wiener Zeitung, 29 August 2003. Förster, Frank (2013) ‘Illustrating Conrad for German readership’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), From Szlachta Culture to the 21st Century, between East and West: New Essays on Joseph Conrad’s Polishness, 407–64. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Hansen, Nikolaus (1996) ‘Nachbemerkung des Übersetzers’ [Translator’s Afterword], in Joseph Conrad. Freya von den Sieben Inseln, 123–5. Zurich: Haffmanns. Kirschner, Paul (1992) ‘Topodialogic Narrative in Under Western Eyes and the Rasoumoffs of “La Petite Russie”’, in Gene M. Moore (ed.), Conrad’s Cities: Essays for Hans van Marle, 223–54. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Krege, Wolfgang (1994) ‘Nachbemerkung des Übersetzers’ [Translator’s Afterword], in Joseph Conrad, Der Bimbo von der ‘Narcissus’, 215–18. Zurich: Haffmans. Links, Christoph (2016) Das Schicksal der DDR-Verlage: die Privatisierung und ihre Konsequenzen [The fate of the GDR publishers: privatization and its consequences], Berlin: edition berolina. Morf, Gustaf (1929) ‘Joseph Conrad – ein Schweizer?’ [Joseph Conrad – a Swiss?], Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 22 June. Pfabigan, Alfred (1993) ‘Total kaputt in Belgisch-Kongo: Das “Herz der Finsternis” schlägt im Slang. Drei neue Joseph-Conrad-Übersetzungen’ [Totally broken in the Belgian Congo: The ‘heart of darkness’ beats in slang. Three new Joseph Conrad translations], Die Presse, Vienna, 27 February. Schenkel, Elmar (2010) ‘In Search of German Conrads: Responses to Conrad in contemporary German language literature’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), In the Realms of Biography, Literature, Politics and Reception: Polish and East-Central European Joseph Conrad, 451–68. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs. Senn, Werner (1980) Conrad’s Narrative Voice: Stylistic Aspects of his Fiction, Bern: Francke Verlag. Widmer, Urs (1983) ‘Joseph Conrad Lord Jim’, Der Rabe, 4 (September): 229ff. Windisch, Martin: ‘Rites of Memory: Urs Widmer’s Im Kongo’, in Walter Göbel, Hans Ulrich Seeber and Martin Windisch (eds), Conrad in Germany, 83–103. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs.

Chapter 9: The Italian Translations of Conrad Translations For an exhaustive treatment of Conrad translations in Italian, see Mario Curreli (2009), Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia, Pisa: Edizioni ETS. The list below is confined to translations mentioned in the chapter. AF: (1924) La casa sul fiume grande [The house on the big river], trans. Lorenzo Gigli, L’Illustrazione del Popolo, 27–52 (6 July–21 December 1924). 436

Bibliography C: (1961) Destino, trans Margherita Guidacci, Milan: Bompiani. (2013) Il caso, trans. Richard Ambrosini, Milan: Adelphi. N: (1928) Nostromo, trans. Vittorio Caselli, Milan: Edizioni Alpes. NN: (1928) Il negro del Narciso, trans Pietro Baldi, Sonzogno OI: (1994) Un reietto delle isole, trans. Richard Ambrosini, Milan: Garzanti. Rom: (1928) Romanzo, trans. Vittorio Caselli, Milan: Edizioni Alpes. SA: (1928) L’agente segreto, trans. Lula Jahn, Milan: Edizioni Alpes. (1928) L’agente segreto, trans, Gastone Rossi, Milan: Sonzogno. (1953) L’agente segreto, trans. Carlo Emilio Gadda, Milan: Bompiani (1996), L’agente segreto, trans. Richard Ambrosini, Milan: Frassinelli. SS: (1996) Il compagno segreto, trans. Dacia Maraini, Milan: Rizzoli. Ty: (1928) Domani e altri racconti [Tomorrow and other stories], trans. Lorenzo Gigli, Milan: Edizioni Alpes UWE: (1928) Sotto gli occhi dell’Occidente, trans. Aldo Traverso, n.p.p.: Corticelli. Y: (1924) 1924 Cuore di tenebra [Heart of Darkness], trans. Alberto Carlo Rossi, Milan: Bottega di Poesia, (1928) Fino all’estremo [‘The End of the Tether’], trans. Giovanni Marcellini, n.p.p.: Corticelli. (1928) Cuore di tenebra [Heart of Darkness], trans. Alberto Carlo Rossi, Milan: Sonzogno.

Works cited Alvaro, Corrado (1995) ‘È morto Conrad’, in Mario Strati (ed.), Scritti disperse 1921–1956, Milan: Bompiani. Bompiani, Valentino (1988) ‘Scrittori dopo la bufera’ [Writers after the storm], Il Giornale (18 June): 3. Curreli, Mario (2009) Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia, Pisa: Edizioni ETS. Curreli, Mario (2015), ‘An Outline of Conrad’s Reception in Italy’, in Mario Curreli (ed.), Conrad in Italy, 7–29. Lublin: Marie Curie-Skłodowska University Press. Furst, Henry (1924) ‘L’arte di Conrad’, L’Idea Nazionale (19 April). Furst, Henry (1970) Il meglio di Henry Furst, ed. Orsola Nemi, Milan: Longanesi. Gadda, Carlo Emilio (1983) Lettere a una gentile signora, Milan: Adelphi. Monod, Sylvère (1992) La Flèche d’or, trans. G Jean-Aubry, rev. Sylvère Monod, in Sylvère Monod (ed.), Conrad Oeuvres, vol. 5, Paris: Gallimard. Moravia, Alberto (1981) Lettere dal Sahara, Milan: Bompiani. Moravia, Alberto (1983) ‘Introduzione’, Lord Jim, i–viii, Milan: Rizzoli. Mursia, Ugo (1982) Scritti conradiani, ed. Mario Curreli, Milan: Mursia. Mursia, Ugo and Mario Curreli (1982) ‘La fortuna di Conrad in Italia: inventario al 1982’, in Ugo Mursia, Scritti conradiani, ed. Mario Curreli, 165–96. Milan: Mursia. Placci, Carlo (1911) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Il Marzocco, 16.42 (15 October): 2. Stape, J. H. and Owen Knowles (eds) (1975) ‘A Portrait in Letters: Correspondence to and about Conrad’, The Conradian 19.1–2: 1–287. Thomas, Dylan (1966) Selected Letters, ed. Constantine Fitzgibbon, London: Dent. 437

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Chapter 10: ‘The Battle for Conrad’ Inside and Outside Italian Academia in the Years 1924–1960 Translations For an exhaustive treatment of Conrad translations in Italian, see Mario Curreli (2009), Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia, Pisa: Edizioni ETS.

Works cited Binni, Walter (1951) ‘Formiche per Cecchi’, in Critici e Poeti dal Cinquecento al Novecento, 195–205. Firenze: La Nuova Italia. Bompiani, Valentino (1988) Il mestiere dell’editore, Milan: Longanesi. Calvino, Italo (1947) ‘Ultime edizioni Einaudi. “La linea d’ombra” di Joseph Conrad’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 15 June. Calvino, Italo (1949a) ‘Joseph Conrad scrittore poeta e uomo di mare’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 6 August. Calvino, Italo (1949b) ‘L’opera di Conrad’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 12 November. Calvino, Italo (1954) ‘A trent’anni dalla morte. I capitani di Conrad’, l’Unità (Piedmontese ed.), 3 August. Calvino, Italo (1995) Saggi, ed. Mario Barenghi, 2 vols, Milan: Meridiani Mondadori. Calvino, Italo (2000) Lettere (1940–1985), ed. Luca Baranelli, Milan: Meridiani Mondadori. Calvo Montoro, Maria J. (1997) ‘Joseph Conrad/Italo Calvino, o della stesura di una tesi come riflessione sulla scrittura’, Forum Italicum 31.1 (Spring): 74–115. Cattaneo, Arturo (2007) ‘Chi stramalediva gli inglesi. La diffusione delle letteratura inglese e americana in Italia tra le due guerre’, in Arturo Cattaneo (ed.), Chi stramalediva gli inglesi. La diffusione delle letteratura inglese e americana in Italia tra le due guerre, 17–61. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Curreli, Mario (2009) Le traduzioni di Conrad in Italia, Pisa: Edizioni ETS. De Lollis, Cesare (1914) ‘Federico Garlanda’, in Regia Università degli Studi di Roma Annuario dell’Anno Scolastico 1913–1914, 240–1, Rome: Tipografia Ditta F.lli Pallotta. Gaetani, Marco (1994) ‘Conrad, Hemingway, Defoe: una triade calviniana’, Rivista di studi italiani, 12: 74–90. Kipling, Rudyard (1891) ‘The English Flag’, St. James’s Gazette, 3 April. Macchia, Giovanni (1987) Gli anni dell’attesa, Milan: Adelphi. McLaughlin, Martin and Arianna Scicutella (2002) ‘Conrad e Calvino: dalla tesi alle Lezioni americane’, Italian Studies, 57: 113–32. Pavese, Cesare (1966) Lettere 1945–1950, ed. Italo Calvino, Turin: Einaudi. Praz, Mario (1930) La carne, la morte e il diavolo nella poesia romantica. Milan; Rome: Società Editrice. Praz, Mario (1933/1970) ‘La Cultura’, in The Romantic Agony, trans. Angus Davidson, foreword Frank Kermode, London; New York: Oxford University Press. Praz, Mario (1937) Storia della letteratura inglese, Firenze: Sansoni. Praz, Mario (1948) ‘Rapporti tra la letteratura italiana e la letteratura inglese’, in Letteratura comparata, IV, Problemi e orientamenti critici di lingua e letteratura italiana, 145–96. Milan: Marzorati. Praz, Mario (1960) Storia della letteratura inglese, Firenze: Sansoni. Praz, Mario (1983) Lettere a Bruno Migliorini, ed. Lidia Pacini Migliorini, Firenze: Sansoni. Praz, Mario (1985) Carteggio Cecchi-Praz, ed. Francesca B. Crucitti Ullrich, Milan: Adelphi.

Chapter 11: Conrad’s Critical Reception in Italy 1924–2021 An earlier, shorter version of this essay (‘Under Italian Eyes: Conrad’s Critical Reception in Italy’) was published in Curreli, 2005.

438

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Translations Again, because of the large number of Conrad translations into Italian, and because the focus of this chapter is Italian academic criticism, this listing of translations is confined to those discussed in the chapter. HoD (1974) Cuore di tenebra, trans. Alberto Rossi, Turin: Einaudi; repr 1999. LJ (1983) Milan: Bibiloteca Universale Rizzoli. SoS (1977) Il duello [The Duel], trans. Giacomo Prampolini, Milan: Ugo Mursia. (1994) I duellanti [The Duellists], trans. Leonardo Gandi, Rome: E/o. (1996) I duellanti [The Duellists], trans. Anna Allocca, Novara: Istituto geografico de Agostini. (1997) I duellanti [The Duellists], trans. Mario Curreli, Milan: BUR. (2004) I duellanti [The Duellists], Milan: Einaudi. (2004) Il duello [‘The Duel’], trans. Mario Domenichelli, Venice: Marsilio. (2018) Il duello [‘The Duel’], trans. Benedetta Bini, Milan: Bompiani. TLS (2016) Fra terra e mare, trans. Piero Jahier, Turin: Einaudi. Ty (1994) Falk, Venice: Marsilio.

Works cited Ambrosini, Richard (1981) Introduzione a Conrad, Bari: Laterza. Ambrosini, Richard (2012) Conrad’s Fiction as Critical Discourse, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ambrosini, Richard (2013) ‘Reconceptualizing Conrad as a Transnational Novelist: A Research programme’, Studia Neophilologica, 85: 1–12. Ambrosini, Richard (2019) Le storie di Conrad: biografia intellettuale di un romanziere, Rome: Carocci. Antonello, Pierpaolo (2007) ‘Primo Levi and “man as maker” ’, in Robert S. C. Gordon (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Primo Levi, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Asor Rosa, Alberto (2021) L’eroe virile. Saggio su Joseph Conrad, Turin: Einaudi. Barale, Marina (1990) ‘Il livello mitico-archetipico nella “cornice” di Heart of Darkness’, in M. Curreli (ed.), Intertestualità e mito nel romanzo inglese contemporaneo, 23–38, Pisa: ETS. Bardi, Pietro (1993) Storia della letteratura inglese, Bari: Laterza. Baronti Marchiò, Roberto (2019) “‘We are all cannibals”: Kurtz, Falk e “the unspeakable rites” ’, Merope, 28.70: 101–20. Baticco, Alessandro (1995) ‘Andata e ritorno, destinazione l’orrore’, in Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness, 113–21. n.p.p.: Feltrinelli. Bellini, Federico (2017) La saggezza dei pigri: figure di rifuto del lavoro in Melville, Conrad e Beckett, Milan: Mimesis. Bellini, Federico (2019) ‘Joseph Conrad e Italo Svevo sulla linea d’ombra del modernismo’, Merope, 28.70: 137–52. Bendelli, Giuliana (2012) Joseph Conrad: la figura del mare, Milan: Vita e pensiero. Bignami, Marialuisa (1992) ‘ “Très cher maître”: Joseph Conrad e la lezione di Henry James’, in M. Bignami (ed.), ‘To make you see’: Saggi su Joseph Conrad, Quaderni di Acme, 19–46. Bignami, Marialuisa (2003) ‘ “A Wilderness of Words”: Conrad’s Ways of Knowing the World’, Textus. English Studies in Italy, 16.2: 295–309. Bignami, Marialuisa (2013) Joseph Conrad e l’arte del narrare: realismo ed epistemologia, Beau Bassin: Edizioni accademiche italiane.

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Chapter 12: The Reception of Conrad in Spain Translations Translations and editions are in Castilian Spanish (unless otherwise stated). For translations into Catalan and Valencian, see the bibliography for Chapter 13 on Conrad in Catalonia.

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Bibliography (1980) Karain: un recuerdo, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo and Cipriano de Rivas Cherif, Barcelona: Laertes. (1981) Karain: un recuerdo, trans. and prol. Enrique Heguewicz, Barcelona: J.R.S. Editor. (1984) An Outpost of Progress, intro. and note Jeremy Hawthorn, Cáceres: Universidad de Extremadura. (1986) ‘El regreso’ [‘The Return’], together with ‘Tifón’ [‘Typhoon’], trans. Diego Hernández, in Tifón, Barcelona: Taifa. (1986) ‘Los idiotas’, in La posada de las dos brujas [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’], trans. Rufo G. Salcedo, Barcelona: Fontamara. (1990) Bihar haura idiotak aurrerakuntzaren aurrelaria [Tomorrow the child of idiots is the pioneer of progress], ‘The Idiots’, together with ‘Bihar’ [‘Tomorrow’] and ‘Aurrerakuntzaren aurrelaria’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Xabier Galarreta, Online: Txertoa (Basque). (1991) ‘Una avanzada en el progreso’, trans. [?], in La posada de las dos brujas [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’], Madrid: Compañía Europea de Comunicación e Información. (1993) Una avanzada del progreso, trans. Javier Alfaya and Barbara McShane, Madrid: Alianza Editorial. (1996) ‘Los idiotas’, together with ‘Karain: un recuerdo’ [‘Karain: A Memory’], ‘Una avanzada del progreso’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’] and ‘La laguna’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. [?] in Narraciones [Tales], Madrid: Alba. [1997] Progresuaren aurrerakada bat [‘An Outpost of Progress’], adapt. and worksheet Ana Arakistain, Bilbao: Desclée de Brouwer (Basque). (1999) ‘Los idiotas’, together with ‘Karain: un recuerdo’ [‘Karain: A Memory’], ‘Una avanzada del progreso’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’] and ‘La laguna’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. [?] in Cuentos [Tales], Alcobendas, Madrid: Alba. (2002) Cuentos de Inquietud [Tales of Unrest], trans. Fernando Jadraque, Madrid: Valdemar. [2004] ‘Una avanzada en el progreso’, trans. [?], in La posada de las dos brujas [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’], [Oviedo]: Alsa. (2006) Inozoak [‘The Idiots’], trans. Xabier Galarreta, Online: Hiria (Basque). (2007) El regreso, trans. and afterword Isabel Lacruz Bassols, Madrid: Funambulista. (2009) ‘Una avanzadilla del progreso’, together with ‘Falk: una remembranza’, in Falk: una remembranza, trans. and notes Vicente Campos and Gemma Martínez, prol. Vicente Campos, [Barcelona]: Navona. (2011) Un puesto avanzado del progreso, trans. and illus. Federico Villalobos, [Otura, Granada]: Traspiés. (2011) Un puesto avanzado del progreso, trans. Esteve Serra, Palma de Mallorca: José J. de Olañeta. (2011) Karain: un recuerdo, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo and Cipriano de Rivas Cherif, Barcelona: Laertes. (2012) Cuentos de Inquietud, trans. Roberto Fernández, Madrid: Eneida (2014) El regreso [‘The Return’], trans. and postscript J. M. Lacruz Bassols, Las Rozas (Madrid): Fanambulista. (2014) Una avanzada del progreso, trans. Alberto Gómez Vaquero, Madrid: Carpe Noctem. (2016) Un puesto avanzado del progreso, trans. Irene Oliva, Barcelona: EMSE EDAPP (printed text and CD (bilingual)). Ty: [1929] Un tifón [‘Typhoon’], together with ‘Amata Fóster’, ‘Falk’ and ‘Mañana’ [‘To-morrow’], trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1948) Un tifón, trans. Ramón de [sic] Peres, Barcelona: José Janés (Manantial que no Cesa). (1958) Un tifón, trans. Ramón de [sic] Perés, Barcelona: G.P. (1958) Mañana, trans. Ramón de [sic] Perés, Barcelona: G.P. (1979) Tifón, together with El negro del Narcissus [The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’], trans. José de Carranza Queirós, Barcelona: Planeta. (1981) Tifón, trans. Ana Alegría d’Aumonville, Barcelona: Fontamara. [1985] Tifón, trans. Ana d’Aumonville Alegría [sic], Barcelona: Orbis. (1985) Tifón, trans. Rosa Regàs, Barcelona: Juan Granica. (1986) Tifón, together with ‘El regreso’ [‘The Return’], trans. Diego Hernández, Barcelona: Taifa. (1988) Tifón, trans. Ana Alegría d’Amonville, Barcelona: Ediciones Orbis. (1990) Bihar haura idiotak aurrerakuntzaren aurrelaria, ‘Bihar’ [‘To-morrow’], together with ‘The Idiots’ and ‘An Outpost of Progress’, trans. Xabier Galarreta, Online: Txertoa (Basque). (1991) Tifón. trans. [?], [Barcelona?]: Euroliber. 453

Bibliography [1998] Historias de mar: Tifón [Sea Stories: Typhoon], trans. Elisabet Nonell, Madrid: El Mundo y la revista, Unidad Editorial. (1998) ‘Amy Foster’, together with stories by other nineteenth-century authors, trans. [?], in Cuentos de miedo [Horror stories], Barcelona: Bígaro Ediciones. (1999) Tifón y otras historias, Tifón [Typhoon], together with ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Falk’ and ‘Mañana’ [To-morrow’], trans. Fernando Jadraque, Madrid: Valdemar. (2000) Tifón, trans. Rosa Regàs, Barcelona: Mondadori. [2003] Tifón, trans. Xavier Queipo, Santiago de Compostela: Sotelo Blanco (Galician). (2004) Bihar, [Tomorrow] trans. Xabier Galarreta, Online: Hiria. (Basque) (2007) Amy Foster, trans, Ramón D. Perés, Madrid: El País. (2007) Amy Foster y otros relatos, ‘Amy Foster’, together with ‘El hacendado de Malata’ [‘The Planter of Malata’], ‘El socio’ [‘The Partner’], ‘La posada de las dos brujas’ [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’] and ‘Por culpa de unos dólares’ [‘Because of the Dollars’], trans. Juanjo Estrella, Barcelona: Ediciones B. [2007] Amy Foster, together with La laguna [‘The Lagoon’], bilingual (English-Spanish), abbrev. and simplified texts, trans. [?], [Barcelona]: PASA. [2008] Tifón, trans. Ana Alegría d’Aumonville, Madrid: Alianza. (2009) Falk: una remembranza, together with Una avanzadilla del progreso [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Vicente Campos and Gemma Martínez, prol. Vicente Campos, [Barcelona]: Navona. (2009) ‘Amy Foster’, together with stories by other nineteenth-century authors, trans. [?], Barcelona: Bígaro Ediciones. (2011) Amy Foster, trans, Marta Salís, Barcelona: Alba. (2013) Tifón, trans. [Biblioteca Nueva], Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva; repr. 2018. (2015) Tifón, together with El corazón de las tinieblas [Heart of Darkness], trans. [?], Madrid: Club Internacional del Libro, Marketing Directo. (2018) Tifón, trans. [Biblioteca Nueva], Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva. UWE: (1925) Alma rusa, trans. Juan Mateos de Diego, preliminary study Juan [sic] Estelrich, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1984) Bajo la mirada de occidente, trans. Barbara McShane and Javier Alfaya, Madrid: Alianza; repr. 2006, 2017. [2008] Bajo la mirada de occidente, trans. Catalina Martínez Muñoz, prol. Óscar Esquivias, [Madrid]: Rey Lear. (2011) Bajo la mirada de occidente, trans. Catalina Martínez Muñoz, prol. Óscar Esquivias, Barcelona: Debolsillo. (2015) Alma rusa, trans. Juan Mateos de Diego, intro. Joan [sic] Estelrich, Valencina de la Concepción, Sevilla: Espuela de Plata. (2017) Bajo la mirada de Occidente, trans. Javier Alfaya and Barbara McShane, Madrid: Alianza Editorial. V: (1930) Victoria: la novela de una isla, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón; repr. 1973. (1981) Victoria, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Bruguera. (1987) Victoria, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Ediciones B. (1988) Victoria, trans. Alejandro Gándara, Madrid: Alfaguara; repr. [1995], [2004]. (2010) Victoria, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Madrid: Alianza Editorial. (2010) Victoria: un relato de las islas, trans. Alejandro Gándara, Madrid: Valdemar. (2010) Victoria, trans. Ramón D. Perés, prol. José Manuel Benítez Ariza, Alcalá de Guadaíra, Sevilla: Paréntesis. (2013) Victoria, trans. Ramón D. Perés, illus. Javier Lerín, Madrid: Jaguar. (2017) Victoria, trans. Alejandro Gándara, [Barcelona]: Debolsillo. WT: [1913] La posada de las dos brujas [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’], trans. Juan Guixé, Barcelona: El Día Gráfico.

454

Bibliography (1931) Entre mareas [Within the Tides], including ‘El colono de Malata’ [‘The Planter of Malata’] and ‘Por causa de los dólares’ [‘Because of the Dollars’], trans. Juan Guixé, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. [1983] El socio [‘The Partner’], trans. Sagrario Fierro Madrid, illus. Jesús Gabán, Madrid: Ediciones Libertarias. (1985) La posada de las dos brujas y Los idiotas [‘The Idiots’], trans. Rufo G. Salcedo, Barcelona: Forum. (1986) La posada de las dos brujas, together with ‘Los idiotas’ [‘The Idiots’], trans. Rufo G. Salcedo, Barcelona: Fontamara. (1988) La posada de las dos brujas y otros relatos, together with Juventud [‘Youth’], ‘El socio’ [‘The Partner’] and ‘Una avanzada del progreso’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Javier Alfaya and Barbara McShane, Madrid: Alianza; repr. 1994, 2006, 2012. [2004] La posada de las dos brujas, together with ‘Una avanzada en el progreso’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. [?], [Oviedo]: Alsa. (2008) Entre mareas, trans. Sonia and Gloria Ayerra, Sevilla: El Olivo Azul. (2014) El socio, trans. Lur Sotuela, Madrid: Eneida. (2014) Entre mareas, including Por causa de unos dólares [‘Because of the Dollars’] and ‘El colono de Malata’ [‘The Planter of Malata’], trans. [?], Valencina de la Concepción, Sevilla: Espuela de Plata. Y: (1931) Juventud, trans. Vicente Vera, together with ‘La posada de las dos brujas’ [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’] and ‘Un socio’ [‘The Partner’], trans. Juan Guixé, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1976) Juventud, trans. Elisabeth Vallverdú, illus. Hugo Soule, Barcelona: La Gaya Ciencia; repr. 1979. (1985) Juventud, together with ‘La posada de las dos brujas’ [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’] and ‘Un socio’ [‘The Partner’], trans. Vicente Vera and Juan Guixe, Madrid: Miraguano. (1989) Juventud, together with The Shadow-Line, trans., appendix and notes Vicente Muñoz Puelles, illus. José Luis Largo, Madrid: Anaya. (1999) Juventud, together with La última carta [‘The End of the Tether’], trans. Francisco Martínez Hoyos, prol. and presentation Francesc Ll. Cardona, Barcelona: Edicomunicación. (2002) Marlow [Juventud [‘Youth’] together with El corazón de las tinieblas [Heart of Darkness]], trans. and ed. Alberto Laurent, Barcelona: Abraxas. (2003) Juventud, together with The Shadow-Line, trans., presentation, appendix and notes Vicente Muñoz Puelles, illus. Enrique Flores, Madrid: Anaya. (2010) Juventud, trans., prol. and notes Juan Manuel Alesson, [Valladolid]: Galland Books. (2015) Mocidade: un relato, trans. Alejandro Tobar, Santiago de Compostela: Hugin e Munin (Galician). (2018) El corazón de las tinieblas y otros relatos [Heart of Darkness, together with Juventud [‘Youth’] and En las últimas [‘The End of the Tether’]], trans. and notes Dámaso López García, Madrid: Valdemar.

Complete works (2005–8) Obras completas, 5 vols., trans. Alberto Laurent et al., [Barcelona]: RBA. (2015) Narración breve completa, trans. Carmen M. Cáceres and Andrés Barba; El corazón de las tinieblas [Heart of Darkness], trans. Juan Sebastián Cárdenas, Madrid, Sexto Piso España. (2016) Cuentos completos, trans. Fernando Jadraque, Madrid: Valdemar.

Works cited Abril Hernández, Ana (2019) ‘Narrativas laberínticas: estudio semiótico del laberinto en Joseph Conrad, Jorge Luis Borges y Stuart Moulthrop’, PhD thesis, Complutense University of Madrid. Alberich, José (1966) Los ingleses y otros temas de Pío Baroja, Madrid; Barcelona: Alfaguara. Allende Portillo, Fermín (2010) ‘El paso de la vela al vapor en Baroja, Conrad y O’Neill’, Zainak. Cuadernos de Antropología-Etnografía, 33: 201–20. Antón García, F. (1983) ‘Heart of Darkness: una reinterpretación’, Revista Canaria de Estudios Ingleses, Tenerife, 6: 27–45.

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Chapter 13: From Unrest to Anthropology: (Almost) a Century of Conrad in Catalonia I am grateful to translators Marta Bes, Yannick Garcia and Montserrat Vancells and to translator and publisher Josep Maria Muñoz for generously giving of their time. I regret that I was unsuccessful in my 457

Bibliography attempt to obtain an interview with novelist Albert Sánchez Piñol. Sincere thanks, too, to the staff at the Biblioteca de Catalunya, in both ‘Reserva’ and the ‘Sala General’, and to professionals at the Centre de Recursos per a l’Aprenentatge i la Investigació (CRAI) at the University of Barcelona.

Translations and editions in Catalan AF: [1929] La follia d’Almayer, trans. Josep Carner Ribalta, Barcelona: Llibreria Catalònia (Biblioteca Literària). (1985) La follia d’Almayer, trans. Josep Carner-Ribalta [sic], Barcelona: Edhasa. (2019) La follia d’Almayer: una història d’un riu oriental, trans. Josep M. Muñoz Lloret, Barcelona: L’Avenç. APR: (2017) Memòria personal, trans. Josep M. Muñoz i Lloret, Barcelona: L’Avenç. HoD: (1985) El cor de les tenebres, together with El diari del Congo [Congo Diary], trans. and prol. Elisenda Franquesa, Barcelona: Els Llibres de Glauco, Laertes. (1989) En el cor de les tenebres, trans. Montserrat Vancells i Flotats, Barcelona: Destino. (1998) En el cor de les tenebres, trans. Montserrat Vancells i Flotats, Barcelona: Edicions 62; repr. 2002. (2002) El cor de les tenebres, trans. Montserrat Vancells, ed. Jorge Luis Marzo and Marc Roig, Barcelona: Electa/Ajuntament de Barcelona, 19–87. [2007] El cor de les tenebres, trans. Montserrat Vancells, illus. Ángel Mateo Charris, Barcelona: Galàxia Gutenberg, Cercle de Lectors. (2008) El cor de les tenebres, trans. Montserrat Vancells i Flotats, Barcelona: Edicions 62; repr. 2013. (2014) El cor de les tenebres, trans. Neus Bonilla, prol. and notes Àlex Chico, Barcelona: Edicions 62 [Clàssics juvenils]. (2017) El cor de les tenebres, trans. Yannick Garcia, prol. Albert Sánchez Piñol, Valencia: Sembra Llibres. LJ: (1979) Lord Jim, trans. and prol. Enric Roig, Barcelona: Proa. (1992) Lord Jim, trans. Enric Roig, intro. E.R. i Q., Barcelona: Enciclopèdia Catalana. (1997) Lord Jim, trans. Enric Roig, Barcelona: Proa. N: (1989) Nostromo, trans. and intro. Marta Pera, Barcelona: Edicions 62. SA: (1994) L’agent secret, trans. Montserrat Vancells, Barcelona: Edicions 62; repr. 1996. (2006) L’agent secret: una història senzilla, trans., adapt., intro., glossary and teaching ideas Josep Marco, Valencia: Tres i Quatre. SL: (1997) La línia d’ombra: confessions ‘dignes de la meva consideració’, trans. Marta Bes Oliva, Barcelona: Proa. (2018) La línia d’ombra: confessions, trans. Marta Bes Oliva, Barcelona: L’Avenç. TT: (2015) Amb la corda al coll [‘The End of the Tether’], trans. Marta Pera Cucurell, Barcelona: Viena. TU: (1924) ‘La llacuna’, trans. [Josep Maria] M[illàs]. R[aurell]., D’Ací i D’Allà, 81 (September): 100–5. (1936) Dues històries d’inquietud [Two Tales of Unrest], including ‘Una avançada del progrés’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Ramon Esquerra and Francesc Detrell; ‘La llacuna’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. J. [sic] Millàs-Raurell, Barcelona: Edicions de la Rosa dels Vents, Quaderns Literaris, vol. 136. (1936) ‘Una avantguarda del progrés’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Ramon Esquerra and Francesc Detrell, together with ‘La llacuna’ [‘The Lagoon’], in Dues històries d’inquietud [Two Tales of Unrest], Barcelona: Edicions de la Rosa dels Vents, Quaderns Literaris, vol. 136, 11–47. 458

Bibliography (1936) ‘La llacuna’, trans. J. [sic] Millàs-Raurell, together with ‘Una avantguarda del progrés’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], in Dues històries d’inquietud [Two Tales of Unrest], Barcelona: Edicions de la Rosa dels Vents, Quaderns Literaris, vol. 136, 49–69. (1986) Dues històries d’inquietud [Two Tales of Unrest], ‘Una avançada del progrés’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Ramon Esquerra; ‘La llacuna’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. J. [sic] Millàs Raurell, Barcelona: Els Llibres de Glauco, Laertes. (1986) ‘Una avantguarda del progrés’, trans. R. Esquerra, together with ‘La llacuna’ [‘The lagoon’], trans. J. Millàs-Raurell, in Dues històries d’inquietud [Two Tales of Unrest], Barcelona: Els Llibres de Glauco, Laertes. (2005) Una avançada del progrés, trans. and intro. Miquel Barceló, illus. Maria Carbonero, Muro (Mallorca): Ensiola Editorial. (2012) Contes del neguit, trans. Ferran Ràfols Gesa, Barcelona: Alpha. Ty: [1930] Un tifó, trans. Alfred Gallard, Barcelona: Llibreria Catalònia (Biblioteca Literària). (1966) Tifó, trans. Ramon Folch i Camarasa, Barcelona: Nova Terra. (1982) Tifó, trans. R. Folch i Camarasa, Barcelona: Laertes. (1988) Tifó, trans. R. Folch i Camarasa, Barcelona: Columna. (1990) Tifó, trans. Remei Bataller, Alcira, Valencia: Bromera. (1993) Tifó, trans. [?], Barcelona: Columna. (1997) Tifó, trans. R. Folch i Camarasa, Barcelona: Columna. (2011) Amy Foster, trans. Marta Salis, Barcelona: Alba. (2013) Allò que el mar ens duu i allò que ens treu (‘Amy Foster’), trans. Enric Peres i Sunyer, Barcelona: Enric Peres i Sunyer. WT: (1990) La posada de les dues bruixes [‘The Inn of the Two Witches’], together with ‘El soci’ [‘The Partner’], trans. Josep Sales, Barcelona: Diari de Barcelona. (1993) La posada de les dues bruixes, trans. Carme Manuel, intro. and notes Carme Manuel and Josep V. Garcia, illus. Salvador Ferrando, Alcira [València]: Bromera (Catalan). Y: (1991) Joventut, ed. Purificació Gimeno, [València]: Amós Belinchón (Valencian).

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Bibliography Sánchez Piñol, Albert (2017) ‘Pròleg’, in Joseph Conrad, El cor de les tenebres, trans. Yannick Garcia, 11–17. Valencia: Sembra Llibres. Serra, Montserrat (2017) ‘Avançament editorial: Memòria personal de Joseph Conrad’, VilaWeb, 15 January, https://www.vilaweb.cat/noticies/avancament-editorial-memoria-personal-de-joseph-conrad/. Shanks, Edward (1925) ‘Reflexions sobre la història recent de la novel.la anglesa’, trans. Millàs-Raurell [sic], La Revista, Barcelona, 241–6 (October, November, December): 238–43. Sobrequés i Callicó, Jaume (ed.) (1995) Història de Barcelona, vol. 6: La ciutat industrial (1833–1897), Barcelona: Enciclopèdia Catalana & Ajuntament de Barcelona. Spinzi, Cinzia, Alessandra Rizzo and Marianna Lya Zummo (eds) (2018) Translation or Transcreation? Discourses, Texts and Visuals, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Stanley, Henry Morton [1890] En el Africa tenebroso [In Darkest Africa], Barcelona: Espasa. Stanley, Henry Morton (n.d.) El continente misterioso [Through the Dark Continent], Barcelona: Espasa. Tóibín, Colm (2018) ‘El cor de Conrad’, trans. Jaume Ferran, L’Avenç, Barcelona, 446 (May): 24–34. Tresserras, Joan Manuel (1993) D’Ací i D’Allà. Aparador de la modernitat (1918–1936), Barcelona: Llibres de l’Índex. Vilella, Eduard (1995) ‘El macabre espai de l’altre. Tenebra i evolució personal en Joseph Conrad’, Els Marges, Barcelona, 53 (September): 101–8.

Chapter 14: The Spanish and Catalan Reception of Conrad’s Poetics: A History in Three Vignettes Translations The first translation of Conrad’s works was ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, translated by Juan Guixé and published by El Día Gráfico in Barcelona in 1913. Revista de Occidente published ‘An Outpost of Progress’ [‘Una avanzada de progreso’, 16 (October 1924)] and ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ [43 (January 1927)]. Montaner y Simón published their collected edition of Conrad’s works between 1925 and 1935. They began by publishing Alma rusa [Under Western Eyes] and La locura de Almayer [Almayer’s Folly], in 1925. AF: (1925) La locura de Almayer, trans. Rafael Marquina, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1929) La follia d’Almayer, Barcelona: Llibreria de Catalònia. AG: (1935) La flecha de oro, 2 vols, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. HoD: (1920s?) El corazón de las tinieblas, trans. Julia Rodríguez Danilewsky, Barcelona: Ediciones Artemisa. (1931) El corazón de las tinieblas, trans. Julia Rodríguez Danilewsky, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. LJ: (1927) Lord Jim, 2 vols, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. MoS: (1981) El espejo del mar, trans. Javier Marías, Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión N: (1926) Nostromo: Relato de un litoral, 2 vols, trans. Juan Mateos de Diego, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. NN: (1920s?) El negro del ‘Narcissus’, trans. Ricardo Baeza, Barcelona: Ediciones Artemisa. (1932), El negro del ‘Narcissus’, trans. Ricardo Baeza, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. OI: (1931) Un vagabundo en las islas, trans. Antonio Guardiola, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón.

462

Bibliography Res: (1932) El rescate: un romance de los bajíos, 2 vols, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. Rov: (1943) Un hermano de la costa, trans. J. G. Luaces, Barcelona: Destino. SA: (1935) El agente secreto: una historia simple, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. SL: (1931) La línea de la sombra. Una confesión, trans. Ricardo Baeza, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. SoS: (1928) Seis relatos: Gaspar Ruiz, El delator, La bestia, Un anarquista, El duelo, El conde, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, trans. D. Gonzalo Guasp; ‘The Informer’, ‘An Anarchist’, ‘The Duel’ and ‘Il Conde’, trans. D. Ramón D. Perés; and ‘The Brute’, trans. D. José Torroba, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. TT: (1932) El cabo de la cuerda, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. TU: (1928) Cuentos de inquietud, trans. Marco-Aurelio Galindo and Cipriano De Rivas Cherif, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. Ty: (1929) Un tifón. Amata Fóster. Falk. Mañana, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1930) Un tifó, trans. Alfred Gallard, Barcelona: Llibreria de Catalònia. UWE: (1925) Alma rusa, trans. Juan Mateos de Diego, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. V: (1930) Victoria: La novela de una isla, trans. Ramón D. Perés, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. WT: (1931) Entre mareas, trans. Juan Guixé, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. Y: (1931) Juventud. Seguida de La posada de las dos brujas y Un socio [‘Youth’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ and ‘The Partner’], ‘Youth’, trans. Vicente Vera; ‘The of the Two Witches’ and ‘The Partner’, trans. Juan Guixé, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón.

Works cited Benet, Juan (1973) La inspiración y el estilo, Barcelona: Biblioteca Breve/Seix Barral. Benet, Juan (1973/1998) Sub rosa, in Cuentos completos, 179–221. Madrid: Alfaguara. Benet, Juan (1970/2007a) ‘James Joyce: Una separación’, in Una biografía literaria, 39–61. Valladolid: Cuatro. Benet, Juan (1981/2007b) ‘El espejo del mar’, in Una biografía literaria, 27–31. Valladolid: Cuatro. Benet, Juan (1990/2007c) ‘La ciudad invisible’, in Una biografía literaria, 15–26. Valladolid: Cuatro. Coll-Vinent, Sílvia (2010) ‘La mediació francesa i la traducció de Joseph Conrad’, in G.K. Chesterton a Catalunya i altres estudis sobre una certa anglofília (1916–1938), 99–118. Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat. Coll-Vinent, Sílvia (2011) ‘Joan Estelrich i Montaner y Simón (1925–1949)’, in Sílvia Coll-Vinent, Cornèlia Eisner and Enric Gallén (ed.), La traducció i el món editorial de postguerra, 215–27. Lleida: Punctum & Trilcat.

463

Bibliography Coll-Vinent, Sílvia (2014) ‘Joan Estelrich, un humanista en temps convulsos (1932–1936)’, Cercles. Revista d’Història Cultural, 17: 77–100. Conrad, Joseph (1906/1981) El espejo del mar: recuerdos e impresiones, prol. Juan Benet, trans. Javier Marías, Madrid: Hiperión. Esquerra, Ramon (1936/2006) ‘Conrad i el cinema’, in Teresa Iribarren i Donadeu (ed.), Lectures Europees, 120–5. Berga; Manresa: L’Albí & Faig. Estelrich, Joan (1925a) ‘Josep Conrad: Fragments d’un assaig’, Revista de Catalunya, 2.11 (May): 447–57. Estelrich, Joan (1925b) ‘Josep Conrad i la novel·la (Fragments d’un assaig)’, La Revista, 233 (June): 163–7. Estelrich, Joan (1926/1996) Entre la vida i els llibres, ed. Isabel Graña, Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 275–314. Estelrich, Joan (1931) José Conrad (1857–1924). El autor y su obra, Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. Gallofré Virgili, Maria Joseba (ed.) (2003) Josep Pla. Josep M. Cruzet: Amb les pedres disperses, cartes 1946–1962, Barcelona: Destino. Iribarren, Teresa (2003) ‘Planeta Conrad’, El contemporani, 27 (January–June): 31–5. Lagete, Laurie-Ann (2010) ‘La Revue Prometeo et son traducteur Ricardo Baeza, deux média(teur)s culturels entre fin de siècle et poétique d’avant-garde’, in Serge Salaün (ed.), Entre l’ancien et le nouveau: le socle et la lézarde (Espagne XVIIIè-XXè), Les traváux du CREC en ligne, 7, Centre de Recherche sur l’Espagne contemporaine, Université Sorbonne Nouvelle- Paris 3, http://crec-paris3. fr/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/ancien-et-nouveau-17–Laget.pdf. Llanas, Manuel and Ramon Pinyol (2011) ‘El traspàs de l’Editorial Catalana a Antoni López-Llausàs (1924–5): context i documents’, Els Marges, Barcelona, 95: 72–93. Llibreria Catalònia (1931?) ‘Catàleg de la llibreria Catalònia. 1931–2’, Barcelona, Llibreria Catalònia. Consulted at the Biblioteca de la Universitat de Barcelona. M. F. (1926) ‘La darrera novel·la de Conrad’, Revista de Catalunya, Barcelona, 5 (August): 223–4. Nadal, Eugenio (1943) ‘Una novela de Joseph Conrad’, Destino, Barcelona, 8 May: 10. Pla, Josep (1943) ‘La vocación irresistible de Joseph Conrad’, Destino, Barcelona, 27 March: 6–7. Pla, Josep (1969) ‘Joan Estelrich o la dispersió (1896–1958)’, Homenots. Primera sèrie, 473–516. Barcelona: Edicions Destino. Pla, Josep (1966/2010a) ‘En mar’, in Aigua de mar, vol. 2, Obra Completa, 374–422. Barcelona: Ediciones Destino. Pla, Josep (1966/2010b) ‘Anàlisis d’uns naufragis’, in Aigua de mar, vol. 2, Obra Completa, 423–57. Barcelona: Ediciones Destino. Roig-Sanz, Diana and Reine Meylaerts (eds) (2018) Literary Translation and Cultural Mediators in ‘Peripheral’ Cultures: Custom Officers or Smugglers?, Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Said, Edward (1993/1996) Cultura e imperialismo, trans. Nora Catelli, Barcelona: Anagrama. Said, Edward (1983/2004) El mundo, el texto y la crítica, trans. Ricardo García Pérez, Barcelona: Debate.

Chapter 15: The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Latin America Translations AF: (1925) La locura de Almayer, trans. Rafael Marquina. Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1946) La locura de Almayer, trans. Rafael Marquina. Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. HoD: (1931) El corazón de las tinieblas, trans. Julia Rodríguez Danilewsky. Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. (1954) El corazón de las tinieblas, trans. Julia Rodríguez Danilewsky, Buenos Aires: La reja. LJ: (1946) Lord Jim, trans. Ramón R. Perés, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil.

464

Bibliography N: (1946) Nostromo: Relato de un litoral, 2 vols, trans. Juan Mateos de Diego. Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. NN: (1946) El negro de ‘Narcissus’, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. (1946) El negro del ‘Narciso’, trans. P. de Lusarreta, Buenos Aires: Ayacucho. OI: (1947) Un vagabundo en las islas, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. SA: (1948) El agente secreto, trans. Marco Aurelio Galindo, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. SL: (1946) La línea de sombra: una confesión, trans. Ricardo Baeza. Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. SoS: (1946) Gaspar Ruiz, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. TLS: (1946) Freya de las Siete Islas [Freya of the Seven Isles], Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. TU: (1946) Cuentos de Inquietud, trans. Marco Aurelio Galindo, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. Ty: (1945) Tifón, trans. Federico Lopez Cruz, Buenos Aires: Siglo Veinte, Rosa de los vientos. UWE: (1946) Bajo las miradas de Occidente, trans. Juan Mateos de Diego, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. V: (1941) El solitario de Samburán: Victory, trans. Carmen Gallardo de Mesa and José Bolea, Mexico: Lemuria. (1946) Victoria, trans. Ramon de Perez, Buenos Aires: Emecé, La Puerta de Marfil. WT: (1946), El colono de Malata [The planter of Malata], trans. Martín Rivas, Buenos Aires: Siglo Veinte, Rosa de los vientos.

Works cited Benet, Joan (2005) ‘Prólogo’, in Joseph Conrad, En el espejo del mar, trans. Javier Marías, Barcelona: Reino de Redonda. Borges, Jorge Luis (1949) ‘La otra muerte’, La nación, 9 January, El Aleph. Buenos Aires: Losada; trans. The Aleph and Other Stories 1933–1969. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1970. Borges, Jorge Luis (1970) ‘Guayaquil’, Periscopio (4 August), El informe de Brodie, Buenos Aires: Emecé. Borges, Jorge Luis and María Esther Vázquez (1965) Introducción a la historia de la literatura inglesa, Buenos Aires: Emecé. Casanova, Pascale (1999) La republique mondiale des lettres, Paris: Seuil; The World Republic of Letters, trans. M. B. DeBevoise, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010. Cortázar, Julio (1960) Los premios, Buenos Aires: Ed. Sudamericana; The Winners, trans. Elaine Kerrigan, London: Souvenir Press, 1965. Donoso, José (1981/1996) El jardín de al lado, Barcelona: Alfaguara; The Garden Next Door, trans. Hardie St. Martin, New York: Grove Press, 1992. Even-Zohar, Itamar (1999) ‘Polysystem Theory’, Poetics Today, 1.1–2 (Autumn): 287–310. García Márquez, Gabriel (1985) Amor en los tiempos de cólera, Barcelona: Penguin Random House; Love in the Time of Cholera, trans. Edith Grossman, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988. 465

Bibliography Gladieu, Marie-Madeleine (2017a) ‘Joseph Conrad et Mario Vargas Llosa’, Regards critiques, 217–25. Balti, Moldavia: Éditions Universitaires Européennes. Gladieu, Marie-Madeleine (2017b) ‘Mario Vargas Llosa et William Faulkner: Démons et intertexte’ Regards critiques, 277–82. Balti, Moldavia: Éditions Universitaires Européennes. Gladieu, Marie-Madeleine (2018) ‘Parole(s) de Mario Vargas Llosa, lecteur de Victor Hugo’, in Christine Cholier et al. (eds), Approches interdisciplinaires de la lecture no. 12. Paroles de lecteurs, 77–86. Reims-Cedex: Épure, Éditions et presses universitaires de Reims. Hermans, Theo (2014) Translation in Systems: Descriptive and System-oriented Approaches Explained, London: Routledge. Kristal, Efraín (2012) ‘From Utopia to Reconciliation: The Way to Paradise, The Bad Girl and The Dream of the Celt’, in Efraín Kristal and John King (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Mario Vargas Llosa, 129–47. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Kristal, Efraín (2019) Unpublished personal interview, A Coruña, Spain, 23 March. Kristal, Efraín and John King (eds) (2012) The Cambridge Companion to Mario Vargas Llosa, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leavis, F. R. (1948/1977) The Great Tradition: George Eliot, Henry James, Joseph Conrad. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Marías, Javier (1992/2002) ‘Artistas perfectos’, Vidas escritas, Madrid: Punto de lectura, http://www. javiermarias.es/VIDASESCRITAS/conrad.html. Martin, Gerald (2012) ‘The Early Novels: The Time of the Hero and The Green House’, in Efraín Kristal and John King (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Mario Vargas Llosa, 22–36. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Moore, Gene M. (1996/2004) ‘Conrad’s Influence’, in J. H. Stape (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Joseph Conrad, 223–41. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1966) La casa verde, Barcelona: Seix Barral; The Green House, trans. Gregory Rabassa, New York: Harper and Row, 1968. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1975) La orgía perpetua. Flaubert y ‘Madame Bovary’, Barcelona: Seix Barral; The Perpetual Orgy: Flaubert and ‘Madame Bovary’, trans. Helen Lane, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1986. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1993) El pez en el agua. Memorias. Barcelona: Seix-Barral; A Fish in the Water. A Memoir, trans. Helen Lane, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1994. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1990/2007a) La verdad de las mentiras, Madrid: Punto de lectura; trans. Touchstones: Essays in Literature, Art and Politics. London: Faber and Faber. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1990/2007b) ‘La señora Dalloway (1925) Virginia Woolf, La vida intensa y suntuosa de lo banal’, La verdad de las mentiras, 81–90. Madrid: Punto de lectura. Vargas Llosa, Mario (2002/2007c) ‘El corazón de las tinieblas (1902) Joseph Conrad, Las raíces de lo humano’, La verdad de las mentiras, 35–49. Madrid: Punto de lectura; trans. ‘Heart of Darkness (1902) Joseph Conrad: The Roots of Humankind’, 32–44. Vargas Llosa, Mario (2010a) El sueño del celta, Barcelona: Alfaguara; The Dream of the Celt, trans. Edith Grossmann, London: Faber. Vargas Llosa, Mario (2010b) ‘Catorce minutos de reflexión’, El País 11 (October). Vargas Llosa, Mario (2010c/2011) ‘In Praise of Reading and Fiction’, Nobel Lecture, 7 December 2010; trans. Edith Grossman, New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux. Vargas Llosa, Mario (2019a) Conversación en Princeton con Rubén Gallo, Barcelona: Debolsillo. Vargas Llosa, Mario (2019b) Personal interview, A Coruña (Spain), 21 March. Watt, Ian (ed.) (1988) ‘Introduction’, Joseph Conrad, Nostromo, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 16: An Interview with Mario Vargas Llosa Works cited Leavis, F. R. (1948) The Great Tradition: George Eliot, Henry James, Joseph Conrad, London: Chatto & Windus. 466

Bibliography O’Sullivan, Tim (2014) ‘The Black Diaries: The Case for Forgery’, Dublin Review of Books, March, http:// www.drb.ie/essays/the-black-diaries-the-case-for-forgery. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1966) La casa verde, Barcelona: Seix Barral. Vargas Llosa, Mario (1990/2002/2007) La verdad de las mentiras, Madrid: Punto de lectura. Vargas Llosa, Mario (2010) El sueño del celta. Barcelona: Alfaguara.

Chapter 17: Borges and Conrad Works cited Balderston, Daniel (1993) ‘Behind Closed Doors: The Guayaquil Meeting and the Silences of History’, Out of Context: Historical Reference and the Representation of Reality in Borges, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Balderston, Daniel (2016) How Borges Wrote, Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press. Borges, Jorge Luis (1936) ‘Dos films’, Sur, 19 (April): 109–10. Borges, Jorge Luis (1957) Discusión, Buenos Aires: Emecé. Borges, Jorge Luis (1964) ‘Partial Magic in the Quixote’, in Other Inquisitions 1937–1952, trans. Ruth L. C. Simms, Austin: University of Texas Press. Borges, Jorge Luis (1979) Obras Completas en Colaboración, Buenos Aires: Emecé Editores. Borges, Jorge Luis (1981) La cifra, Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Borges, Jorge Luis (1985) Biblioteca Personal de Jorge Luis Borges, n.p.p.: Hyspamérica Ediciones de Argentina. Borges, Jorge Luis (1988) Biblioteca Personal de Jorge Luis Borges, Buenos Aires: Alianza. Borges, Jorge Luis (1996) Obras Completas, vols 1–4, Barcelona: Emecé. Borges, Jorge Luis (2000) ‘The Argentine Writer and Tradition’, in The Total Library: Non-Fiction 1922–1986, 420–7. London: Allen Lane, Penguin Press. Borges, Jorge Luis (2008) Interview with Tomas Abraham, Notes from the Underground, 143 (15 May). Borges, Jorge Luis and María Kodama (1984) Atlas, n.p.p.: Editorial Sudamericana. Borges, Jorge Luis and María Esther Vázquez (1965) Introducción a la historia de la literatura inglesa, Buenos Aires: Emecé. Burgin, Richard (1969) Jorge Luis Borges, New York: Holt, Reinhart and Winston. Canto, Estela and Edwin Williamson (2004) Borges: A Life, New York: Viking Penguin. Christ, Ronald (1995) The Narrow Act: Borges’ Art of Allusion, New York: Lumen Books. Gigena, Daniel (2020) La Nación, 24 August. Gómez, Lila and Sara Castro-Klarén (eds) (2012) Entre Borges y Conrad: Estética y territorio en William Henry Hudson, Madrid: Iberoamericana. Hernández, José (1997) The gaucho Martin Fierro, ed. Carlos Alberto Astiz, Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Leavis, F. R. (1948/1967) The Great Tradition, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. MacAdam, Alfred J. (1987) Textual Confrontations: Comparative Readings in Latin American Literature, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Manguel, Alberto (2012). ‘El hombre que leía a Borges’, El País de Uruguay, 23 October. McClintock, Anne (1984) ‘ “Unspeakable Secrets”, The Ideology of Landscape in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness’, Journal of the Midwest Modern Languages Association, 17.1: 38–53. Monegal, Emir Rodriguez (1978) Jorge Luis Borges: A Literary Biography, New York: Dutton. Niland, Richard (2014) ‘The Political Novels’, in J. H. Stape (ed.), The New Cambridge Companion to Joseph Conrad, 29–44. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Piepenbring, Dan (2014) ‘Marvels and Mysteries’, Paris Review, 3 December. Woolf, Virginia (1925) ‘Joseph Conrad’, The Common Reader, London: Hogarth Press.

467

Bibliography

Chapter 18: Conrad’s Artistic Returns: A Bulgarian Staging of Heart of Darkness Translations AF: (1985–6) Прищявката на Олмейър, trans. B. Blagoev. Том 4. Повести: Прищявката на Олмейър. Краят на робската зависимост. Прагът на зрелостта [Works in Five Volumes, vol. 4, Novels: Almayer’s Folly, trans. Blagoy Blagoev, ‘The End of the Tether’, trans. Vasil Antonov, The Shadow-Line, trans. Hristo Kanev], Varna: Georgi Bakalov. AG: (1928) Златната стрела, trans. Assen Radoslavov, Sofia: Georgi D. Yurukov. LJ: (1968) Господарят Джим, trans. Hristo Kanev, Varna: Darzhavno izdatelstvo. (1985–6) Господарят Джим [Works in Five Volumes, vol. 3, Lord Jim, trans. Hristo Kanev], Varna: Georgi Bakalov. (1999) Господарят Джим, trans. Hristo Kanev, Sofia: Emas. MoS: (1933) Потъването на ‘Тремолино’ [‘The Sinking of the Tremolino’], trans. D. Vasilev, Morski Sgovor [Marine Conversation], 1–3. (1985–6) Огледалото на морето [extracts]. Съчинения в пет тома. Том 5. Писма и дневници [Works in Five Volumes, vol. 5, Letters and Diaries], trans. B. Blagoev, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. (2011) Огледалото на морето [The Mirror of the Sea, extracts], trans. Petya Tsoneva, Veliko Tarnovo: Universitetsko izdatelstvo St. Cyril and St. Methodius. (2017) Огледалото на морето [The Mirror of the Sea, extracts], trans. Petya Tsoneva, Literaturen vestnik, 18. N: (1971) Ностромо. Младост. Прагът на зрелостта [Nostromo, ‘Youth’, The Shadow-Line], trans. Hristo Kanev, Sofia: Nar. kultura. (1985) Ностромо. Съчинения в пет тома. Том 2 [Works in Five Volumes, vol. 2, Nostromo], trans. Hristo Kanev., Varna: Georgi Bakalov. NN: (1939) Негърът от Нарцис, trans. Rusi Rusev, Zlatni zarna [Golds seeds], III, 7, Sofia: Sl. Atanasov. SL: (1981) Сенчестата черта ‘The Shadow-Line’ По суша и море: Сенчестата черта. Зверът. Съдружникът. Заради доларите. Страноприемницата на двете вещици. Фрея от седемте острова [By Land and by Sea: The Shadow-Line, ‘The Brute’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Because of the Dollars’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. Boris Mindov, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. (1971) Прагът на зрелостта [‘The Shadow-Line’] Ностромо. Младост. Прагът на зрелостта [Nostromo, ‘Youth’, The Shadow-Line], trans. Hristo Kanev, Sofia: Nar. cultura. TH: (1933) ‘Prikazkata’ [‘The Tale’], trans. Bistra Boshnakova, Morski Sgovor [Marine Conversation], 1.2. (2017) Княз Роман [‘Prince Roman’, extracts], trans. Peyo Karpuzov, Literaturen vestnik [Literary newspaper], 18. TLS: (1937) Девойката от седемте острова [‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. Yuli Genov, Modern Housewife, Sofia, 13.5. (1966) Тайфун. Тайният спътник. Фалк [‘Тyphoon’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘Falk’], trans. Svetoslav Piperov, Varna: Darzhavno izdatelstvo.

468

Bibliography (1981) По суша и море: Сенчестата черта. Зверът. Съдружникът. Заради доларите. Страноприемницата на двете вещици. Фрея от седемте острова [‘By land and by sea: The Shadow-Line, ‘The Brute’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Because of the Dollars’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. Boris Mindov, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. TU: (1936) Край езерото [At the Lakeside: ‘The Lagoon’], trans. [?], Dnes [Today], 86. (1938) Спомен [A Memory, ‘Karain: A memory’], trans Evgenia Spasova, Sofiya: n.p. (1939) Завръщане [The Return], trans. Evgenia Spasova, Sofiya: n.p. (1985–6) Лагуната [The Lagoon], trans. B. Blagoev; vol. 1, Stories and Novels: ‘The Lagoon’, trans. Vasil Antonov; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, trans. Vasil Antonov ; ‘Youth’, trans. Hristo Kanev ; ‘Typhoon’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov ; ‘Falk’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov; ‘Heart of Darkness’, trans. Grigor Pavlov ; ‘The Secret Sharer’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. (1985–6) Преден пост на прогреса [An Outpost of Progress], trans. B. Blagoev; vol. 1, Stories and Novels: ‘The Lagoon’, trans. Vasil Antonov ; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, trans. Vasil Antonov ; ‘Youth’, trans. Hristo Kanev; ‘Typhoon’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov ; ‘Falk’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov ; ‘Heart of Darkness’, trans. Grigor Pavlov; ‘The Secret Sharer’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. Ty: (1928) Тайфун [Typhoon], trans. Rusi Rusev, Sofia: Iv.G. Ignatov I sinove. (1966) Taйфун. Тайният спътник. Фалк [Тyphoon, The Secret Sharer, Falk], trans. Svetoslav Piperov, Varna: Darzhavno izdatelstvo. Y: (1929) Младост [Youth], trans. B. Boshnakova, Morski Sgovor [Marine Conversation], 1–5: 7 (1948) Младост [Youth], trans Lyuben Sechanov, Sophia: Nar. kniga (1971) Ностромо. Младост. Прагът на зрелостта [Nostromo, ‘Youth’, The Shadow- Line], trans. Hristo Kanev, Sofia: Nar. cultura. (1971) Сърцето на мрака [Heart of Darkness], trans. Grigor Pavlov, Sofia: Narodna mladezh. (1985–6) Сърцето на мрака [Heart of Darkness], trans. Grigor Pavlov ; Works in Five Volumes, vol. 1, Stories and Novels: ‘The Lagoon’, trans. Vasil Antonov; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, trans. Vasil Antonov ; ‘Youth’, trans. Hristo Kanev; ‘Typhoon’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov ; ‘Falk’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov ; ‘Heart of Darkness’, trans. Grigor Pavlov; ‘The Secret Sharer’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. (1985–6) Краят на робската зависимост [‘The End of the Tether’], trans. B. Blagoev ; Works in Five Volumes, vol. 4, Novels: Almayer’s Folly, trans. Blagoy Blagoev ; ‘The End of the Tether’, trans. Vasil Antonov; The Shadow-Line, trans. Hristo Kanev, Varna: Georgi Bakalov.

Bulgarian editions of selected works (1971) Ностромо. Младост. Прагът на зрелостта [Nostromo, ‘Youth’, The Shadow- Line], trans. Hristo Kanev, Sofia: Nar. cultura. (1981) По суша и море: Сенчестата черта. Зверът. Съдружникът. Заради доларите. Страноприемницата на двете вещици. Фрея от седемте острова [By land and by sea: The Shadow-Line, ‘The Brute’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Because of the Dollars’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. Boris Mindov, Varna: Georgi Bakalov. (1985–6) Джоузеф Конрад, Съчинения в пет тома [Works in Five Volumes), ed. Hristo Kanev, Varna: Georgi Bakalov: Том 1. Разкази и новели. Лагуната. Преден пост на прогреса. Младост. Тайфун. Фалк. Сърцето на мрака Тайният спътник. [Vol. 1, Stories and Novels, ‘The Lagoon’, trans. Vasil Antonov; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, trans. Vasil Antonov; ‘Youth’, trans. Hristo Kanev; ‘Typhoon’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov; ‘Falk’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov; ‘Heart of Darkness’, trans. Grigor Pavlov; ‘The Secret Sharer’, trans. Svetoslav Piperov]. Том 2. Ностромо [Vol. 2, Nostromo, trans. Hristo Kanev].

469

Bibliography Том 3. Господарят Джим [Vol. 3, Lord Jim, trans. Hristo Kanev]. Том 4. Повести: Прищявката на Олмейър. Краят на робската зависимост. Прагът на зрелостта [Vol. 4, Novels: Almayer’s Folly, trans. Blagoy Blagoev; ‘The End of the Tether’, trans. Vasil Antonov; The Shadow-Line, trans. Hristo Kanev]. Том 5. Писма и дневници: Огледалото на морето (откъс). Есета, статии, отзиви. Личен дневник (избрани откъси). Писма. [Vol. 5, Letters and Diaries, The Mirror of the Sea (extracts), trans. Blagoy Blagoev; essays, articles, reviews, A Personal Record (extracts), letters, trans. Vasil Antonov].

Works cited Asparuhov, Asparuh (1996) ‘Symbol and Scene in Joseph Conrad’s Early and Late Works’, unpublished dissertation. Asparuhov, Asparuh and Margreta Grigorova (2013) ‘Under Bulgarian Eyes: The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Bulgaria’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 8: 47–63. Fanon, Franz (1986) Black Skin, White Masks, trans. Charles L. Markmann, London: Pluto Press. Firchow, Peter (2015) Envisioning Africa: Racism and Imperialism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. Grigorova, M. (2011a) Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski – The Writer as Seafarer: Sea, Migration and Biography in Conrad’s Works, Veliko Tarnovo: Sv. sv. Kiril i Metodiy. Grigorova, M. (2011b) ‘Where Does the “Heart of Darkness” Lie? A Yet Unfinished Account of a Journey to the Heart of Africa and Belgian Congo’, in M. Grigorova, Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski – The Writer as Seafarer: Sea, Migration and Biography in Conrad’s Works, 187–254. Veliko Tarnovo: Sv, sv, Kiril i Metodiy. Grigorova M. (2013) ‘Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski. The Creator as Seafarer (Excerpts)’, trans. Petya Tsoneva, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 8: 31–46. Grigorova M. (2015a) ‘Specular Transformations of Joseph Conrad’s Philosophy of the Sea in Life of Pi (The Novel and the Film) – Reflections on the Transition between the Twentieth and Twenty-First Century’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 10. Grigorova M. (2015b) ‘Waterways and Air Lanes: Spaces of Transition in Joseph Conrad, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and Salman Rushdie’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies, 10: 95–102 Grigorova M. (ed.) (2017) ‘Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski – the Pole of the World’, Literature Gazette. Grigorova, M. and Petya Tsoneva (2018) ‘Perspectives on the Contemporary Bulgarian Cultural Space: Conrad, Bulgarians and the Sea’, Conrad: Eastern and Western Perspectives, vol. XXVII, in Joseph Conrad’s Authorial Self Polish and Other, 335–69. New York: Maria-Skłodowska-Curie University Press/Columbia University Press. Hand, R. J. (2005) Тhe Theatre of Joseph Conrad: Reconstructed Fictions, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Karl, F.R. (1960) A Reader’s Guide to Joseph Conrad, Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Mallios, Peter (2010) Constituting American Modernity, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Meyers, Jeffrey (2000) Edgar Allan Poe: His Life and Legacy, Lanham, MD: Cooper Square Press. Modrzewski, S. (1992) Conrad a konwencje, Autorska świadomość systemów a warsztat literacki pisarza, Gdańsk: University of Gdansk. Nikolova, K. (2013) Balgarskiyat teatar sled 1989 i novata britanska drama [Post-1989 Bulgarian Theatre and New British Drama], Sofia: Sofia University Press. Pavlov, Grigor (1971) ‘The Horror! The Horror!’, Introduction to Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, trans. Grigor Pavlov, Sofia: Narodna Mladej. Rikev, Kamen (2013) ‘Joseph Conrad in Bulgarian Waters’, Zeszyty Cyrylo-Metodiańskie, 2: 159–61. Roussenova, Stefana (2010) Dialogues in Exile: Joseph Conrad, Vladimir Nabokov, Eva Hoffman, Sofia: Polis. Tsoneva, Petya (2013) ‘Notes on Margreta Grigorova’s Monograph Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski: The Creator as Seafarer’, Yearbook for Conrad Studies, 8: 31–46. Tsoneva, Petya (2014) ‘The Sea as Moving Threshold. Spaces of Transition in Joseph Conrad’, Tbilisi: ‘in Irma Ratiana Ed.), National Literatures and the Process of Cultural Globalization, 137–46. Tbilisi: Shota Rustaveli Institute of Georgian Literature.

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Chapter 19: Within the Tides: The Czech Reception of Joseph Conrad This chapter is a revised, extended and updated version of the paper I delivered at the Fourth International Joseph Conrad Conference held at Lublin and Kazimierz Dolny, Poland, in June 2006. The paper was published as ‘Joseph Conrad’s Czech Footprints’ in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), In the Realms of Biography, Literature, Politics and Reception: Polish and East-Central European Joseph Conrad (2010), and its German translation appeared as ‘ “Zwischen den Gezeiten:” Die tschechische Rezeption Joseph Conrads’, in Elmar Schenkel and Hans Christian Trepte (eds), Zwischen Ost und West: Joseph Conrad im europaischen Gesprach (2010). My immense gratitude goes to Professor Wiesław Krajka of Lublin University for permitting me to use the original paper as the basis of the present text.

Translations AF: (1919) Almeyerův blud [Almayer’s delusion], trans. Josef Elgart, Prague: F. Topič. (1972) Almayerův vzdušný zámek [Almayer’s castle in the air], trans. Miloslava Říhová, intro. Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Odeon. AG: (1934) Zlatý šíp, Works, vol. 6, trans. E. A. Saudek, Prague: Melantrich. (1976) Zlatý šíp, trans. E. A. Saudek, Prague: Odeon. C: (1932) Náhoda, trans. René Wellek and E. A. Saudek, Prague: Melantrich. (1973) Náhoda, trans. Slávka Poberová, afterword Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Melantrich. CD: (2017) Deník z Konga, trans. Petr Onufer, Prague: Revolver Revue. HoD: (1980) Srdce temnoty [‘Heart of Darkness’ and ‘The End of the Tether’], trans. Jiří Munzar and Jiří Sirotek, Prague: Vyšehrad. (1996) Srdce temnoty [‘Heart of Darkness’ and ‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Jan Zábrana and Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Mladá fronta. (2006) Srdce temnoty [‘Heart of Darkness’ and ‘The End of the Tether’], trans. Jiří Munzar and Jiří Sirotek, Frýdek-Místek: Alpress. (2010) Srdce temnoty [Heart of Darkness], trans. Jan Zábrana, Prague: Dokořán. (2016) Srdce temnoty/Heart of Darkness, trans. Lucie Poslušná, adapt. Angelo Franklin, Brno: Edika. [A simplified version for schools.] LJ: (1930) Lord Jim, trans. Čeněk Syrový, Prague: Národní listy. (1933) Lord Jim, trans. Čeněk Syrový, Prague: Melantrich. (1959) Lord Jim, trans. and afterword Magda Hájková, Prague: Mladá fronta; repr. 1974. (1995) Lord Jim, trans. Magda Hájková, Ostrava: Sfinga. (2004) Lord Jim, trans. Magda Hájková, Prague: Levné knihy. MoS: (2014) Zrcadlo moře, trans. Michal Kleprlík, Prague: Pulchra.

471

Bibliography N: (1935) Věrný Nostromo [Loyal Nostromo], Works, vol. 7, trans. Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Melantrich. (1958) Nostromo, trans. and afterword Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Státní nakladatelství krásné literatury, hudby a umění. (1968) Nostromo, trans. and afterword Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Odeon. (2018) Věrný Nostromo, trans. Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Městská knihovna v Praze (e-book). NLL: (1933) ‘Knihy’ [Books], trans. Timotheus Vodička, Listy pro umění a kritiku, 1: 242–6. (2010) ‘Knihy’, trans. Petr Onufer, Revolver Revue, 78: 9–13. (2014) Poznámky o životě a literatuře [Notes on life and letters; includes material from APR and NLL], selected, trans. and afterword Petr Onufer, Prague: Revolver Revue. NN: (2005) Černoch z lodě Narcissus. Tajfun [The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ and ‘Typhoon’], trans. Eduard Castiliogne and Jiří Minát, Bratislava: Epos. (2016) Černoch z lodi Narcissus, trans. Petra Martínková, Prague: Pulchra. OI: (1979) Vyhnanec z ostrovů [The exile from the islands], trans. Hana Žantovská, Prague: Svoboda. Res: (1936) Únik [Escape], Works, vol. 8, trans. Timotheus Vodička, Prague: Melantrich. (1984) Záchrana [The rescue], trans. Hana Žantovská, Prague: Svoboda. Rom: (1933–4) Postrach Ria Media [Fear of Ria Media], trans. anon., illus. Zdeněk Burian, Ahoj na neděli, 1: 15–33; 2: 1–17; 8–9/10/11, Prague: Melantrich. Rov: (1932) Pirát, trans. Marie Kottová, Prague: Melantrich. SA: (1930) Tajný agent, trans. Jan Čep, Prague: Melantrich. (2010) Tajný agent, trans. Petra Martínková, Voznice: Leda; Prague: Rozmluvy. SL: (1957) Hranice stínu [Border of shade], trans. Luba Pellarová and Rudolf Pellar, afterword Květa Marysková. Prague: Československý spisovatel. SoS: (1928) Bestie a jiné čtyři povídky [‘The Brute’ and four other short stories; omits ‘The Duel’], trans. Josef Elgart, Prague: Šolc a Šimáček. (1957) Gaspar Ruiz a jiné povídky [Gaspar Ruiz and other stories; ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Youth’], selected, trans. and afterword Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Státní nakladatelství dětské knihy. (2014) ‘Souboj’ [‘The Duel’], trans. Michal Šťovíček, Prague: Michal Šťovíček. (2017) ‘Souboj’ [‘The Duel’], trans. Petra Martínková, Prague: Pulchra. (2018) Gaspar Ruiz a jiné povídky [Gaspar Ruiz and other stories; ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Youth’], selected and trans. Aloys Skoumal, Prague: Městská knihovna v Praze (e-book). SS: (1969) ‘Tajný podílník’, trans. Hana Skoumalová and Aloys Skoumal, in Aloys Skoumal (ed.), Orel z pobřeží, 173–214. Prague: Albatros. TH: (1995) Černý námořník [The black sailor; ‘The Black Mate’ and ‘The Planter of Malata’], trans. Luba Pellarová and Rudolf Pellar, Prague: Ivo Železný.

472

Bibliography TLS: (1921) Mezi zemí a mořem [Between land and sea; ‘A Smile of Fortune’, ‘The Secret Sharer’], trans. Josef Vorel, Prague-Karlín: B. Procházka. (1978) Mezi mořem a pevninou [Between the sea and the land; ‘A Smile of Fortune’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ and ‘Karain’], trans. Luba Pellarová and Rudolf Pellar, Prague: Panorama. TT (1920) Dohráno [The game is over], trans. Ivan Schulz, Prague: Ústřední tiskové družstvo soc. strany českosl. lidu pracujícího. TU: (1912) Laguna a jiné povídky o nepokoji [The lagoon and other tales of unrest; ‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Idiots’], trans. Ivan Schulz, Olšany: Kamilla Neumannová. (1917) Povídky z tropů [Tales from the tropics; ‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Karain’], trans. Karel Weinfurter, Královské Vinohrady: František Jiroušek. (1981) Neklidné příběhy [Tales of Unrest; ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’, ‘Youth’, ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘The Duel’, ‘Gaspar Ruiz’, ‘The Tale’ and ‘The Black Mate’], trans. Luba Pellarová, Rudolf Pellar, Aloys Skoumal and Jan Zábrana, Prague: Panorama. Ty: (1960) ‘Tajfun’, trans. Vladimír Svoboda, in Bedřich Bösser (ed.), Mys dobré naděje, 225–99. Prague: Státní nakladatelství dětské knihy; repr, 1963. (1976) Tajfun a jiné povídky [Typhoon and other stories; ‘The Brute’, ‘The Black Mate’, ‘The Lagoon’, ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ and ‘Typhoon’], trans. Vladimír Svoboda, Prague: Albatros. UWE: (1919) Očima západu, trans. Josef Čihula, Prague: Jan Laichter; repr. 1938. (2011) Před očima západu, trans. Kateřina Hilská, Voznice: Leda; Prague: Rozmluvy. V: (1929) Vítězství, trans. Milada Nováková, Prague: Melantrich. (1965) Vítězství, trans. and afterword Květa Marysková. Prague: Státní nakladatelství krásné literatury a umění. WT: (1975) Mezi přílivem a odlivem [Between the inflowing and the outflowing tides], trans. Luba Pellarová and Rudolf Pellar, Prague: Orbis. Y: (1947) Oheň pod palubou [Fire under the deck], trans. Ivan Schulz, Prague: Toužimský a Moravec.

Theatrical adaptation Srdce temnoty [Heart of Darkness] (2011), trans. Jan Zábrana, adapt. and dir. David Jařab, music Ivan Acher, Divadlo Komedie, première, November.

Critical essays Achebe, Chinua (2013) ‘Obraz Afriky: rasismus v Conradově Srdci temnoty’ [An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’], Host, 29.4: 17–24. Beran, Zdeněk (2010) ‘Joseph Conrad’s Czech Footprints’, in Wiesław Krajka (ed.), The Realms of Biography, Literature, Politics and Reception: Polish and East-Central European Joseph Conrad, 429–49. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs; Lublin: Maria Curie-Skłodowska University

473

Bibliography Press. Also published in German translation as ‘ “Zwischen den Gezeiten”: Die tschechische Rezeption Joseph Conrads’, in Zwischen Ost und West: Joseph Conrad im europäischen Gespräch’, ed. Elmar Schenkel and Hans Christian Trepte, Leipzig: Leipziger Universitatsverlag, 2010, 131–47. Hanuš, Jiří (2013) ‘Kurtz: srdce v temnotě nitra’, Kontexty, 5.4: 73–77. Hanuš, Jiří (2014) ‘Razumov: Jidáš à la russe’, Kontexty, 6.6: 76–80. Holý, Jiří (2006) ‘K jednomu kontextu Holanovy básně Cesta mraku’, Hodnoty a hranice: svět v české literature, česká literature ve světě 2, 126–33. Prague: Ústav pro českou literaturu AV ČR. Kocmanová, Jessie (1959) ‘The Revolt of the Workers in the Novels of Gissing, James and Conrad’, Brno Studies in English, 1: 119–39. Marysková, Květa (1961) ‘Personal Experience and Its Literary Expression in Joseph Conrad’s “Youth” ’, Acta Universitatis Carolinae – Philologica, 1; Prague Studies in English, 9: 41–51. Milner, Ian (1975) ‘Image and Meaning in Conrad’s Fiction’, Acta Universitatis Carolinae – Philologica, 1; Prague Studies in English, 16: 71–92. Onufer, Petr (2014) ‘ “Ponětí o dobré službě:” na okraj Conradova esejistického díla’, in Poznámky o životě a literatuře: 159–64. Poslední, Petr (2016) Jiný Conrad: eseje o literární kultuře, Pardubice: Univerzita Pardubice. Šalda, F. X. (1927) ‘Fráňa Šrámek čili jak konzervovati meruňky’, Tvorba, 2 (March): 74–83. Škvorecký, Josef (2004) ‘Proč je tam ten harlekýn?’, in Josef Škvorecký, Mezi dvěma světy a jiné eseje, 173–81. Prague: Ivo Železný; repr. of ‘Why the Harlequin?’, Cross Currents, Ann Arbor, Michigan University, 3.3 (1984): 259–64. Vančura, Zdeněk (1959) ‘The Negro in the White Man’s Ship (A Critical Triptych)’, Acta Universitatis Carolinae – Philologica, 2; Prague Studies in English, 8, 73–97. Vašíček, Zdeněk (2000) ‘Slova bez jazyka’, Kritická příloha Revolver Revue, 17: 95–6. Vašíček, Zdeněk (2004) ‘Conrad jako antropolog, Malinowski jako spisovatel’, Kritická příloha Revolver Revue, 30: 8–23. Vodička, Timotheus (1936) ‘Dílo Josepha Conrada’, Listy pro umění a kritiku, 4: 444–57; repr. in Timotheus Vodička, Obraz, maska a pečeť, Brno: Nakladatelství Brněnské tiskárny, 1946, 66–101.

Other works cited Fučík, Bedřich (1998) Kritické příležitosti I, Prague: Melantrich. Kalivodová, Eva and Petr Eliáš (eds) (2017) Jan Zábrana: básník, překladatel, čtenář, Prague: Torst. Najder, Zdzisław (1983) Joseph Conrad: A Chronicle, trans. Halina Carroll-Najder, New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Opelík, Jiří (ed.) (2018) Když klec je pořád na spadnutí: vzájemná korespondence Antonína Přidala a Jana Zábrany z let 1963–1984, Prague: Torst. Poslední, Petr (2006) Spisovatelé jako čtenáři: Tři česko-polské paralely, Prague: CZ Books. Škvorecký, Josef (1988) ‘I Was Born in Náchod . . .’, in Sam Solecki (ed.), Talkin’ Moscow Blues, 15–79. London; Boston: Faber and Faber. Zábrana, Jan (1992) Celý život I, Prague: Torst

Chapter 20: Joseph Conrad’s Translations and Reception in Denmark Translations AF: (1916) Almayers Daarskab, trans. Peter Holm, Copenhagen: Martins Forlag. (2013) Almayers dårskab, trans. Paw Mathiasen (based on Peter Holm’s 1916 trans.), Copenhagen: Fahrenheit. AG: (1925) Den gyldne Pil, trans. Knud Poulsen, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. 474

Bibliography C: (1931) Tilfældet, trans. Knud Poulsen, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. CD: (2006) Congo Dagbog [The Congo Diary], trans. Bert Blom, in Bert Blom, Dagbøger og breve fra Mørkets hjerte, Copenhagen: Thorup. HoD: (1956) Mørkets hjerte, trans. C. Th. Meldal and Inger Budtz-Jørgensen. Copenhagen: Aschehoug. (1986) Mørkets hjerte, trans. Jørgen Sonne, Copenhagen: Fremad. (1995) Mørkets hjerte, trans. Erik Rosekamp, Copenhagen: LFL. (1997) Mørkets hjerte, trans. Niels Brunse, Copenhagen: Nansensgade Antikvariat; repr. 2019, with new afterword Mads Brügger, Copenhagen: Gyldendal. LJ: (1916) Forlis [Shipwreck], trans. A. Halling, Copenhagen: Martins Forlag. (1974) Forlis, trans. Mogens Boisen, Copenhagen: Rosinante; repr. 2014 as Lord Jim. MoS: (1929) Havets Spejl [The Mirror of the Sea], trans. Tom Smidth, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. N: (1966) Nostromo, trans. Mogens Boisen, Copenhagen: Chr. Erichsen. NN: (1917) Negeren på ‘Narcissus’, trans. Axel Halling, Copenhagen: Martins Forlag. OI: (1919) Almayers Gæst [Almayer’s Guest], trans. C. Th. Meldal and Peter Holm, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. Res: (1921) Den store Redning, trans. Knud Poulsen, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. Rov: (1924) Fribytteren, trans. Knud Poulsen, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. SA: (1917) Den hemmelige Agent, trans. Louis v. Kohl, Copenhagen: Martins Forlag. (1998) Den hemmelige agent, trans. Ib Christiansen, Copenhagen: Forum. SL: (1922) Dødssejleren [The Death Sailor], trans. Knud Poulsen, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. SoS: (1927) Stærke Sind og Vilde Skæbner [Strong Minds and Wild Destinies], trans. Tom Smidth, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. (1973) ‘Stikkeren’ [‘The Informer’], trans. Karen Mathiasen, in Tage la Cour (ed.), Dødsmasken og andre historier om spioner og forrædere, Copenhagen: Lademann. SS: (1957) ‘Dobbeltgængeren’ [‘The Double’), trans. Vagn Grosen, in Mogens Knudsen (ed.), Storm og mytteri og andre historier fra de syv have, Copenhagen: Carit Andersen. TLS: (1919) Freya fra de syv Øer (’Freya of the Seven Isles’), trans. C. Th. Meldal, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. TU: (1904) Hvileløse Historier (Tales of Unrest ), repr. 1920 as Lagunen/En fremskudt Post, trans. Axel Halling, Copenhagen: V. Pio. 475

Bibliography Ty: (1918) Tajfun, trans. Axel Halling and Peter Holm, Copenhagen: Martins Forlag. (1970) Tyfon, trans. Mogens Boisen, in Berømte klassikere for unge læsere, 5, Copenhagen: Det Bedste fra Reader’s Digest. UWE: (1918) Ruslands Skygge [Russia’s shadow], trans. Jesper Ewald, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. V: (1920) Sejr, trans. Knud Poulsen, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. WT: (1926) Planteren på Malata, trans. Tom Smidth, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. Y: (1921) Ungdom [‘Youth’, with ‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. C. Th. Meldal, Copenhagen; Oslo: Martins Forlag. (1954) ‘Ungdom’ [‘Youth’], trans. Lasse Egebjerg, in Sigurd Hoel (ed.), Alverdens fortællere, Copenhagen: Steen Hasselbachs forlag.

Cultural and critical reception in Denmark: a chronology Conrad, Joseph (1897) ‘An Outpost of Progress’ [TU], repr. Cosmopolis, Copenhagen, 18. Anon. (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, obituary in Politiken, 4 August. Gudme, Iver (1925) ‘Den ny litteratur: Joseph Conrad’, in Dansk Litteraturtidende, 2: 27–31. Lütken, Otto (1930/2006) ‘Joseph Conrad in the Congo’ [‘Joseph Conrad i Congo’], trans. Bert Blom, London Mercury, 12; Bert Blom (ed.), Dagbøger og breve fra mørkets hjerte, Copenhagen: Thorup. Strandgaard, Henrik (1967) ‘Joseph Conrad’, in Sven Møller Kristensen (ed.), Fremmede digtere i det 20. århundrede, vol. 1, 269–82. Copenhagen: Gad. Johanssen, Claus (1973), ‘Symbolik i Joseph Conrads “Youth”, “Heart of Darkness” og Lord Jim’, Master’s thesis, English Programme, University of Copenhagen. Madsen, Peter (1984), ‘Civilisationens skygger’ [Civilisation’s shadows], Samvirke, 57: 54–5. Jensen, Carsten (1986), ‘Yndlingsbog’ [Favourite book], Politiken, 23 August. Madsen, Peter (1988), ‘Modernitet og melankoli: Fortælling, diskurs og identitet i Joseph Conrads Mørkets hjerte’ [Modernity and melancholy: narrative, discourse and identity in Joseph Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’], in Birklund Andersen et. al. (eds), Fortælling og erfaring, Festschrift for Johan Fjord Jensen, 97–118. Århus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag. Hansen, Frantz Leander (1989), ‘Conrads clairobscur’, Kultur og Klasse, 17: 48–74. Lagercrantz, Olaf (1989), Rejse med Mørkets hjerte: en bog om Joseph Conrads roman, trans. Karsten Sand Iversen, Copenhagen: Nansensgade Antikvariat. Høeg, Peter (1990/1997) ‘Rejse ind i et mørkt hjerte’, in Fortællinger om natten, Copenhagen: Rosinante; Tales of the Night, trans. Barbara Haveland, London: Harvill Press. Lindquist, Sven (1993) Udryd de sataner, trans. Torben Bach Nielsen, Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Holm, Bent Q. (1996) ‘En sømand går i land’, Aktuelt, 11 January. Bredal, Bjørn (1997) ‘Flodens fortælling’, Politiken, 16 August. Larsen, Hans (1998) ‘Agent-romanens moder’, Ekstra Bladet, 11 April. Larsen, Svend Erik (1998) ‘ “Glemmer du, så husker jeg . . .” Litteratur og erindring som aktuel betydningsproces’, Arbejdspapirer, 14, Aarhus: Aarhus University. Bækholm, Rigmor (1999) ‘Joseph Conrad’, in Knud Michelsen (ed.), Dansk forfatterleksikon, 146–7. Copenhagen: Rosinante. Kjældgaard, Lasse Horne (1999) ‘Attentat på tiden – en enkel historie om Joseph Conrad og Unabombemanden’, Kritik, 32: 17–23. Klitgård, Ebbe (ed.) (2001) ‘Lord Jim’, in British Narrative Prose 1700–1900: Ten Classics, 125–37. Roskilde: Roskilde University Press. Michaëlis, Bo Tao (2001) ‘Filmatisering: Op ad floden, ind i mørket’, Politiken, 8 September. 476

Bibliography Pedersen, Jes Stein (2003) ‘Klassikeren: Navnet er Verlock’, Politiken, 23 July. Blom, Bert (2006) Dagbøger og breve fra mørkets hjerte, Copenhagen: Thorup. Montoro, Maria J. Calvo (2009) ‘Joseph Conrads stemme: Calvino og havet’, trans. B. Grundtvig, in Jansen and Lausten Grundtvig (eds), Festskrift til Lene Waage Petersen, Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Andersen, Frits (2010/2016) Det mørke kontinent: Afrikabilleder i europæiske fortællinger om Congo, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag; The Dark Continent: Images of Africa in European Narratives about the Congo, trans. William Frost and Martin Skovhus, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag,. Jørgensen, Bo Hakon (2012) ‘Oh at være en opdagelsesrejsende’, Kristeligt Dagblad, 19 June. Bonnevie, Lars (2013) ‘Hvor de ti bud ikke gælder’, Weekendavisen, 19 July. Brostrøm, Torben (2014) ‘Skandaløst skibsforlis’, Information, 7 November. Bredsdorff, Thomas (2015) ‘Kunsten at overleve et svigt’, Politiken, 7 January. Anon. (2016) ‘Ind i foto-kunstens hjertefotografi’, Fyns Stifttidende, 8 September. Levinsen, Jakob (2019) ‘Fortællingen er en sprække i mørket’, Berlingske Tidende, 14 June.

Works cited Andersen, Frits (2010/2016) Det mørke kontinent: Afrikabilleder i europæiske fortællinger om Congo, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag; The Dark Continent: Images of Africa in European Narratives about the Congo, trans. William Frost and Martin Skovhus, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag. Anon. (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, obituary, Politiken, 4 August. Anon. (2016) ‘Ind i foto-kunstens hjertefotografi’, Fyns Stifttidende, 8 September. Bækholm, Rigmor (1999) ‘Joseph Conrad’, in Knud Michelsen (ed.), Dansk forfatterleksikon, 146–7. Copenhagen: Rosinante. Blom, Bert (2006) Dagbøger og breve fra mørkets hjerte, Copenhagen: Thorup. Bonnevie, Lars (2013) ‘Hvor de ti bud ikke gælder’, Weekendavisen, 19 July. Bredal, Bjørn (1997) ‘Flodens fortælling’, Politiken, 16 August. Bredsdorff, Thomas (2015) ‘Kunsten at overleve et svigt’, Politiken, 7 January. Brostrøm, Torben (2014) ‘Skandaløst skibsforlis’, Information, 7 November. Conrad, Joseph (1897) ‘An Outpost of Progress’ [TU], Cosmopolis, Copenhagen, 18. Gudme, Iver (1925) ‘Den ny litteratur: Joseph Conrad’, Dansk Litteraturtidende, 2: 27–31. Hansen, Frantz Leander (1989) ‘Conrads clairobscur’, Kultur og Klasse, 17: 48–74. Holm, Bent Q. (1996) ‘En sømand går i land’, Aktuelt, 11 January. Høeg, Peter (1990/1998) ‘Rejse ind i et mørkt hjerte’, in Fortællinger om natten, Copenhagen: Rosinante; Tales of the Night, trans. Barbara Haveland, London: Harvill Press. Jensen, Carsten (1986) ‘Yndlingsbog’, Politiken, 23 August. Jensen, Carsten (2006/2011) Vi, de druknede, trans. C. Barslund and E. Ryder, Copenhagen: Gyldendal; We, the Drowned, London: Harvill Secker. Johanssen, Claus (1973) ‘Symbolik i Joseph Conrads “Youth”, “Heart of Darkness” og Lord Jim’, Master’s thesis, English Programme, University of Copenhagen. Jørgensen, Bo Hakon (2012) ‘Oh at være en opdagelsesrejsende’, Kristeligt Dagblad, 19 June. Kjældgaard, Lasse Horne (1999) ‘Attentat på tiden – en enkel historie om Joseph Conrad og Unabombemanden’, Kritik, 32: 17–23. Klitgård, Ebbe (2013) Chaucer in Denmark: A History of the Translation and Reception History 1782– 2012, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark. Klitgård, Ebbe (forthcoming, 2022) ‘Jane Eyre i Danmark’. Klitgård, Ebbe (ed.) (2001) ‘Lord Jim’, in British Narrative Prose 1700–1900: Ten Classics, 125–37. Roskilde: Roskilde University Press. Klitgård, Ida (2007) Fictions of Hybridity: Translating Style in James Joyce’s Ulysses. Odense: University of Southern Denmark Press. Lagercrantz, Olaf (1989) Rejse med Mørkets hjerte: en bog om Joseph Conrads roman, trans, Karsten Sand Iversen, Copenhagen: Nansensgade Antikvariat. Larsen, Hans (1998) ‘Agent-romanens moder’, Ekstra Bladet, 11 April. 477

Bibliography Larsen, Svend Erik (1998) ‘ “Glemmer du, så husker jeg . . .” Litteratur og erindring som aktuel betydningsproces’, Arbejdspapirer, 14, Aarhus: Aarhus University. Levinsen, Jakob (2019) ‘Fortællingen er en sprække i mørket’, Berlingske Tidende, 14 June. Lindquist, Sven (1993) Udryd de sataner, trans. Torben Bach Nielsen, Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Lütken, Otto (1930/2006) ‘Joseph Conrad in the Congo’, trans. Bert Blom, London Mercury, 12; Bert Blom (ed.), Dagbøger og breve fra mørkets hjerte, Copenhagen: Thorup. Madsen, Peter (1984), ‘Civilisationens skygger’, Samvirke, 57: 54–5. Madsen, Peter (1988), ‘Modernitet og melankoli: Fortælling, diskurs og identitet i Joseph Conrads Mørkets hjerte’, in Birklund Andersen et. al. (eds), Fortælling og erfaring, Festschrift for Johan Fjord Jensen, 97–118. Århus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag. Michaëlis, Bo Tao (2001) ‘Filmatisering: Op ad floden, ind i mørket’, Politiken, 8 September. Montoro, Maria J. Calvo (2009) ‘Joseph Conrads stemme: Calvino og havet’, trans. B. Grundtvig, in Jansen and Lausten Grundtvig (eds), Festskrift til Lene Waage Petersen. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Pedersen, Jes Stein (2003) ‘Klassikeren: Navnet er Verlock’, Politiken, 23 July. Strandgaard, Henrik (1967), ‘Joseph Conrad’, in Sven Møller Kristensen (ed.), Fremmede digtere i det 20. århundrede, vol. 1, 269–82. Copenhagen: Gad.

Chapter 21: Conrad in Greece: Translation, Performance, Politics Translations HoD: (1990) Η Καρδιά Του Σκότους, trans. Thanos Georgiou, Athens: Erato. (1999) Η Καρδιά Του Σκότους, trans. Alexandra Papathanasopoulou, Athens: Patakis Press. LJ: (1975) Λόρδος Τζιμ, Κλασσικά Εικονογραφημένα [Classics Illustrated], Athens: M. Pechlivanidis & Sons, 1115. (1989) Λόρδος Τζιμ, trans. Giannis Valourdos and Despoina Kerevanti, Athens: Eleftherotypia, 2nd edn 2006. TLS: (1994) H Φρέγυα από τα εφτά νυσιά [Freya of the Seven Isles], trans. George Pratsikas, Athens: Nefeli. Ty: (1951) Τύφωνας, Φαλκ [Typhoon, Falk], trans. Angelos Terzakis, 100 Immortal Works Series, Athens: George Papadimitriou,.

Works cited Fothergill, Anthony (2006) Secret Sharers: Joseph Conrad’s Cultural Reception in Germany, Cultural History and Literary Imagination, Bern: Peter Lang. Grayson, Alan (2013) ‘How to Destroy an Entire Country’, Huffington Post, 13 December 2013, http:// www.huffingtonpost.com/rep-alan-grayson/how-to-destroy-an-entire-_b_4445748.html. Hampson, Robert (2012) Conrad’s Secrets, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Hatzidakis, Babis (2011) ‘Η καρδιά του σκότους του Τζόσεφ Κόνραντ’ [Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad], trans. George-Ikaros Babasakis, Athens: Erato Publications. Hitchens, Christopher (ed.) (2012) H βίβλος του Άθεου: Με τον λόγο κορυφαίων διανοητών [The Portable Atheist: Essential Readings for the Nonbeliever], trans. Aris Berlis, Athens: Polaris. Jean-Aubry, G. (1927) Joseph Conrad: Life & Letters, New York: Doubleday. Kallitsas, Theofilos (1994) ‘TΖΟΣΕΦ ΚΟΝΡΑΝΤ (1857–1924): Ενας μeγάλος ναυτικός μυθιστορηματογράφος’ [Joseph Conrad (1857–1924): A Great Novelist of the Sea], Nea Estia, Athens, 135.1600 (March): 295–300. 478

Bibliography Kipling, Peter (2000), Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness, Bestseller Readers Series, adapt. Peter Kipling, illus. Tim Wilson, Athens: New Editions. Knowles, Owen and Gene M. Moore (eds) (2000) Oxford Reader’s Companion to Joseph Conrad, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mangina, Anna (2013) ‘Race and Representation in the Heart of Darkness’, Interlingual Perspectives Series, 172–88, ed. Maria Sidiropoulou, Faculty of English Studies, Meta-Fraseis Programme, Athens: University of Athens Press. Mantes, Dimitrios (2015) ‘From 30–50.000 suicides in crisis-hit Greece!’, Attika News, 27 February 2015, http://attikanea.blogspot.gr/2015/ 02/30000–50000.html. Najder, Zdzisław (1983) Joseph Conrad: A Chronicle, trans. Halina Caroll-Najder, New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Stathopoulou, Angeliki (ed.) (2004) Έμπνευση και Δημιουργία [Inspiration and Creativity], trans. Alexandros Karatzas, Sofia Pavlidou, Vasilis Pavlakos et. al., intro. Ilias Baglinis, Athens: Printa.

Online resources ‘60 Έλληνες συγγραφείς επιλέγουν τα αγαπημένα τους βιβλία’ [60 Greek authors choose their favourite books], Thessaloniki Arts & Culture.gr., https://www.thessalonikiartsandculture.gr/vivlio/60–ellinessyggrafeis-epilegoun-ta-agapimena-tous-vivlia/. Γ., Βιβύ. ‘Οι Δακτύλιοι του Κρόνου’, Μαξ (Βίνφριντ Γκέοργκ) Ζέμπαλντ [‘The Rings of Saturn’, Max (Winfried Georg) Sebald], The Degas Reading Club, 28 March 2013, http:// lesxianagnosisbiblioudegas.blogspot.com/2013/03/blog-post_28.html. ‘H καρδιά του σκότους’ [‘Heart of Darkness’], Cogito Ergo Sum: ‘Συλλογάται καλά όποιος συλλογάται λέφτερα’, 23 September 2012, http://teddygr. blogspot.gr/2012/09/blog-post_23.html. Χατζιδάκης, Mπάμπης, ‘Η καρδιά του σκότους του Τζόσεφ Κόνραντ’ [‘The Heart of Darkness’ by Joseph Conrad], review of Heart of Darkness (2011), trans. Γιώργος-Ίκαρος Μπαμπασάκης, Athens: Erato, 15 December 2013, http://popaganda.gr/kardia-tou-skotous-tou-tzozef-konrant. Grigoriadis, Theodoros (2007) ‘150 χρόνια από τη γέννηση του Τόσεφ Κόνραντ’ [150 years since the birth of Joseph Conrad], literature/books/people, 4 December 2007, http://teogrigoriadis.blogspot. gr/2007/12/150.html. Vistonitis, Anastasios (2008) ‘Tζόσεφ Κόνραντ: Η γραμμή σκιάς’ [Joseph Conrad: The shadow line], Reportage, To Vima, 25 November 2008, https://www.tovima.gr/2008/11/25/archive/tzozefkonrant-2/. ‘Πως να καταστρέψεις μια ολόκληρη χώρα’ [How to Destroy an Entire Country], trans. N. K., Free Popular Resistance Ensemble, http://eleutheriellada.wordpress.com/2013/12/16/πως-νακαταστρέψεις-μια-ολόκληρη-χώρα. ‘Tζόζεφ Κόνραντ’, Biblionet: The Greek Books in Print, http://www.biblionet.gr/main.

Performances and public readings AΜΑΡΥΣΙΑ – Δραστηριότητες Λέσχης Ανάγνωσης [Reading Club Events], 10 January 2014, https:// amarysia.gr/irakleio/politismos/55298–2014–01–10–16–08–29/2. ‘ΒΟΡΝΕΟ – ΜΙΑ ΝΑΥΤΙΚΗ ΠΕΡΙΠΕΤΕΙΑ ΣΤΗ ΣΚΗΝΗ ΤΟΥ RABBITHOLE’ [Borneo – A Nautical Adventure on the Rabbithole Stage], Cityway Free Press Magazine, 3 November 2015, http://www. dreamlab/cityway/2015/11/03/βορνεο-μια-ναυτικη-περιπετεια-στη-σκην/. ‘Η ΕΠΙΣΤΡΟΦΗ’ του ΤΖΟΖΕΦ ΚΟΝΡΑΝΤ στο Θέατρο Τέχνης Κάρολος Κουν [The Return by Joseph Conrad at the Karolos Koun Art Theatre], http://www. athens24.gr/going-out/ theater/news_detail. html?id=26434. Φεστιβάλ Φιλίππων 2014 – Από τα πεντακόσια στα χείλια, Σκηνοβασίες: Μια περιπλάνηση στον κόσμο του θεάτρου [Filippon Festival 2014 – From five hundred to the lips, Τightrope Walking: A journey into the world of the theatre], 7 January 2014, http://theatreviewer.blogspot. gr/2014/04/2014_12.html. 479

Bibliography

Chapter 22: The Reception of Joseph Conrad in Hungary Translations AF: (1925) Félvér, trans. Dezső Kiss, Budapest: Genius. (1983) Almayer légvára. Lord Jim, AF trans. Pál Vámosi; LJ trans. István Örkény, Budapest: Európa. AG: (1925) Az arany nyíl, trans. Tivadar Szinnai, Budapest: Genius. APR: (1994) Folytatásos önéletrajz [Serialized autobiography], trans. Péter Bojtár, György Gábor and Zsuzsa V. Detre, foreword Endre Bojtár [incl. APR trans. Péter Bojtár], Budapest: Osiris-Századvég/2000. ‘The Black Mate’ (2011) ‘A fekete első tiszt’, trans. Lajos Zsolnai, in Híres történetek az utazásról, Budapest: Ventus Libro. (Title of series: A világirodalom remekei) (2011) ‘Kísértet a hajón’, trans. Lajos Mann, in Holmi, 23.4: 506-23. ‘The Brute’ (1944) ‘A szörnyeteg’, trans. Lajos Bálint, in Az izgalom mesterei, vol. 1, Budapest: Körmendy Könyvkiadó. C: (2008) Véletlen, trans. István Tótfalusi, Budapest: Európa. ‘Falk’ (1979) ‘Falk’, trans. Péter Balabán, in (ed. Pál Vámosi) A haladás előőrse. Kisregények és elbeszélések, Budapest: Európa. ‘The Idiots’ (2005) ‘Az idióták’, trans. Lajos Zsolnai, in Híres bűnügyi történetek, Budapest: Ventus Libro. (2006) ‘Az idióták’, in Kísértethistóriák [Ghost stories], trans. and selected György Cserna, Pécs: Opus. In: (2015) Az örökösök, trans. Nelly J. Magyar, Galaktika fantasztikus könyvek series, Budapest: Metropolis Media. ‘The Lagoon’ (2007) ‘A lagúna’, trans. Lajos Zsolnai, in Híres romantikus történetek, Budapest: Ventus Libro. LJ: (1949) Lord Jim, trans. István Örkény, Budapest: Hungária. N: (1973) Nostromo. Tengerparti történet, trans. Péter Rubin, Budapest: Európa. NN: (1927) A ‘Narcisszus’ négere, trans. Hugó Latzkó, Budapest: Pantheon. (1960) A Narcissus négere [The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ plus ‘Youth’ and ‘Heart of Darkness’], trans. Pál Vámosi, Budapest: Európa. OI: (1928) A szigetek száműzöttje, trans. Kázmér Pogány, Budapest: Pantheon. ‘An Outpost of Progress’ (1979) ‘A haladás előőrse’, trans. Klára Mészáros, in (ed. Pál Vámosi) A haladás előőrse. Kisregények és elbeszélések, Budapest: Európa,. ‘The Partner’ (1948) A ‘Sagamore’ pusztulása, trans. István Elek, Budapest: Hungária. 480

Bibliography SA: (1986) A titkosügynök, trans. László Gy. Horváth, Budapest: Európa. SL: (1926) Az árnyékvonal, trans. Dezső Kiss, Budapest: Genius. (1979) Az árnyéksáv. Kisregények és elbeszélések [The Shadow-Line: novellas and short stories; incl. ‘To-morrow’, ‘Typhoon’, ‘Il Conde’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘The Partner’, ‘The Shadow-Line’], trans. Tamás Katona, Tibor Szilágyi, Pál Vámosi, Budapest: Európa. SoS: (2010) A párbaj. Elbeszélések [The Duel: stories; ‘A Personal Record’, ‘The Lagoon’, ‘An Anarchist’, ‘The Informer’, ‘The Duel’, ‘Prince Roman’, ‘Because of the Dollars’], trans. Péter Bojtár ed. and intro. Endre Bojtár, Budapest: Európa. SS (1967) ‘A titokzatos idegen’, trans. Tamás Katona, in Ifjúság. Három elbeszélés, Budapest: Magyar Helikon. ‘The Tale’ (2013) ‘Egy történet’ [first third only], trans. János Paál, in (ed. Júlia Csantavéri et al.) Hungarovox antológia 2013, Budapest: Hungarovox Kiadó. ‘To-morrow’ (2018) To-morrow – Holnap, trans. Veronika Bánki, Angol-magyar kétnyelvű klasszikusok series, Budapest: Kossuth Kiadó. TU: (1979) A haladás előőrse. Kisregények és elbeszélések [An outpost of progress: novellas and short stories; The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘Youth’, ‘Heart of Darkness’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Falk’], trans. Péter Balabán, Pál Vámosi, and Klára Mészáros, and selected Pál Vámosi, Budapest: Európa. Ty: (1968) Tájfun. Klasszikus angol kisregények [Typhoon. Classic English novellas; incl. ‘Typhoon’, trans. Tamás Katona)], trans. Marcell Benedek et al., ed. with notes Levente Osztovits, Budapest: Európa. UWE: (1982) Nyugati szemmel, trans. Pál Vámosi, Budapest: Európa. V: (1970) Győzelem, trans. Pál Vámosi, afterword Miklós Vajda, Budapest: Szépirodalmi Könyvkiadó. ‘The Warrior’s Soul’ (2005) ‘A katona lelke’, trans. Lajos Mann, in Holmi, 17.10: 1217-29. Y: (1929) Öregek és fiatalok. Kis regények [‘Youth’, ‘The End of the Tether’ plus ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Tomorrow’], trans. Imre Neményi and Andor Gaál, Budapest: Pantheon. (1967) Ifjúság. Három elbeszélés [Youth: Three narratives; ‘Youth’, ‘The Partner’, ‘The Secret Sharer’), trans. Tamás Katona and Pál Vámosi, illus. István Hegedűs, Budapest: Magyar Helikon.

Criticism András, László (1956) Review of ‘Joseph Conrad und der Anarchismus’, Irodalmi Figyelő, 2.2 (April): 164–5. ‘Az arany nyíl’ (1925) in Joseph Conrad, Félvér, trans. Dezső Kiss, Budapest: Genius, 211. Babits, Mihály (1957) Az európai irodalom története, Budapest: Európa; Szépirodalmi. Bereményi, Géza (1994) Levél nővéremnek 2, Budapest: Hungaroton-Gong [on CD]. Bereményi, Géza (2008) 150 dalszöveg Cseh Tamás zenéjére, 2nd edn, Budapest: Napkút. Bertha, Csilla (2006) ‘ “The Hungarian of the West”: Yeats’s Reception in Hungary’, in Klaus Peter Jochum (ed.), The Reception of W. B. Yeats in Europe, 150–61, The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe, London: Continuum. 481

Bibliography Bíró, Lajos Pál (1942) A modern angol irodalom története: 1890–1941, Budapest: Hungária Kiadás. Csizmadia, Balázs (2005) ‘ “The Tale”: A Self-conscious Fictional Artifice’, The AnaChronisT, 11: 196–223. Csizmadia, Balázs (2009) ‘The State of the Art: Major Currents in Conrad Studies in the New Millennium’, HJEAS: Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies, 15 (Fall): 307–20. Csizmadia, Balázs (2010) ‘A Conrad for the Hungarian Public: Reflections on Aladár Sarbu’s Joseph Conrad világa’, in Judit Borbély and Zsolt Czigányik (eds), A tűnődések valósága; The Reality of Ruminations: Írások Sarbu Aladár 70. születésnapjára; Writings for Aladár Sarbu on His 70th Birthday, ELTE Papers in English Studies, 9–13. Budapest: ELTE BTK, Angol-Amerikai Intézet, Anglisztika Tanszék. Curreli, Mario (2014) ‘Translations’, in Allan H. Simmons (ed.), Joseph Conrad in Context, 99–106. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ‘Félvér’ (1925) in Joseph Conrad, Az arany nyíl, trans. Tivadar Szinnai, Budapest: Genius, 318. Ferenczy, Valér (1936) ‘Angolok’, Napkelet, 22: 425–32. Fothergill, Anthony (2007) ‘Reading Conrad: Melancholy in the Shadow of the Swastika’, Yearbook of Conrad Studies (Poland), 3: 149–64. Gosztonyi, János (2002) ‘Bűvölet: Játék két részben, Joseph Conrad regénye nyomán’, Színház, supplement (drámamelléklet), 35.8 (August): 1–16. Hawthorn, Jeremy (2007) ‘Joseph Conrad’s Half-written Fictions’, in Morag Shiach (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Modernist Novel, 151–64. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heller, Ágnes (1961) ‘Kaland és megpróbáltatás’, Nagyvilág, 6 (May): 747–53. Illyés, Gyula (1985) Ebéd a kastélyban, Budapest: Szépirodalmi. Jameson, Fredric (2002) The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act, London; New York: Routledge. ‘Joseph Conrad munkái’ (1926) in Joseph Conrad, Az árnyékvonal, trans. Dezső Kiss, Budapest: Genius, 159. Juhász, Tamás (1997) ‘Lord Jim: Uralható-e a történet?’, Filológiai Közlöny, 43.1–2: 26–37. Juhász, Tamás (2011) Conradian Contracts: Exchange and Identity in the Immigrant Imagination, Lanham, MD; New York; Toronto: Lexington Books. Katona, Anna (1969–70) ‘A Hungarian Conrad Bibliography’, Conradiana, 2.1: 133–4. Katona, Anna (1972) ‘A nagy kísérletezés korszaka’, in Miklós Szenczi, Tibor Szobotka and Anna Katona, Az angol irodalom története, 575–613. Budapest: Gondolat. k.m. (1936) ‘Rudyard Kipling’ [obituary], Napkelet, 22: 113–14. Knowles, Owen (2014) ‘Critical Responses: 1925–1950’, in Allan H. Simmons (ed.), Joseph Conrad in Context, 67–74. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Knowles, Owen and Gene M. Moore (2006) Oxford Reader’s Companion to Conrad, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kristó Nagy, István (1993) A világirodalom története, vol. 2, Budapest: Trezor. Lukács, Georg (1971) Solzhenitsyn, trans. William David Graf, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Lukács, Georg (1987) Die Eigenart des Ästhetischen, 2 vols, Berlin; Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag. Marinovich, Sarolta (1999) ‘Joseph Conrad: A sötétség mélyén’, in Júlia Kada (ed.), Huszonöt fontos angol regény: Műelemzések, 2nd edn, 142–60. Budapest: Pannonica. Megyeri, József (1926) ‘Angol regényfordítások’, Napkelet, 8: 562–3. Najder, Zdzisław (2007) Joseph Conrad: A Life, trans. Halina Najder, Rochester, NY: Camden House. Niland, Richard (2014) ‘Critical Responses: 1950–1975’, in Allan H. Simmons (ed.), Joseph Conrad in Context, 75–82. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ormi, János (1949) Review of Lord Jim, Hungária; Vigilia, 14 (October): 712. Pálmai, Krisztián (2006) ‘Mise en abyme és metanarratíva Joseph Conrad A sötétség mélyén című elbeszélésében. Peter Brooks, Tzvetan Todorov és Patricia Waugh Conrad olvasatai’, Filológiai Közlöny, 52: 1–2, 89–119. Reichmann, Angelika (2010) ‘Under the (Impossible) Gaze of the West: Joseph Conrad’s Vision of Russianness’, Slavica, 39–40: 247–65. Sarbu, Aladár (1974) Joseph Conrad világa, Írók világa, Budapest: Európa. Sherry, Norman (ed.) (1973) Conrad: The Critical Heritage, London: Routledge L Kegan Paul. Szerb, Antal (1989) A világirodalom története, 7th edn, Budapest: Magvető. 482

Bibliography Ungvári, Tamás (1984) A modern irodalom válaszútjain: Irodalmi tanulmányok, Budapest: Gondolat. Vajda, Miklós (1970) ‘Joseph Conrad’, in László Báti and István Kristó-Nagy (eds), Az angol irodalom a huszadik században, vol. 1, 81–102. Budapest: Gondolat. Vámosi, Pál (1961) ‘Joseph Conrad és az imperializmus’, Filológiai Közlöny, 7.3–4 (December): 316–26. Vámosi, Pál (1963a) ‘Conrad lélekjárása’, Filológiai Közlöny, 9.3–4: 472–4. Vámosi, Pál (1963b) ‘Joseph Conrad fölfedezése’, Filológiai Közlöny, 9.1–2: 287–90. Vámosi, Pál (1964) ‘Az emberi hűség és hűtlenség motívuma Joseph Conrad műveiben’, Filológiai Közlöny, 10.1–2: 181–7. Vidan, Ivo (1974) ‘An Unusual Hungarian Reference to Conrad’, Conradiana, 6.3: 225. Vöő, Gabriella (2005) ‘Critics and Defenders of H. G. Wells in Interwar Hungary’, in Patrick Parrinder and John S. Partington (eds), The Reception of H. G. Wells in Europe, 175–94, The Reception of British Authors in Europe. London: Continuum. Woolf, Virginia (1938) The Common Reader, Harmondsworth: Penguin.

Chapter 23: Conrad’s Reception in Ireland Translations AF: (1936) Díth Céille Almayer, trans. Seosamh Mac Grianna, Dublin (Baile Átha Cliath): Oifig Díolta Foilseacháin Rialtais. NN: (1933) An Máirnéalach Dubh, trans. Seosamh Mac Grianna, Dublin (Baile Átha Cliath): Oifig Díolta Foilseacháin Rialtais. Ty: (1935) Séideán Bruithne agus Amy Foster [Typhoon and Amy Foster], trans. Seosamh Mac Grianna, Dublin (Baile Átha Cliath): Oifig Díolta Foilseacháin Rialtais.

Works cited Anon. (1924) [Untitled], Irish Times, 18 July : 3a. Ferriter, Diarmuid (2005) The Transformation of Ireland, 1900–2000, London: Profile. Garden, Alison (2017) ‘ “Leaving hardly a sign – and no memories”: Roger Casement and the Metamodernist Archive’, Modernism/modernity, 2.4 (December). Jones, Susan (2008) ‘The Conrads and Alice Kinkead’, The Conradian 33.1: 103–18. Kelly, A. A. (ed.) (1996) Letters of Liam O’Flaherty, Dublin: Wolfhound Press. Kiberd, Declan (1996) Inventing Ireland: The Literature of the Modern Nation, London: Vintage. Lezard, Nicholas (2018) ‘Master of Letters’, The Spectator, 21 July, https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/ master-of-letters. Long, Maebh (2014) Assembling Flann O’Brien, London: Bloomsbury. Maume, Patrick (1993) ‘Life that is Exile’: Daniel Corkery and the Search for Irish Ireland, Belfast: Institute of Irish Studies. Najder, Zdzisław (2007) Joseph Conrad: A Chronicle, trans. Halina Carroll-Najder (1983), rev. edn, London: Camden House. Niland, Richard (2008) ‘“Who’s that Fellow Lynn?” Conrad and Robert Lynd’, The Conradian 33.1: 130–44. Ó Conaire, Pádraic (1978), Aistı΄ Phádraic Uı΄ Chonaire, ed. Gearóid Denvir, Indreabhán: Cló Chois Fharraige. O’Donnell, Peadar (1933) ‘Young Irish Writers’, The Commonweal, 26 April, 717. O’Faoláin, Seán (1962) ‘Fifty Years of Irish Writing’, Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review 51.201: 93–105. O’Faoláin, Seán (1965) Vive moi! An Autobiography, London: Rupert Hart-Davis. 483

Bibliography O’Flaherty, Liam (1930) Joseph Conrad: An Appreciation, London: E. Lahr. O’Leary, Phillip (2004) Gaelic Prose in the Irish Free State: 1922–1939, University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Ó Muirí, Pól (1999) A Flight from Shadow: The Life and Work of Seosamh Mac Grianna, Belfast: Lagan Press. Peters, John G., Allan H. Simmons and J. H. Stape (eds) (2012) Joseph Conrad Contemporary Reviews, 4 vols, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shovlin, Frank (2003) The Irish Literary Periodical, 1923–58, Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Chapter 24: The ‘Bard of Particular Elements’: Conrad’s Reception in Russia Translations There was a Collected Edition in 1924–6 and a two-volume Selected Works in 1959, translated by Evgeny Lann and published by Gosudarstvennoe Izdatel’stvo Khudozhestvennoy Literatury (the State Publishing House of Fiction). The list below includes dates of publication of other translations. Other information has proved impossible to find in current conditions. AF: (1923) Almayer’s Folly, trans. M. A. Salomon, intro. Korney Chukovsky, Vsemirnaya Literatura (World Literature). C: (1925) Chance HoD: (1926) Heart of Darkness, trans. Evgeny Lann. (1959) Heart of Darkness, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. Later editions were published in 1985, 1996, 2007 and 2011. LJ: (1926a) Lord Jim, trans. Evgeny Lann. (1926b) Lord Jim, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. Later editions were published in 1959, 1989, 1996, 2005, 2007 and 2009. It was sometimes retitled The Jump Overboard. MoS: Three editions appeared: 1958, 1980 and 1996. N: Two editions appeared: 1928 and 1985. OI: An early translation was published in 1925. Res: There have been two editions to date: 1925 and 1996. Rom: An early translation was published in 1926. SA: This has been published a number of times: 1908, 1915, 1925, 2008, 2010 and 2012. SL: This has been published a number of times: 1925, 1926, 1930, 1959, 1983 and 1986.

484

Bibliography SoS: Four of the six stories have been published a number of times: ‘Il Conde’: 1913, 1981. ‘The Informer’: 1917, 1926, 1927, 1929. ‘The Brute’: 1926, 1927. ‘The Duel’: 1947, 1956, 1959, 1985, 1991, 1996. The two unpublished stories are ‘An Anarchist’ and ‘The Informer’. TH: Apart from ‘The Tale’ (in 1925), only one story, ‘The Black Mate’, was published: it appeared in 1959, 1979, 1980 and 1990. TLS: The stories in this volume have been published individually a number of times: ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’: 1914; 1924(a) trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova; 1924(b); 1926; 1935; 1944; 1959; 1980; 1985; and 1989. ‘A Smile of Fortune’: 1924 and 1926. ‘The Secret Sharer’: 1925, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova; 1926; 1927; 1935; 1959; 1983; 1985; 1986; 1991; and 1996. TT: This was published twice in 1926 in separate translations by Evgeny Lann and Aleksandra Krivtsova. It was subsequently published a number of times under the title The End of Slavery: 1935, 1959, 1979, 1983, 1985, 1986 and 1996. TU: Four of the five stories have been published a number of times: (1898) ‘Karain’, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (1898) ‘The Idiots’, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (1898) ‘The Lagoon’. (1902) ‘An Outpost of Progress’. (1907) ‘The Lagoon’. (1925) ‘Karain, ‘The Idiots’. (1925) ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Return’, ‘The Lagoon’, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (1927) ‘An Outpost of Progress’. (1935) The Outpost of Progress, The Lagoon. (1959) ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’. (1961) ‘An Outpost of Progress’. (1979) ‘The Lagoon’. (1983) ‘An Outpost of Progress’. (1985) ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’. (1991) ‘An Outpost of Progress’. Ty: (1924) Typhoon. (1925) Typhoon [including ‘Typhoon’, ‘Amy Foster’, ‘Falk’, ‘Tomorrow’], trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (1927) ‘Typhoon’. (1927) ‘Amy Foster’. (1930) Typhoon. (1935) ‘Typhoon’, ‘Falk’, ‘Tomorrow’. (1959) ‘Typhoon’, ‘Falk’, ‘Tomorrow’. (1983) ‘Typhoon’. (1985) ‘Tomorrow’. (1986) ‘Typhoon’. (1989) ‘Typhoon’.

485

Bibliography (1995) ‘Typhoon’. (1996) ‘Typhoon’ UWE: (1912) Under Western Eyes. (1925) Under Western Eyes, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (2012) Under Western Eyes. V: (1925) Victory. (1996) Victory. WT: (1923a) ‘The Planter of Malata’, ‘The Partner’, ‘The Inn of Two Witches’. (1923b) ‘The Planter of Malata’, ‘The Partner’, ‘The Inn of Two Witches’. (1923) ‘Because of the Dollars’. (1923) ‘Laughing Anne’. (1924) ‘Because of the Dollars’. (1959) ‘Laughing Anne’, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (1989) ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’. (1991) ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’, ‘The Planter of Malata’, ‘The Partner’, ‘Because of the Dollars’. Y: (1901) Youth. (1925) ‘Youth’, trans. Aleksandra Krivtsova. (1926) ‘Youth’, trans. Evgeny Lann. (1959) ‘Youth’. (1979) ‘Youth’. (1985) ‘Youth’. (1996) ‘Youth’.

Works cited Adamovich, G. (1998) Literary Conversations, St Petersburg, 5.1. Akhmechet, L. (1974) ‘O tvorcheskikh sviaziakh Dz.Konrada c russkim realizmom’ [Turgenev i Dostoyevskij], Literasturnye svyazi i tradicii, vol. 5, 91–108. Gorky : Gorky State University. Akhmechet, L. (1974) ‘Problema kharaktera v romane Dzjozefa Konrada “Lord Dzhim” ’, in Nauchnye Trudy Sverdlovsk, Problema kharaktera v zarubezhnoj literature konca XIX i nahala XX veka, Sverdlovskogo Gosudarstvennogo pedagogiheskogo instituta, 45–61. Anikin, G. V. and N. P. Mikhalskaya (1985) Istorija Anglijskoj Literatury [History of English Literature], Moscow: Vysshaya Shkola. Bannikov, N. (1959) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Joseph Conrad, 5.1, Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe Izdatel’stvo Khudozhestvennoj Literatury. Bol’shaya Sovetskaya Entsyklopediya [Big Soviet Encyclopaedia] (1937), ed. O. U. Schmidt, vol. 34, Moscow: Soviet Encyclopaedia State Institute. Bol’shaya Sovetskaya Entsyklopediya [Big Soviet Encyclopaedia] (1953), ed. B. A. Vvedensky, 2nd edn, vol. 22, Moscow: Big Soviet Encyclopaedia State Scientific Publishing House. Bol’shaya Sovetskaya Entsyklopediya [Big Soviet Encyclopaedia] (1973), ed. A. M. V. Prokhorov, 3rd edn, vol. 13, Moscow : Soviet Encyclopaedia. Borisov, V. (1997) Dzhozef Konrad v Rodssii, Moscow : Sovremennyj Pisatel. Choldin, M. T. (1985) A Fence around the Empire: Russian Censorship of Western Ideas under the Tsars, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Choldin, M. T. (1989) ‘Censorship via Translation: Soviet Treatment of Western Political Writing’, in M. T. Coldin and M. Friedberg.Boston (eds), The Red Pencil: Artists, Scholars and Censors in the USSR, 29–51: Boston: Unwin Hynan. 486

Bibliography Chukovsky, K. (1923) Introduction in D. Konrad, Kapriz Almayera, St Petersburg; Moscow: Vsemirnaya Literatura, 7–8. Chukovsky, K. (1941) ‘Kak ja poliubil anglo-amerikanskuju literature’, Internacional’naya Literatura, 9–10: 235–7. Davis, R. (1988) ‘Russian Critics on Conrad’, L’Epoque conradienne: 93–100. Dinamov, S. (1929) ‘Dva zapadnykh khudozhnika upadka’ [Two Russian Artists of Decadence], Revolution and Culture, 8: 77–79. Dostoyevsky, F. (1993) Crime and Punishment, New York: Vintage Classics. Hardy, F. E. (1930) The Later Years of Thomas Hardy 1892–1928, New York: McMillan Company. Kagarlitsky, Y. (1957) ‘O Dzhozefe Konrade’, Inostrannaya Literatura, 12: 205–08. Kantor, V. (1981) ‘ “Soprotivleniya neschastiyam I boli”: Razmyshleniya o tvorchestve Dzhozefa Konrada’ [Resistance to unhappiness and pain: Contemplations on the Works of Joseph Conrad], Detskaya Literatura [Children’s Literature], 6: 33–6. Kashkin, I. (1977) ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, in Dlya Chitalelya-Sovremennika, Moscow: Sovetskij Pisatel, 71–5. Konrad, D. (1991) ‘Predatel’stvo’, Literaturnaya Rossiya, 23–24. Kratkaya Literaturnaya Encyklopediya [Short Literary Encyclopaedia] (1966), vol. 3, Moscow: Soviet Encyclopaedia. Kruglyak, M. (1966) ‘Roman Dzhozefa Konrada “Negr s Narcissa” ’, Problemy metoda I stilya v progressivnoj literatrure zapada XX veka. Uchenye zapiski Permskogo gosudarstvennogo universiteta, Perm, 145: 53–76. Kruglyak, M. (1968) ‘Dzhozef Konrad v zarubezhnoj kritike’, Problemy metoda I stilya v progressivnoj literature zapada XX veka. Uchenye zapiski Permskogo gosudarstvennogo universiteta, Perm, 188: 262–77. Kruglyak, M. (1972) ‘Konflikt I otverzhennyj geroj v romane konrada “Otverzhennyj s ostrovov” ’, Problemy progressivnoj literatury zapada XVII–XX vekov, Perm, 270: 120–32. Lewitter, L. R. (1984) ‘Conrad, Dostoyevsky, and the Russo-Polish Antagonism’, Modern Language Review, 79: 653–63. Lunacharsky, A. (1927) Na Zapade, Moscow; Leningrad: Gosudarstvennoe izdatelstvo. Lunacharsky, A. (1930) Istoriya zapadno-evropejskoj literatury v ee vazhnejshix momentakh, Moscow; Leningrad: Gosudarstvennoe izdatelstvo. Nabokov, V. (1966) ‘Beseda Vladimira Nabokova s Pierom Domergom’, Zvezda, 11: 56–63. Najder, Z. (ed.) (1964) Conrad’s Polish Background, London: Oxford University Press. ‘New Books. Dzhozef Konrad. “Na vzglyad zapada” ’ (1912) Russkoe Bogatstvo, 9: 211. Novyj Entsyklopedicheskij Slovar’ [New Encyclopaedic Dictionary] (1922), vol. 22, Petrograd: Former Brokhaus and Efron Publishing House. Pasternak, B. (1965) ‘Spektorskij’, in B. Pasternak, Stikhotvorenija I Poemy, 304–42. Leningrad: Sovetskij Pisatel. Pasternak, B. (1990) ‘Nesvoboda prednaznachenija’ [Selected letters], Znamya, 2. Paustovsky, K. (1968) Kniga Skitanij [Collected Works], vol. 5, Moscow: Khudozhestvennaja Literatura. Perekati-Pole (1926) ‘Novye vypuski Universal’noj biblioteki. Dzh.Konrad. “Duel” ’, Oktyabr’ (July– August): 216–17. Sebezhko, E. (1969) ‘I.S. Turgenev i Dzh. Konrad’, Stranicy istorii russkoj literatury, Kaluga, Tul’skij gosudarstvennyj pedagogiheskij institun im. L.N.Tolstogo, 151–6. Sebezhko, E. (1970) ‘Esteticheskije I literatrurno-kritiheskie vzglyady Dz. Konrada’, Problemy zarubezhnoj literatury. Uchenye zapiski Moskovskogo osudarstvennogo pedagogiheskogo institute im.V.I.Lenina, 365: 61–87. Sebezhko, E. (1970a) ‘Problema geroya I konflikta v romane Dzh. Konrada “Pobeda” ’, Voprosy zarubezhnoj I russkoj literatury. Uchenye zapiski Moskovskogo osudarstvennogo pedagogiheskogo institute im.V.I.Lenina, Moscow, 382: 172–91. Sebezhko, E. (1971) ‘Problematika I khudozhestvennoe svoeobrazie romana Dzh.Konrada “Tajnyj agent” ’, Voprosy russkoj I zarubezhnoj literatury, Tula, Tul’skij gosudarstvennyj pedagogiheskij institute im. L.N.Tolstogo, 215–31. Sokolyansky, M. (1978) ‘Dzhozef Konrad o literature’, Voprosy literatury, 7: 202–6. 487

Bibliography Solovyov, S. (1863) [History of the Fall of Poland], Grachev & Co Solovyova, E. (2009) ‘Obraz russkoj prirody v tvorhestve Dzhozefa Konrada’, Vestnik Chelyabinskogo gosudarstvennogo universiteta, 10.148. Stevenson, R. L. (1924) ‘A Gossip on Romance’, Memories and Portraits (Tusitala Edition), 119–31. London: William Heinemann. Tolmachev, V. (1988) ‘Energija “temnogo serdca” ’, Literaturnoe Obozrenie, 9: 67–9. Urnov, D. (1970) ‘Puti pisatel’stva: Dzhordzh Mur i Dzhozef Konrad’, in Na Rubezhe vekov: ocherki anglijskoj literatury (konec XIX-nachalo XX vv), 380–409. Moscow: Nauka. Urnov, D. (1977) Dzhozef Konrad, Moscow : Nauka. Woolf, V. (1961) ‘Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown’, in Approaches to the Novel, 211–30. San Francisco: Chandler.

Chapter 25: A Familial Soul in Slovenia and Former Yugoslavia Translations (into Slovenian) APR: (1928) ‘Prispevek k teoriji umetniškega ustvarjanja’ [A Contribution to the Theory of Artistic Creation], trans. Fran Albreht, Ljubljanski zvon, Ljubljana, 48.2: 124–8. HoD: (1984) Srce teme, trans. Mart Ogen, Ljubljana: Prešernova družba. LJ: (1937) Lord Jim, trans. Avgust Petrišič, Ljubljana: Hram. (1975) Lord Jim, trans. Avgust Petrišič, Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. N: (1958) Nostromo, trans. Božo Vodušek, Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba. NN: (1966) Črnec z Narcisa, trans. Jože Dolenc, Ljubljana: Prešernova družba. SA: (1989) Tajni agent, trans. Miha Avanzo, Ljubljana: Založba Mladinska knjiga. SL: (1931) Senčna črta, trans. Oton Župančič, Ljubljana: Tiskovna zadruga. (1997) Senčna črta, trans. Maja Novak, Ljubljana: Karantanija. SoS: (1935) ‘Gašpar Ruiz’, trans. Gregor Griša Koritnik, Slovenec, Ljubljana, 14 (8–25 October). TU: (1927) ‘Laguna’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. Matej Šmalc, in Ljubljanski zvon, Ljubljana, 18: 219–30. Ty: (1933) Tajfun, trans. Gregor Griša Koritnik, Ljubljana: Založba Prijatelj. (1936) ‘Človeka je vrglo na kopno’ [Man Cast Ashore, extract from ‘Amy Foster’], trans. anon., Slovenec, Ljubljana, 64 (23 August); Glas naroda, New York, 44 (8 September). UWE: (1994) Z zahodnimi očmi, trans. Miha Avanzo, Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba. V: (1986) Zmaga, trans. Mart Ogen, Maribor: Pomurska založba. 488

Bibliography Y: (1935) Na morju [‘Youth’, literally ‘At Sea’], trans. Gregor Griša Koritnik, Slovenec, Ljubljana, 14 (5–17 September). (1944) Na morju [At Sea], trans. Gregor Griša Koritnik, Amerikanski Slovenec, Chicago, 53 (25 July–22 September). (1952) Mladost [‘Youth’], trans. Gregor Griša Koritnik, Ljubljana: Slovenski knjižni zavod [Slovenian Literary Institution]. (1997) Mladost [‘Youth’], trans. Ljubica Rodošek, Ljubljana: Založba Karantanija.

Works cited Anon. (1904) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Slovenski narod, Maribor, 37 (29 September). Anon. (1924a) ‘Joseph Conrad umrl’, Slovenec, Ljubljana, 52 (9 August). Anon. (1924b) ‘Joseph Conrad (1857–1924)’, Slovenski narod, Maribor, 57 (14 August). Anon. (1931) ‘Joseph Conrad v slovenščini’, Jutro, Ljubljana, 12 (20 October). Anon. (1933a) ‘Josepha Conrada Tajfun v slovenščini’, Jutro, Ljubljana, 14 (8 July). Anon. (1933b) ‘Joseph Conrad v slovenščini’, Jutro, Ljubljana, 14 (30 August). Anon. (1936) ‘Človeka je vrglo na kopno’, Slovenec, Ljubljana, 64 (23 August). Anon. (1989) ‘Ovitek Tajni agent’, in Joseph Conrad, Tajni agent, Ljubljana: Založba Mladinska knjiga. Beniger, Louis (1943) ‘Birthdays of the Great Men: Joseph Conrad’, Mladinski list – Juvenile, Chicago, 12: 6. Čater, Dušan (1997) ‘O pisatelju in njegovem delu’, in Joseph Conrad (1917), Senčna črta, trans. [Maja Novak], 135–6. Ljubljana: Založba Karantanija. Drev, Miriam (2004) ‘Morski klativitez pluje po reki skozi pragozd’, Delo, Ljubljana, 13 (23 June). Dolenc, Jože (1966) ‘Uvodna beseda’, in Joseph Conrad (1897), Črnec z ‘Narcisa’, trans. [Jože Dolenc], 153–60. Ljubljana: Prešernova družba. Fabe, Dušan (2002) Semantični vidik angleške pomorske terminologije ter vprašanje slovenskih ustreznik, Doctoral Thesis, Ljubljana: Filozofska fakulteta, Oddelek za germanske jezike in književnosti. Fraser, Gail (1996) ‘The Short Fiction’, in John Henry Stape (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Joseph Conrad, 25–44. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gradišnik, Janez (1996) ‘Petdeset let slovenskih prevodov’, in Majda Stanovnik (ed.), Prevod besedila: Prevajanje romana: 20. Prevajalski zbornik, 55–60. Ljubljana: Društvo slovenskihknjiževnih prevajalcev. Grosman, Meta (1989) Angleški roman 1830–1920, Ljubljana: Filozofska fakulteta. Jarc, Miran (1931) ‘Joseph Conrad – Senčna črta’, Dom in svet, Ljubljana, 154: 44. Jurak, Mirko (1983) Od Shakespeara do naših sodobnikov, Ljubljana: Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete, Partizanska knjiga. Jurak, Mirko (1994a) ‘Spremna beseda’, in Joseph Conrad (1911), Z zahodnimi očmi, trans. [Miha Avanzo], Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba. Jurak, Mirko (1994b) Literatures in English 2, Maribor: Zaloba Obzorja. Jurak, Mirko (2005) ‘Tragični junaki v romanih Josepha Conrada: Nostromo in Z zahodnimi očmi’, in Mirko Jurak and Igor Maver (eds), Angleška poezija in proza: izbrani eseji, Ljubljana: Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete. Mazi-Leskovar, Darja (2003) ‘Domestication and Foreignization in Translating American Prose for Slovenian Children’, Meta: journal des traducteurs/Meta: Translators’ Journal, Ljubljana, 48.1–2: 250–65. Milanič, Irena (2000) ‘The Second generation of Slovene Americans and the Youth Magazine Mladinski list – Juvenile’, Acta Neophilologica, Ljubljana, 33.1–2: 79–84. Ogen, Mart (1984) ‘Spremna beseda’ in Joseph Conrad (1899) Srce teme, trans. [Mart Ogen] Ljubljana: Prešernova družba. Paunović, Zoran (2017) ‘Džozef Konrad – Između uzvišenosti i niskosti’, P.U.L.S.E. e-Magazine, http:// pulse.rs/dzozef-konrad-izmedu-uzvisenosti-i-niskosti/. Prezelj, Jožko (1932) ‘Joseph Conrad, Senčna črta’, Ljubljanski zvon, Ljubljana, 52.7: 315–17. Rupel, Slavko (1967) ‘Beli kit. Mira Mihelič’, Primorski dnevnik, Trst, 112: 5. 489

Bibliography Šavle, Majda (2009) ‘Joseph Conrad’s Publications in Slovenian Serializations’, Conrad First: The Joseph Conrad Periodical Archive, http://www.conradfirst.net/conrad/scholarship/authors/list. Šmalc, Matej (1927) ‘Inozemski pregled’, Ljubljanski zvon, Ljubljana, 47.17: 219–30, 256. Smolej, Viktor (1934) ‘Joseph Conrad: Tajfun’, Mladika, Trst, 15: 74. Stanovnik, Majda (1987) ‘Literarni prevod na Slovenskem 1945–1965’, Primerjalna književnost, Ljubljana, 10.2: 41–52. Stanovnik, Majda (ed.) (1996) Prevod besedila. Prevajanje romana: 20. prevajalski zbornik, Ljubljana: Društvo slovenskih književnih prevajalcev. Stanovnik, Majda (ed.) (2005) Slovenski literarni prevod 1550–2000, Ljubljana: Založba ZRC. Štingl, Franc (1903) ‘Joseph Conrad: Youth, a narrative and two other stories’, Dom in svet, Ljubljana, 16.9: 570. Vidan, Ivo (1958) ‘Joseph Conrad in Yugoslavia’, Kwartalnik Neofilologiczny, Warsaw, 4.1–2: 79–81.

Chapter 26: The Swedish Uses of Conrad Translations AF: (1908) Almayers dårskap: berättelse från en flod i östern, trans. [?], Stockholm: Hierta; serialized in Jämtlandsposten [The Jämtland Post], Östersund, 28 May–28 November 1910. (1953) Almayers dårskap: berättelse från en flod i östern, trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; new eds, Stockholm: Tiden, 1961; Stockholm: PAN/Norstedt, 1967; Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1985; Stockholm: Norstedt, 2015; audiobook read by Gunnar Johnson, Enskede: TPB, 2003. (1955) Almayers dårskap: berättelse från en flod i östern, trans. Greta Åkerhielm, Stockholm: Lindqvist; new edn Helsingborg: Bokfrämjandet, 1967. AG: (1920) Guldpilen, trans. Elis Brusewitz, Stockholm: Bonnier; Helsinki: Schildt. APR: (1966) Konfidentiellt: några hågkomster, trans. Gunnar Barklund, Stockholm: Rabén & Sjögren; repr. Stockholm: Norstedt, 2016; new edn together with The Mirror of the Sea published as I egen sak, Lund: BookLund, 2003; audiobook read by Gert Lundstedt, Enskede: TPB, 2008. C: (1919) Ett tärningskast, trans. Elis Brusewitz, Stockholm: Bonnier; Helsinki: Schildt. CD: (1964) ‘Kongodagboken’ [excerpts from ‘The Congo Diary’], trans. [?], in Carl Gösta Widstrand (ed.), Afrikaresenärer, Stockholm: Bonnier. HoD: (1949) Mörkrets hjärta [Heart of Darkness, together with The Shadow-Line and ‘Youth’], trans. Louis Renner, Stockholm: Forum. (1960) Mörkrets hjärta, trans. Margaretha Odelberg, Stockholm: Biblioteksförlaget; new eds, Stockholm: Prisma, 1969; Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1983, 1987, 1988, 1996; Stockholm: Tiden, 1992; Lund: BookLund, 1998; Stockholm: Modernista, 2014, 2018, 2021; audiobook read by Max von Sydow, Enskede: SRF Tal & Punkt, 1994; reissued Stockholm: Bonnier Audio, 2007; audiobook read by Hans-Eric Stenborg, Enskede: TPB, 2006; audiobook read by Björn Pedersen, Malmo: HörOpp, 2014; audiobook read by Ove Ström, with text, Johanneshov: MTM, 2019. (2005) Mörkrets hjärta, audiobook trans. and read by Per Sandborgh, Danderyd: Cede Books. (2006) Mörkrets hjärta [together with ‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. Einar Heckscher, Gothenburg: Lindelöw; repr. 2008; revised ed. 2013, 2016, 2019; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2006. 490

Bibliography (2008) Mörkrets hjärta, dramatization for radio by Magnus Berg, based on Odelberg’s and Heckscher’s translations, Radio Sweden, Radioteatern. (2018) Mörkrets hjärta, graphic novel, trans. Horst Schröder, adapt. David Zane Mairowitz, illus. Catherine Anyango Grünewald, Stockholm: Epix. (2019) Mörkrets hjärta, trans. Christian Ekvall, Lund: Bakhåll. LE: (1958) ‘Den mörklagda kusten’ [‘The Unlighted Coast’], trans. Lars Bjurman, Sydsvenska Dagbladet, 16 February. (1961) ‘Meddelande till sjöfarande’ [‘Outside Literature’], trans. Lars Bjurman, in Magnus von Platen (ed.), Världens bästa essäer i urval, 414–17. Stockholm: Natur och kultur. LJ: (1945) Lord Jim, trans. Nils Holmberg, Stockholm: Natur och kultur [printed together with Multatuli’s Max Havelaar]; repr. Höganäs: Bra böcker, 1976; Höganäs: Bokorama, 1984. (1955) Lord Jim, trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; repr. 1971, 1983, 1991, 2018; new edn, Stockholm: Modernista, 2021; audiobook read by Curt Kärrby, Enskede: TPB, 2002. MoS: (1945) ‘Invigning’ [‘Initiation’), trans. Alvar Zacke, in Olof Strandberg (ed.), Berättelser från de sju haven, 17–36. Stockholm: Rabén & Sjögren. (1954) ‘Tremolino’, in Karain och andra berättelser [Karain and other stories], trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2005. (1966) Havets spegel: minnen och intryck, trans. Gunnar Barklund, Stockholm: Rabén & Sjögren; new edn together with A Personal Record published as I egen sak, Lund: BookLund, 2003; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2008. N: (1960) Nostromo, trans. Sten Söderberg, Stockholm: Saxon & Lindström; new edn, rev. Henrik Petersen, Stockholm: Modernista, 2011, 2014; audiobook read by Ove Ström, Johanneshov: TPB, 2012. NLL: (1957) ‘Böcker’ [‘Books’], trans. Harry Järv, in Horisont, 4; repr. in Harry Järv (ed.), Klassisk horisont, Malmö: Cavefors, 1960; repr. Staffanstorp: Cavefors, 1970, 153–60. (1998) Två essäer om Titanic [‘Some Reflections on the Loss of the Titanic’ and ‘Certain Aspects of the Admirable Inquiry into the Loss of the Titanic’], trans. Tryggve Emond, Lund: BookLund. NN: (1937) Stormen: en historia från sjön, trans. Teresia Eurén, Stockholm: Åhlén. (1947) Negern på Narcissus: ett utdrag [twenty-two-page excerpt from The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’], trans. Louis Renner, Stockholm: Forum; repr. in Erik Asklund (ed.), Berömda berättare från de sju haven, 67–106. Stockholm: Folket i bild, 1954; Mårten Edlund (ed.), Historier från de sju haven, 90–120. Stockholm: Folket i bild, 1961. (1948) Negern på Narcissus [together with Typhoon], trans. Louis Renner, Stockholm: Forum; repr. 1958, 1972; new edn, Helsingborg: Bokfrämjandet, 1972; new edn, rev. Tryggve Emond, Lund: BookLund, 1997; audiobook read by Göran Svensson, Enskede: TPB, 2006. OI: (1909) En fredlös på öarna, trans. (probably) G. A. Jäderholm, Stockholm: Ljus; serialization in Jämtlandsposten [The Jämtland Post], Östersund, announced for 1911. (1950) En fredlös på öarna, trans. Håkan Norlén, Stockholm: Folket i bild; new eds, Stockholm: Tiden, 1979, 1993; Stockholm: Norstedt, 2015; audiobook read by Inga Lüning, Enskede: TPB, 2007. Rom: (1949) Äventyret, trans. Nils Fredricson, Stockholm: Fahlcranz & Gumælius; Helsinki: Söderström. Rov: (1924) Fribytaren, trans. Ernst Lundquist, Uppsala: Lindblad; repr. 1939. 491

Bibliography (2009) Piraten, trans. Carl Erik Tovås, Stockholm: Anderson Pocket; audiobook read by Helena Gripe, Johanneshov: TPB, 2009. SA: (1910) Provokatören: en sannfärdig berättelse, trans. G. A. Jäderholm. Stockholm: Hierta. (1976) Anarkisten, trans. Roland Adlerberth, Stockholm: Tiden; repr. 1983, 1984; Stockholm: Norstedt, 2015; audiobook read by Lena Lagerkvist, Enskede: TPB, 2005. (2011) Anarkisten, dramatization for radio by Bengt Ohlsson, based on Adlerberth’s translation, Radio Sweden, Radioteatern. SL: (1949) Skugglinjen [together with Heart of Darkness and ‘Youth’], trans. Louis Renner, Stockholm: Forum. 1993. Skugglinjen [The Shadow-Line], trans. Eva de Loisted and Gunnar Lundin, Lund: BookLund; audiobook read by Gösta Grevillius, Lund: Btj, 2011. SoS: (1945) ‘Vidundret’ [‘The Brute’], trans. Alvar Zacke, in Olof Strandberg (ed.), Berättelser från de sju haven, 37–63. Stockholm: Rabén & Sjögren. TLS: (1914) ‘Freja från de sju öarne’ [‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. [?], Tiden [The Time], Helsinki, 9 January–27 February 1914 [interrupted by the closing-down of the journal]. (1914) I fjärran farvatten: tre berättelser [’Twixt Land and Sea], trans. Harald Jernström, Stockholm: Bonnier; Porvoo: Holger Schildt; repr. Copenhagen: Saga Egmont, 2019; Tur [‘A Smile of Fortune’], repr. separately, Stockholm: Bonnier, 1919; ‘Hyttkamraten’ [‘The Secret Sharer’], repr. in Sigfrid Siwertz (ed.), All världens berättare, 25–67. Bonnier, 1942. (1942) ‘Hyttkamraten’ (‘The Secret Sharer’), trans. Staffan Andrae, in Sigfrid Siwertz (ed.), All världens berättare, 2nd edn, 22–60. Stockholm: Bonnier; repr. with the title ‘Under Koh-Ring’ in Sigrud Hoel (ed.), Sällsamma berättelser från hela världen, 352–89. Stockholm: Bonnier, 1959. (1954) ‘Dubbelgångaren: en episode från kusten’ [‘The Secret Sharer’], in Karain och andra berättelser [Karain and other stories; ‘Karain’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The “Tremolino” ’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘The Partner’], trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2005; ‘Dubbelgångaren’, repr. in Bengt Holmqvist (ed.), Världens bästa noveller i urval, 469–503. Stockholm: Natur och Kultur, 1961. (1961) ‘Den hemlighetsfulle hyttkamraten’ (‘The Secret Sharer’), trans. Stina och Hans Hergi, in Hans Hergin (ed.), Storm och myteri och andra historier från de sju haven, 155–207. Stockholm: Folket i bild. (1988) ‘Hyttkamraten’, trans. Maria Anderberg, Örebro: samspråk; repr. 2005; audiobook read by Håkan Julander, Enskede: TPB, 2005. TU: (1898) ‘En civilisationens utpost. Tidsbild från de svartes verldsdel’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. [?], Stockholms Dagblad, 21 November–3 December 1898; Aftonposten, Helsinki, 10–28 January 1899. (1902) ‘En civilisationens utpost’ [‘An Outpost of Civilisation’], trans. [?], Dagens Nyheter, 21–31 October. (1902) ‘Lagunen’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. [?], Dagens Nyheter, 28 December 1902–2 January 1903. (1903) Fredlösa historier [Tales of unrest], trans. Karin Hirn, Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, repr. 1924, 1983; ‘Lagunen’ [‘The Lagoon’], repr. in Tore Zetterholm (ed.), Klassiska berättelser om kärlek, 149–65. Höganäs: Bra Böcker, 1978; audiobook read by Lo Thorsdotter, Johanneshov: MTM, 2019. (1948) ‘Lagunen’ [‘The Lagoon’], trans. Mårten Edlund, in Ivar Öhman (ed.), Berömda berättare [Famous Storytellers], Stockholm: Folket i Bilds Förlag, 171–97, 1948; repr. in Mårten Edlund (ed.), Tjugo mästare i nobelklass [Twenty Champions of the Nobel Class] 131–48. Stockholm: Folket i bild, 1962. (1954) Karain och andra berättelser [Karain and other stories; ‘Karain’, ‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘ “The Tremolino” ’, ‘The Secret Sharer’, ‘The Partner’], trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2005; ‘En civilisationens utpost’ [‘An Outpost of 492

Bibliography Progress’], repr. in Mårten Edlund (ed.), Rysare från när och fjärran, 231–62. Stockholm: Folket i bild, 1961. (1997) ‘Idioterna’ [‘The Idiots’], trans. Sven Christer Swahn, in Sällsamma berättelser i mästarklass, 89–107. Stockholm: Klassikerförlaget. (2006) ‘Pionjärerna’ [‘An Outpost of Progress’, together with Heart of Darkness], trans. Einar Heckscher, Gothenburg: Lindelöw ; repr. 2008; revised edn 2013, 2016, 2019; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2006. Ty: (1918) Taifun, trans. Harald Jernström, Stockholm: Bonnier; Helsinki: Holger Schildt; repr. Copenhagen: Saga Egmont, 2019. (1930) ‘Tyfon, en berättelse från kinesiska havet’, dramatization for radio by John Watt, trans. [?], Radio Sweden. (1942) ‘Typhoon’ [in English, with Swedish notes for use in schools], ed. Urban Ohlander, Stockholm: A. V. Carlson. (1948) Tyfon (together with The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’), trans. Louis Renner, Stockholm: Forum; repr. 1958, 1972; new edn, Helsingborg: Bokfrämjandet, 1972; Tyfon, new edn, Stockholm: Forum, 1973; audiobook read by Göran Svensson, Enskede: TPB, 2006; reissued 2009. (1998) ‘Amy Foster’, trans. Tryggve Emond, Lund: BookLund; audiobook read by Gösta Grevillius, Lund: Btj, 2011. UWE: (1979) Med andra ögon, trans. Roland Adlerberth, Stockholm: Tiden; audiobook read by Hans Sandquist, Enskede: TPB, 1980; reissued 2005. V: (1916) Seger: berättelse från Söderhafven, trans. Elin Palmgren, Stockholm: Bohlin. (1952) Seger: en berättelse från öarna, trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; repr. 1963, 1969; audiobook read by Hans-Eric Stenborg, Enskede: TPB, 2006. WT: (1929) ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ [in English, with Swedish notes for use in schools], ed. E. Herdin, Stockholm: Norstedt. (1954) ‘Kompanjonen’ [‘The Partner’], in Karain och andra berättelser [Karain and other stories], trans. Vera och Stig Dahlstedt, Stockholm: Forum; audiobook read by Tore Bengtsson, Enskede: TPB, 2005. Y: (1949); ‘Ungdom’ [‘Youth’, together with Heart of Darkness and The Shadow-Line], trans. Louis Renner, Stockholm: Forum; repr. in Sven Stolpe (ed.), Mästarberättare, 111–41. Stockholm: Bonnier, 1977. (1953) ‘Judea’ [‘Youth’], trans. [?], in Svenska Morgonbladet, 19 January; Bohuslänningen, 11 April; Västerbottenskuriren, 9 June; Hudiksvalls nyheter, 28 July; and Östergötlands Dagblad, 25 January 1958. (1994) Den yttersta gränsen [‘The End of the Tether’], trans. Tryggve Emond, Lund: BookLund; audiobook read by Erik Nyman, Enskede: TPB, 2005.

Works cited Aftonposten (1895) [Statement of Intent], 30 March: 2. Ahlmark, Per (1994) Vänstern och tyranniet: det galna kvartsseklet [The Left and tyranny: the mad quarter century], Stockholm: Timbro. Bell, David (2002) Joseph Conrad’s The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’: A Dialogue Seminar, ed. David Bell, Östersund: Mid-Sweden University College. Bendz, Ernst (1923) Joseph Conrad: An Appreciation, Gothenburg: N. J. Gumpert. Bengtsson, Frans G. (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Ord och bild, 33: 501–9; repr. in Litteratörer och militärer, 59–82. Stockholm: Bonnier, 1948. 493

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Bibliography Jäderholm, G. A. (1908) ‘Drömmarnas fantasi’ [The Imagination of Dreams], Dagens Nyheter, 25 October: 4. Jasanoff, Maya (2019) Gryningsvakten: Joseph Conrad i en global värld, trans. Helena Hansson, Gothenburg: Daidalos; originally published as The Dawn Watch: Joseph Conrad in a Global World, New York: Penguin Press, 2017. J. Bz. [unidentified signature] (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Social-Demokraten [The Social Democrat], 2 May : 3. Johanson, Klara [K.J] (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest)], Stockholms Dagblad, unknown date; repr. in Björneborgs Tidning, Pori, 21 April: 3. Johanson, Klara [K.J] (1957) Review of Almayers dårskap, in Klara Johanson, Kritik [Criticism], 176–9, Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand; orig. pub. Stockholms Dagblad, 12 April 1908. K. [unidentified signature] (1916) Review of Seger, Dagens Nyheter, 6 June: 8. Karlstadstidningen (1903) Anon. review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest)], 16 May: 3. Kirschner, Paul (1993) ‘Conrad, Ibsen and the Description of Humanity’, Conradiana 25.3 (Autumn): 178–206. Kristianstads Läns Tidning (1903) Anon. review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], 13 May: 4. Lagercrantz, Olof (1982a) Min första krets [My first circle], Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand. Lagercrantz, Olof (1982b) ‘Joseph Conrad hör till den stora traditionen’ [Conrad belongs to the great tradition], Dagens Nyheter, 12 October: 4. Lagercrantz, Olof (1985) Om konsten att läsa och skriva [On the art of reading and writing], Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand. Lagercrantz, Olof (1987) Färd med Mörkrets hjärta [Sailing with Heart of Darkness], Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand. Landquist, John (1915) Review of I fjärran farvatten, Dagens Nyheter, 27 June: 11. Landskronaposten (1903) Anon. review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], 28 April: 3. Lidman, Sara (1983) ‘Kiosklitteraturen hyllar ondskan’ [Pulp literature celebrates evil], Dagens Nyheter, 21 August: 4. Lindgren, Hellen (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Varia, 24 March: 319–20. Lindqvist, Sven (1987) ‘Ett kapitel ur kolonialismens historia: den förträngda vetskapen’ [A chapter from the history of colonialism: the repressed knowledge], Dagens Nyheter, 3 October: 4. Lindqvist, Sven (1992) Utrota varenda jävel, Stockholm: Bonnier; Exterminate All the Brutes, trans. Joan Tate, London: Granta, 2002. Lindskog, Annika J. (2014) ‘ “It Was Very Quiet There’: The Contaminating Soundscapes of “Heart of Darkness” ’, The Conradian, 39.2: 44–60 Lindskog, Claes E. (2008) ‘Spatial Structures in Conrad’s Universe’, unpub. PhD dissertation, Lund University. Lindskog, Claes E. (2011) ‘Making Us See: Lord Jim and the Visual Imagination’, The Conradian, 36.1: 31–45. Lindskog, Claes E. (2013) ‘An Outpost of Oppression: Finland’s Year of Destiny and the First Conrad Translation into Swedish’, www.conradfirst.net. Lindskog, Claes E. (2015) ‘ “Let Thy Words Be Few”: Joseph Conrad’s Use of Ecclesiastes in Lord Jim’, The Explicator, 73.3: 1–3 Lundström, Enni [Anna Örn] (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Göteborgs Aftonblad, 29 August: 2. Luthersson, Peter (2014) Förlorare: noteringar om 1800–talets etos [Losers: notes on the ethos of the 19th century], Stockholm: Bladh by Bladh. Lönnroth, Lars (1992a) ‘Lindqvist och Conrad är inte bundsförvanter’ [Lindqvist and Conrad are not comrades in arms], Svenska Dagbladet, 24 May : 30. Lönnroth, Lars (1992b) ‘Lindqvistlobbyn gör reträtt under rökutveckling’ [The Lindqvist lobby retreat under cover of smoke], Svenska Dagbladet, 30 May : 30. Narcissus (1998) Dialoger, 47, Stockholm: Royal Dramatic Theatre. Nilsson, Ingemar (2009) John Landquist: en biografi [John Landquist: a biography], Stockholm: Atlantis. Nordin, Svante (1994) Fredrik Böök: en levnadsteckning [Fredrik Böök: a description of the life], Stockholm: Natur och Kultur. 496

Bibliography Nordisk familjebok (1904–26) 2nd edn, 38 vols, Stockholm: Nordisk familjebok. Nordling, Johan [J. N-G.] (1903) Brief Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest)], Idun: illustrerad tidning för kvinnan och hemmet [Illustrated magazine for women and the home], 18: 270. Ohlsson, Bengt (1987) ‘En färd genom Mörkrets hjärta’, Dagens Nyheter, 2 August: 29–30. Öresundsposten (1903) Anon. review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], 5 May: 4. Peters, John G. (2013) Joseph Conrad’s Critical Reception, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Peters, John G. and J. H. Stape (eds) (2012) Joseph Conrad: Contemporary Reviews, vol. 1: Almayer’s Folly to Youth: A Narrative and Two Other Stories, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pettersson, Torsten (1982) ‘Consciousness and Time: A Study in the Philosophy and Narrative Technique of Joseph Conrad’, PhD dissertation, Turku: Åbo Academy. Piechota, Marcin (2005) ‘The First Conrad Translation: An Outcast of the Islands in Polish’, The Conradian, 30.1: 88–96; repr. www.conradfirst.net. Pudełko, Brygida (2005) Review of Joseph Conrad v Rossii by Viktor Borisov, Joseph Conrad Society (UK), http://www.josephconradsociety.org/conradian_review_pudelko.htm. Renholm, Gottfrid (1908) Review of Almayers dårskap, Vårt Land [Our country], 23 April: 6. Ruhe, Algot (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Svenska Dagbladet, 14 May: 3. Runström, J. A. [–m] (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Aftonbladet, 7 (July): 4. Samuelsson, Lina (2013) Kritikens ordning: Svenska bokrecensioner 1906, 1956, 2006 [The Order of Criticism: Swedish Book Reviews], PhD dissertation, Karlstad: Bild, Text & Form. Söderhamns tidning (1925) Short review of Fribytaren [The Rover], 11 February: 4. Söderhjelm, Werner (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Hufvudstadsbladet, 17 May: 4. Steltenpool, Robert (n.d.) ‘The First Serialization and Translation of Conrad: Almayer’s Folly in Het Nieuws van den Dag (Amsterdam), May–July 1896’, Conrad First, conradfirst.net/conrad/ scholarship/authors/steltenpool.html. Stockholms Dagblad (1898) ‘Englands kolonialpolitik’ [England’s Colonial Policy], 21 November; based on ‘Mr. Chamberlain in Manchester’, The Times, 17 November 1898: 10. Sundkvist, Luis (2018) ‘Frans G. Bengtsson, A Swedish Champion of Conrad’, The Conradian 43.2: 1–28. Svenska Panoptikon (1903) Vägvisare genom Svenska panoptikon [Catalogue for the wax museum the Swedish Panopticon], https://stockholmskallan.stockholm.se/post/8255. Tell, Per Erik (2005) Detta fredliga uppdrag: om 522 svenskar i terrorns Kongo [This peaceful mission: about 522 Swedes in the Congo of the terror], Umeå: hström. Thavenius, Jan (1992) ‘Marlows mardrömmar’ [Marlow’s nightmares], in Moderna klassiker [Modern Classics], 39–56. Lund: Department of Comparative Literature. Thavenius, Jan (2001) ‘Ett osäkert sökande’, in Det oavslutade, 51–72. Stehag: Brutus Östlings Bokförlag Symposion. Tidning för Falu Land och Stad (1903) Anon. review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], 7 May: 3. Vinterhed, Kerstin (1982) ‘Min brist på insikt överväldigar mig’ [My lack of insight overwhelms me], Dagens Nyheter, 5 September: 32. Westberg, Ebba [E. Wbg] (1903) Review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], Dagny: Tidskrift för sociala och litterära intressen [Dagny: A Journal of Social and Literary Interests], 6.12–13: 295–6; repr. in English in The Conradian 31.2 (2006): 134–5. Wiborgs Nyheter (1903) Anon. review of Fredlösa historier [Tales of Unrest], 25 September: 2. Wästberg, Per (1960) ‘Kongos arvedel’ [Congo’s inheritance], Dagens Nyheter, 13 August: 3. Wästberg, Per (1961) ‘Stanleys väg’ [Stanley’s path], Dagens Nyheter, 17 January: 4. Zilliacus, Emil (1907) ‘En bok om havet. Joseph Conrad: The Mirror of the Sea’ [A book about the sea], Argus, 1: 7–9.

Chapter 27: Conrad in the Academy: Recent Swedish Academic Scholarship Translations For translations into Swedish, see Chapter 26, above. 497

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Works cited Bergmann, Sven Arne (2004) ‘Feminism som retorik: Kring uppdateringen av en välkänd myt’, Tidsskrift för litteraturvetenskap: 165–85. Berthoud, Jacques (1993) Joseph Conrad: The Major Phase, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carabine, Keith (1996) The Life and the Art: A Study of Conrad’s ‘Under Western Eyes’, Amsterdam: Rodopi. Cole, Sarah (1998) ‘Conradian Alienation and Imperial Intimacy’, MFS, 44.2: 251–81. Forselius, Tilda Maria (2008) ‘Dr Kennedys skeva diagnos: Om berättarens makt och begränsning i Joseph Conrads “Amy Foster” ’ [Dr Kennedy’s partial diagnosis: On the narrator’s power and limitation in Joseph Conrad’s ‘Amy Foster’], Tidskrift för litteraturvetenskap: 128–39. Fraser, Gail (1988) Interweaving Patterns in the Works of Joseph Conrad, Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press. Hammarfelt, Björn and Sarah de Rijcke (2015) ‘Accountability in context: effects of research evaluation systems on publication practices, disciplinary norms, and individual working routines in the faculty of Arts at Uppsala University’, Research Evaluation, 24.1 (1 January): 63–77, https://doi.org/10.1093/ reseval/rvu029. Holm, Birgitta (1989) ‘Hjärta av mörker. Om Orfeus, Eurydike och Joseph Conrads roman’ [Heart of Darkness: Orpheus and Eurydice, and Joseph Conrad’s Novel], Bonniers Litterära Magasin: 281–91. Hooper, Myrtle (1996) ‘ “Oh, I hope he won’t talk”: Narrative and Silence in “Amy Foster” ’, The Conradian, 21.1: 51–64. Hyland, Peter (1988) ‘The Little Woman in the Heart of Darkness’, Conradiana, 20.1: 3–11. Kramer, Jürgen (2003) ‘What the Country Doctor “did not see”: The Limits of the Imagination in “Amy Foster” ’, Conradiana, 28.2: 1–11. Lundberg, Johan (2017) Europas skugga: om Henry James och frihetens väsen [The Shade of Europe: Henry James and the Freedom of the Spirit], Stockholm: Timbro. Moser, Thomas (1984) ‘An English Context for Conrad’s Russian Characters: Sergey Stepniak and the Diary of Olive Garnett’, Journal of Modern Literature 11.1 (March): 3–44. Smith, Johanna M. (1989) ‘Too Beautiful Altogether: Patriarchal Ideology in “Heart of Darkness” ’, in Ross C. Murfin (ed.), Case Study in Contemporary Criticism: Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 169–84. Straus, Nina Pelikan (1987) ‘The Exclusion of the Intended from Secret Sharing in Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” ’, Novel, 20.2: 124–37. Tyrberg, Anders (2006) ‘Berätta, beslöja, uppenbara: Joseph Conrads Heart of Darkness och Sven Delblancs Jerusalems natt’ [Narrate, conceal, reveal: Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and Sven Delblanc’s Jerusalems natt [Jerusalem at Night]], in Berätta för att förstå [Narrating for understanding], Karlstad: Karlstad University Press.

Chapter 28: One of Us: Conrad’s Reception in Ukraine Translations into Ukrainian AF: (1929a) trans. Viktor Petrovskyj, Kyiv : Slovo. (1929b) trans. Maria Lysychenko, Kharkiv : Knyhospilka [Ukrainian Cooperative Publishing Association]. (2017a) trans. Maria Lysychenko,.. (2017b) trans. Maria Lysychenko, Kyiv : Svitova Biblioteka [World Library]. (2019) trans. V. Petrovsky, Kyiv : Tempora. HoD: (2015a) trans. Ihor Andrushchenko, Lviv : Astrolabia. (2015b) trans. Maria Holovko, Kyiv : Znannya. (2016) trans. Taras Boyko, Kharkiv : Folio. 498

Bibliography LJ: (1985), trans. Lyudmyla Honchar, Kyiv: Molod’. NLL: (2019) ‘Autocracy and War’, trans. Petro Tarashchuk, Kyiv: Tempora. NN: (2019) trans. Andriy Bodnar, Kyiv : Tempora. OI: (2019) trans. Andriy Bodnar: Kyiv : Tempora. Res: (1929a) trans. Viktor Petrovskyj, Kyiv : Slovo. (1929b) trans. Hanna Kas’yanenko, Kharkiv : Knyhospilka [Ukrainian Cooperative Publishing Association]. (1959) trans. Viktor Petrovskyj, Kyiv : Radyans’kyj Pys’mennyk. SA: (2019) trans. Petro Tarashchuk, Kyiv : Tempora. SL: (2019) trans. Olha Fira and Mykola Rozhkivsky TLS: (1960) [‘Freya of the Seven Isles’], trans. E. Y. Khomenko, Kyiv: Molod’. TT: (1928) trans. M. Kalynovych. (2017) trans. M. Kalynovych, Kyiv : Svitova Biblioteka [World Library]. TU: (1926) An Outpost of Progress: Short Stories [‘An Outpost of Progress’, ‘The Lagoon’ and ‘Tomorrow’ from Ty], trans. S. Vilkhovyj, Kyiv: Slovo. (1959) ‘An Outpost of Progress’, The Lagoon’ and ‘Tomorrow’ [from Ty], trans. S. Vilkhovyj, Kyiv : Radyans’kyj Pys’mennyk. (2017) ‘An Outpost of Progress’, trans. S. Vilkhovyj, Kyiv : Svitova Biblioteka [World Library]. (2019) Tales of Unrest, trans. Andriy Bodnar, Kyiv: Tempora. Ty: (1930) ‘Typhoon’, trans. M. Rozhkivsky, Kharkiv-Kyiv : DVU. (2018) ‘Falk’, ‘Amy Foster’ and ‘Tomorrow’, trans. Olena O’Lir (2019) ‘Typhoon’, trans. Olha Fira and Mykola Rozhkivsky. UWE: (2019) trans. Petro Tarashchuk, Kyiv : Tempora. Y: Two editions: 2011, 2019.

Conrad criticism in Ukraine Adelheim, E. (1930) Introduction to Typhoon, Kharkiv-Kyiv : Knyhospilka, v–xxxii. Babijchuk, T. (2012) ‘Ekskursija v Muzej Dzhozefa Konrada v Terekhovomu’, Ukrainska Literatura v Zahalnoosvitnij Shkoli, 5: 36–45. Bannikov, N. (1979) ‘V Zerkale Morej’, in V Zerkale Morej, 3–5. Odessa: Mayak. Bed, M. (2001) ‘Apollo Korzeniowski: Storinky Biohrafii’, Berdychivshchyna: Postup u Tretie Tysicholittia, Scholarly Collection Velyka Volyn, vol. 22, 43–6. Zhytomyr-Berdychiv: Mak. Bed, M. (2012) ‘Rodovid Dzhozefa Konrada’ [Joseph Conrad’s Family Tree], Rio-Berdychiv, 87.1050: 3. 499

Bibliography Beidyk, O. (2008) ‘Linhvo-Heohrafichnyj Analiz Tvoriv Dzhozefa Konrada (Juzefa Korzeniowskoho)’, Visnyk Kyivskoho Natsionalnoho Universytetu Imeni Tarasa Shevchenka. Heohrafiya, 55: 38–42. Dolha, N. (2009) ‘ “Vertykal’nyj Kontekst”: Anhlijs’koi Prozy Rubezhu XIX-XX st’, Pivdennyj Arkhiv, 44: 63–7. ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, Ukrainskyj Radianskyj Encyclopedychnyj Slovnyk, vol. 2, 182, Kyiv: AN URSR. Ershov, V.O. (2007) ‘Apollo Nalecz Korzeniowski – Vydatnyj Polskomovnyj Pys’mennyk Pravoberezhnoi Ukrainy’, Berdychivska Zemlia v Plyni Chasu, vol.1, Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko, 38–47. Evert, T. and A. Kovalska (2007) ‘Avtobiohrafichnist’ Prozy Dzhosepha Conrada’, Berdychivska Zemlya v Plyni Chasu. Materialy, vol. 1, 94–106, Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko. Gozenpud, A. (1947) ‘Propovedniki Rasizma v Anglo-Amerikanskoj Liiterature XX Veka’ [Missionaries of Racism in Anglo-American 20th Century Literature], Vitchyzna, 9: 155–69. Horobets, O. (2010) ‘De zakopano pupovynu Dzhozefa Konrada?’, Ukrainska Pravda, 24 October, http:// www.istpravda.com.ia/digest/2010/10/24/1151. Hryshyn-Hryshchuk, I. (1997) ‘Pershovytoky Dzhozefa Konrada’, Slovo I Chas, 9: 58–9. Hyzha, L. (2009) Neoromantychna Proza Josepha Conrada I Yuria Yanovskoho. Avtoreferat Dysertacii na Zdobuttya Naukovoho Stupenya Kandydata Filolohichnykh Nauk, PhD equivalent dissertation, Ternopilsky Natsionalny Pedehohichny Universytet imeni Volodymyra Hnatiuka. Ternopil. Hyzhy, V. (1998) ‘Prostorovo-Chasova Orhanizatsia Neoromantychnoi Khudozhnioi Prozy Josepha Conrada’, Naukovi Zapysky Ternopilskoho Derzhavnoho Pedahohichnoho Universytetu im. V. Hnatiuka. Literaturoznavstvo, 2.3: 61–9. Kalynovych, M. (1926) Introduction to Avanpost Prohresu [An Outpost of Progress], Kyiv: Slovo, vii–xxxiii. Kalynovych, M. (1928) Introduction to Kinets Nevoli, Kyiv : Slovo. Kochur, H. (1960) ‘Nova Zustrich z Dzhozefom Konradom’, Vsesvit, 4: 133–4. Kornienko, V. (1999) ‘Spivets virnosti, voli i moria’ [A Bard of Loyalty, Freedom and Sea], Zarubizhna Literatura, 47.159 (December): 1–2. Kostenko, H. (2011) Vid Konrada do Nabokova: Bilinguizm ta Bikulturnist jak Tvorchyj Impuls, Zaporizhia: ZNTU. Kostrytsia, M. (2007) ‘Spivets Morskoi Romantyky’, Berdychivska Zemlia v Plyni Chasu. vol. 1., Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko, 15–32. Kostrytsia, M. (2009) Spivets Morskoi Romantyky: Joseph Conrad, Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko. Kostrytsia, M. and N. Kostrytsia (n.d.) ‘Dzhozef Konrad – Nash Zemliak’, Zarubizhna Literatura, 47.159: 199. Krytsevy, O. (1974) ‘Anhlijskyj Pys’mennyk – Urozhenets krainy’. Literaturna Ukraina, 8.29 (January). Kuznetsova, L. and K. Lototska (1993) ‘Strukturno-Kompozytsijni Osoblyvosti Pochatkovoho Frahmenta v Romanakh Josepha Conrada’, Inozemna Filolohia. Ministerstvo Osvity Ukrainy, Lvivsky Universytet im. Ivana Franka, 105, Lviv : Svit, 103–09. Leites, A. (1929) Introduction to Olmeyerova Prymkha [AF], Kharkiv: Derzhavne Vydavnytstvo Ukrainy, v–vii. Lozynsky, I. (1990) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Ukrainska Literaturna Entsyklopedia, vol. 2, 556, Kyiv. Lutsenko, O. (2008) ‘Anhlijskyj ta Ukrainskyj Neoromantyzm (Yuri Yanovsky i Joseph Conrad)’, Literaturoznavchi Obrii. Pratzi Molodykh Uchenykh, Instytut Literatury Imeni T.H. Shevchenka Natsionalnoi Akademii Nauk Ukrainy, Kyiv, vol. 13, 219–25. Majfet, H. (1928) ‘Krytyk tsyvilizatsii’ (The Critic of Civilization, in Zhyttya i revolutsia, Kyiv, 7 (June): 127–40. Mohylyansky, M. (1925) ‘D. Konrad “Avanpost Prohresu” ’, Zhyttya i revoliutsia, 12: 107–8. Na Bat’kivshchyni Dzhozefa Konrada [In the Homeland of Joseph Conrad] (1990) Zhytomyr: Redaktsijno-vydavnychyj Viddil Oblpoligrafvydavu. Nemerovska, O. (1928) ‘Dzhozef Konrad. Attempt at a Literary Portrait’, Chervonyj Shlyakh, 5–6: 129–39. Nikolsky, A. (1929) ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, Introduction to Dzhozef Konrad, Tvory, Knyhospilka. Omelyan, L. (2005) ‘Gilyarij Korzeniowski – Uchasnyk Pighotovky Polskoho Povstannya 1863 Roku’, Muzejna Sprava na Zhytomyrshchyni: Istoriya Dosvid, Problemy, Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko, 403–10. Panchenko, V. (2011) ‘Filosofska Proza shcho ‘Prykydayetsia’ Pryhodnytskoiu’, Introduction to Dzhozef Konrad, Zroby abo Pomry: Morski Istorii, Kyiv: Tempora. 500

Bibliography Pradyvlyannaya, L. (2010) ‘Synesthesia v Proze Anhlijskikh Pisatelej Nachala 20 Veka (Na Materiale Proizvedenij V. Woolf, K. Mansfiels, D. Konrada)’, Skhidnoslovyanska Filolohiya. Movoznavstvo, vol. 18, 265–72. Horlivskyj Derzhavnyj Pedahohichnyj Instytut Inozemnykh Mov. Donetskyj Derzhavnyj Universytet. Horlivka. Pustynnikova, I. (n.d.) ‘From Balzac to Conrad’, Panorama, http://ukraineplaces.com/central-ukraine/ from-balzac-to-conrad. Shalahinova, O. (2007a) ‘Pro Rodynni Zvyazky Simyi Korzeniowskih z Zhytomyrshchynoiu’, Berdychivska Zemlya v Plyni Chasu. Materialy, vol.1, Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko, 49–55. Shalahinova, O. (2007b) ‘Materialy pro Rodynu Korzeniowskih u Kyivskomu Istoruchnomu Archyvi’, Berdychivska Zemlya v Plyni Chasu. Materialy, vol. 1, 55–63. Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko. Sharandak, P. (1959) Afterword to Joseph Conrad, Vybrane [Selected Works], Kyiv. Skavronsky, P. (2007) ‘Dzhozef Konrad pro Heohrafiu ta Heohrafichni Doslidzhennia. (Do 150–richchia z Dnia Narodzhennia Vydatnoho Anhlijskoho Pys’mennyka, Moreplavtsia.)’, Heohrafia ta Osnovy Ekonomiky v Shkoli: 11–12. Sokolyansky, M. (1978) ‘Joseph Conrad o Literature’, Voprosy Literatury, 7: 202–3. Sokolyansky, M. and V. Tsybulska, (1996) ‘Ukrainski Reminiscencii Dzhozefa Konrada’, Vsesvit, 8–9: 139–41. Tsybulska, V. (1974) ‘Stepy Jak More, More Jak Stepy’, Prapor, 8: 109–10. Tsybulska, V. (1978) ‘O Novellistihnosti Romana J. Conrada Lord Jim’ [in Russian], Problemy Razvitia Realizma v Zarubezhnoj Literature XIX–XX vekov, Golovnoe Izdatelstvo Izdatelskogo Ob’edinenia ‘Vyshcha Shkola’, 84–91. Tsybulska, V. (1982) Novellistika Josepha Conrada (problematika I Poetika). Avtoreferat na Soiskanie Uchenoj Stepeni Kandidata Filolohicheskih Nauk, PhD dissertation equivalent, in Russian, Kievskij Ordena Lenina Gosudarstvennyj Universitet im. T.G. Shevchenko. Kiev. Venherov, L. (1973) ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, Zarubizhna Literatura (1871–1973), Kyiv: 187–8. Vozniuk, O. (2007) ‘Vizija Ukrainy v Esseistytsi Jerzy Stempowskoho’, Problemy Slov’yanoznavstva, 56: 237–46. Yakovenko, S. (2008–9) ‘Pid Charamy Semantyzatsii: Sertse Pitmy Josef ’a Conrad’a i Styskannya Leshchat Henry James’a’, Amerykanski Literaturni Studii v Ukrainy, 5–6, 197–203. Instytut Literatury im T.H. Shevchenka Natsionalnoi Akademii Nauk. Yakovenko, S. (n.d.) ‘Modernistska pereotsinka Romantychnoho Dosvidu: Joseph Conrad I Yaroslaw Ivaszkiewycz’, Kyivski Polonistychni Studii, 15: 359–68. Yakovleva, I. (2003) Linhvostylistychni Osoblyvosti Morskoi Prozy J. Conrada, Avtoreferat na Zdobuttya Naukovoho Stupenya Kandydata Filolohichnykh Nauk, PhD equivalent dissertation, Lvivsky Natsionalny Universytet, Lviv. Zborovsky, V. (2000) ‘Dzhozef Konrad – Hordist Berdychivshchyny’ [Joseph Conrad – the pride of Berdychiv], Polis’kyj Dyvosvit. Literatura Ridnoho Krajiu: Zhytomyrshchyna, Zhytomyr, 1.

Conradian criticism by Ukrainian scholars published in Russia Kruglyak, M. (1966a) ‘Svoeobrazie Problematiki I Stilya Novelly Josepha Conrada “Avantpost Progressa” ’, Problemy Metoda I Stilya V Progressivnoj Literature Zapada XX Veka, 145, 39–52 Uhenye Zapiski Permskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta im. A.M. Gorkogo. Kruglyak, M. (1966b) ‘Roman Dzhozefa Konrada Negr s Narcissa’, Problemy Metoda I Stilya V Progressivnoj Literature Zapada XX Veka, 145, 53–76. Uhenye Zapiski Permskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta im. A.M. Gorkogo. Kruglyak, M. (1967a) Svoeobrazie Realizma v Tvorchestve Josepha Conrada 1895–1900 gg. Avtoreferat Dissertatsii na Soiskanie Uchenoj Stepeni Kandidata Filolohicheskikh Nauk, PhD equivalent, Ministerstvo Prosveshchenia RSFSR, Moskovskij Pedagigicheskij Institut imeni N.K. Krupskoj, Moscow. Kruglyak, M. (1967b) ‘Joseph Conrad v Sovetskoj Kritike’, Problemy Metoda I Stilya V Progressivnoj Literature Zapada XX Veka, 157, 246–53. Uchenye Zapiski Permskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta im. A.M. Gorkogo. 501

Bibliography Kruglyak, M. (1967c) ‘Svoeobrazie Realizma v v Romane J. Conrada Lord Jim’, Problemy Metoda I Stilya V Progressivnoj Literature Zapada XX Veka, 157, 227–46. Uhenye Zapiski Permskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta im. A.M. Gorkogo. Kruglyak, M. (1968) ‘Joseph Conrad v Zarubezhnoj Kritike’, Problemy Metoda I Stilya V Progressivnoj Literature Zapada XX Veka, 188, 262–77. Uhenye Zapiski Permskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta im. A.M. Gorkogo. Kruglyak, M. (1972) ‘Konflikt i Geroj v Romane J. Conrada Otverzhnnyj s Ostrovov’, Problem Progressivnoj Literatury Zapada XVIII–XX vekov, 270, 120–32. Uchenye Zapiski Permskogo Gosudarstvennogo Universiteta im. A.M. Gorkogo. Sebezhko, E. (1970) ‘Khudozhestvennoe Svoeobrazie Romana J. Conrada Nostromo’, Istoriko-Literaturnyj Sbornik, 148–62. Tulskij Gosudarstvennyj Pedagogicheskij Institut im. L.N. Tolstogo, Kaluga. Sebezhko, E. (n.d.) ‘Problema Geroia i Konflikta v Romane J. Conrada Pobeda’, Voprosy Zarubezhnoj I Russkoj Literatury, 382, 172–91. Uchenye Zapiski Moskovskogo Gosudarstvennogo Pedagogicheskogo Instituta im. V.I. Lenina. Sokolyansky, M. (1978) ‘Joseph Conrad o Literature’, Voprosy Literatury, 7: 202–6. Tsybulskaya, V. (1977) ‘K Sporam o Problematike Serdca Tmy J. Conrada’, Nauchnye Doklady Vysshej Shkoly. Filologicheskie Nauki, 6: 81–6. Tsybulskaya, V. (1987) ‘Osobennosti Povestvovania v Novellax J. Conrada’, Problemy Metoda I Poetiki v Zarubezhnoj Literature XIX–XX vekov, 129–38. Ministerstvo Vysshego I Srednego Specialnogo Obrazovaniq RSFSR, Permskij ordena Trudovogo Krasnogo Znameni Gosudarstvennyj universitet im. A.M. Gorkogo, Perm.

Works cited Adelheim, E. (1930) Introduction to Typhoon, Kharkiv-Kyiv : Knyhospilka, v–xxxii. Babijchuk, T. (2012) ‘Ekskursija v Muzej Dzhozefa Konrada v Terekhovomu’, Ukrainska Literatura v Zahalnoosvitnij Shkoli, 5: 36–45. Bed, M. (2001) ‘Apollo Korzeniowski: Storinky Biohrafii’, Berdychivshchyna: Postup u Tretie Tysicholittia, Scholarly Collection Velyka Volyn, vol. 22, 43–6. Zhytomyr-Berdychiv: Mak. Bed, M. (2012) ‘Rodovid Dzhozefa Konrada’ [Joseph Conrad’s Family Tree], Rio-Berdychiv, 87.1050 (2 November): 3 Dolha, N. (2009) ‘ “Vertikalnyj Kontekst”, Anhlijskoi Prozy Rubezhu XIX–XX st. (R.L Stevenson, R. Kipling, J. Conrad)’, Pivdennyj Arkhiv (Zbirnyk Naukovykh Prac’. Filolohichni Nauky) [Collected Papers on Philology], vol. 44, 63–7. Khersonsky Derzhavny Universytet, Kherson. Hampson, R. (2018) ‘From Master Mariner to Modernist Master’, Introduction to Selected Edition of Joseph Conrad, Kyiv : Tempora, v–xxxvi. Horobets, O. (2010) ‘De zakopano pupovynu Dzhozefa Konrada?’, Ukrainska Pravda, 24.10, http://www. istpravda.com.ia/digest/2010/10/24/1151. Hryshyn-Hryshchuk, I. (1997) ‘Pershovytoky Dzhozefa Konrada’, Slovo I Chas, 9: 58–9. Kalynovych, M. (1926) ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, Introduction to Avanpost Prohresu [‘An Outpost of Progress’], trans. S. Vilkhovy, Kyiv : Slovo, vii–xxxiii. Kochur, H. (1960) ‘Nova Zustrich z Dzhozefom Konradom’, Vsesvit, 4: 133–4. Kornienko, V. (1999) ‘Spivets virnosti, voli i moria’ [A Bard of Loyalty, Freedom and the Sea], Zarubizhna Literatura, 47.159 (December): 1–2. Kostenko, H. (2011) Vid Konrada do Nabokova: Bilinguizm ta Bikulturnist jak Tvorchyj Impul’s, Zaporizhia: ZNTU. Kostrytsia, M. (2007) ‘Spivets Morskoi Romantyky’, Berdychivska Zemlia v Plyni Chasu, vol. 1, 15–32. Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko. Kostrytsia, M. and N. Kostrytsia, (n.d.) ‘Dzhozef Konrad – Nash Zemliak’, Zarubizhna Literatura, 47.159: 199. Kozak, D. (2018) ‘Prymitka redaktora do zibrannya’ [Editor’s Note to Selected Edition of Joseph Conrad], Kyiv: Tempora. Majfet, H. (1928) ‘Krytyk tsyvilizatsii’in Zhyttya i revolutsia, Kyiv, 7 (June): 127–40. 502

Bibliography Mohylyansky, M. (1925) ‘J. Conrad. Avanpost Prohresu’, Zhyttya I Revoliutsiya, 12: 107–8. Na Bat’kivshchyni Dzhozefa Konrada [In the Homeland of Joseph Conrad] (1990) Redaktsijnovydavnychyj Viddil Oblpoligrafvydavu, Zhytomyr. Najder, Z. (2007) Joseph Conrad. A Life, New York: Camden House. Najder, Z. (ed.) (1983) Conrad Under Familial Eyes, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nemerovs’ka O. (1928) ‘Dzhozef Konrad: Sproba Literaturnoho Portretu’, Chervonyj Shlyakh, 5–6: 129–39. Panchenko, V. (2011) ‘Filosofska Proza shcho ‘Prykydayetsia’ Pryhodnytskoiu’, Introduction to Dzhozef Konrad, Zroby abo Pomry: Morski Istorii, Kyiv: Tempora. Pustynnikova, I. (n.d.) ‘From Balzac to Conrad’, Panorama, http://ukraineplaces.com/central-ukraine/ from-balzac-to-conrad. Shalahinova, O. (2007) ‘Pro Rodynni Zvyazky Simyi Korzeniowskih z Zhytomyrshchynoiu’, Berdychivska Zemlya v Plyni Chasu. Materialy, vol. 1, 49–55. Zhytomyr: M. Kosenko. Sharandak, P. (1959) Afterword to Joseph Conrad, Vybrane [Selected Works], Kyiv, 355–61. Sokolyansky, M. and V. Tsybulska, (1996) ‘Ukrainski Reminiscencii Dzhozefa Konrada’, Vsesvit, 8–9: 139–41. Tsybulska, V. (1974) ‘Stepy Jak More, More Jak Stepy’, Prapor, 8: 109–10. Voitkovska, L. (2020) ‘On Conrad’s Birthplace’, The Conradian, 45.1: 91–9. Vozniuk, O. (2007) ‘Vizija Ukrainy v Esseistytsi Jerzy Stempowskoho’, Problemy Slov’yanoznavstva, 56: 237–46. Zborovsky, V. (2000) ‘Dzhozef Konrad – Hordist Berdychivshchyny’ [Joseph Conrad – the pride of Berdychiv], Polis’kyj Dyvosvit. Literatura Ridnoho Krajiu: Zhytomyrshchyna, Zhytomyr, Part 1: 287–93.

Chapter 29: The Early Ukrainian Critical Reception of Joseph Conrad Translations For translations into Ukrainian, see Chapter 28, above.

Works cited Adelheim, E. (1930) Introduction to Typhoon, Kharkiv-Kyiv : Knyhospilka, v–xxxii. K. (1924) ‘Death of Joseph Conrad’, Proletarskaia Pravda, 12 August: 6. Kalynovych, M. (1926) Introduction to Avanpost Prohresu, Kyiv: Slovo, vii–xxxiii. Kalynovych, M. (1928) Introduction to Kinets Nevoli, Kyiv : Slovo. Kolomiets, L. (2015) Ukrainian Literary Translation and Translators of 1920–30, Vinnytsia: Nova Knyha. Lavrinenko, Y. (1959) Executed Renaissance 1917–1933. Anthology, Munich: Instytut Literacki. Leites, A. (1929) Introduction to Olmeyerova Prymkha [AF], Kharkiv: Derzhavne Vydavnytstvo Ukrainy, v–vii. Lutsiv, L. (1931) ‘The Literature of Conquerors: Ukrainian Translations of Stevenson, Conrad, Wells’, Literaturno-Naukovy Visnyk, 30.7–8: 671–8. Maifet, H. (1928) ‘Critic of Civilization’, Zhyttya i revoliutsia, 7: 127–41. Masenko, L. (ed.) (2015) The Ukrainian Language in the 20th Century: A History of Linguicide, Documents and Materials, Kyiv: Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. Mohylyansky, M. (1925) ‘D. Konrad, “Avanpost Prohresu” ’, Zhyttya i revoliutsia, 12: 107–8. Mych, Rudnytsky (1924) ‘Joseph Conrad’, Dilo, 14 August: 2. Nemerovska, O. (1928) ‘Dzhozef Konrad. An Attempt at a Literary Portrait’, Chervonyj Shlyakh, 5–6: 129–39. Nikolsky, A. (1929) ‘Dzhozef Konrad’, Introduction to Dzhozef Konrad, Tvory, Knyhospilka. 503

Bibliography Panchenko, V. (2011) ‘Filosofska Proza shcho “Prykydayetsia” Pryhodnytskoiu’ [Philosophical Prose that Pretends to be Adventurous], Introduction to Dzhozef Konrad, Zroby abo Pomry: Morski Istorii, Kyiv: Tempora. Plokhy, S. (2016) The Gates of Europe: A History of Ukraine, Kharkiv : KSD. Striha, M. (2006) Ukrainian Literary Translation: Between Literature and Nation-building, Kyiv : Fact. U. (1924) ‘Death of Joseph Conrad’, Vechernieye Radio, 25 August: 8.

504

INDEX

Achebe, Chinua 15, 60, 68, 99, 326, 378, 379 Adamowicz-Pośpiech, Agnieszka 1, 2, 3, 27, 30, 32, 34, 35, 41, 46–7, 263 Adelheim, Evheniy 394–5, 401, 403–4 adventure novel 4–5, 7, 10, 14, 16, 17, 58, 77–84, 87–8, 89, 103, 131, 134, 138, 140, 141, 142, 166, 197–8, 206, 232, 236–7, 390–1, 393, 402 aestheticism 12, 86, 185, 279 Africa 1, 5, 57–8, 59–61, 63, 68, 88, 89–90, 90–5, 98–9, 102, 104–5, 120, 201–2, 208–10, 223–4, 226, 245, 250, 267, 273–6, 303, 304, 307–8, 378–80 Congo 11, 67, 99, 244, 247–9, 251, 257–8, 262, 267, 274–5, 294, 297, 299, 356, 364, 372, 373–4, 377, 378–80 Aguirre, the Wrath of God 262, 271 see also Herzog, Werner Ambrosini, Richard 8, 185–6 Andrzejewski, Jerzy 31, 41, 44 anti-colonialism 14, 16, 17, 83, 89, 99, 247–8, 301–2, 308, 343, 363, 372–4, 376–9, 394, 401 see also colonialism; imperialism anti-fascism 111, 112, 115, 137, 139, 164, 165 Apocalypse Now 14, 100, 102, 158, 262, 264, 265, 266, 271, 275, 285, 296, 302, 305, 308, 320–1 Arendt, Hannah 372, 376 Asparuhov, Asparuh 11–12, 126, 262–4, 269 Baeza, Ricardo 192, 195, 228, 229, 230, 231 Bakhtin, Mikhal 9, 172 Baroja, Pío 197–8, 204 Beckett, Samuel 109, 184, 272, 306, 315, 323, 328 Benet, Juan 10, 198–200, 204, 227, 239, 240–2, 245–6 Benjamin, Walter 109, 121, 157, 185 Beran, Zdenĕk 126, 129, 141 Berdychiv 1, 17, 33, 58, 68, 305, 386, 387, 397 Bien, Horst 126–7, 132, 134, 136, 313 Bignami, Marialuisa 157, 170, 171, 176, 178, 183 Bigongiari, Piero 8, 153–4, 155, 156, 165–6, 173 Bini, Benedetta 178 Binni, Francesco 157, 181, 182 Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente 191–2, 204, 230 Blom, Bert 294, 299 Blüth, Rafał 25, 26, 37, 40 Boisen, Morgens 295, 297 Bompiano, Valentino 8, 153–4, 155, 161, 165 border-crossing 4, 6, 8, 16, 67, 116, 120–1, 122, 123, 164, 175, 231, 252, 262, 299–300, 307, 350, 360, 384 Borges, Jorge Luis 10–11, 121, 197, 243, 244, 246, 253–8 Boy-Zelinski, Tadeusz 12, 40, 41

Braun, Andrzej 3, 32, 33, 41 Buchheim, Lothar-Günther 107, 117–19, 120 Cabot, Just 215–16, 219 Calvino, Italo 8, 9, 158, 159, 165, 166–7, 171, 172, 177, 182, 300 Capoferro, Riccardo 171, 174 Carabine, Keith 31, 381, 383 Carner Ribalta (Carner-Ribalta), Josep 210, 215–18, 222 Casement, Roger 244, 247–9, 250, 251, 252, 262, 299, 323, 324–5 Catholicism 10, 194, 199, 210, 214, 218, 225, 285, 301, 311, 347 Cecchi, Emilio 8, 154, 162–3, 164, 165, 166, 169–71, 172, 173, 232 Cederschiöld, Maria 366, 369, 370 Céline, Louis-Ferdinand 5, 87, 89–90 censorship 2, 6, 7, 8, 12, 15, 28, 44, 60, 62, 110–11, 122, 125, 128–9, 130–1, 133–4, 162, 214, 222, 281, 282–3, 288, 309, 315, 337–8, 340–1, 400 Cervantes, 191, 252, 253 Don Quixote 173, 191, 202, 255, 302 Ceserani, Remo 158, 180, 185 Chukovsky, Korney 331, 332 Chwalewik, Witold 26, 37, 41 Cianci, Giovanni 157, 181, 184, 185 Ciompi, Fausto 8–9, 178, 180, 183, 184–5 Coetzee, J.M. 46, 197 Cole, Sarah 381, 383 Coll-Vinent, Silvia 205, 206, 215, 218, 227, 228, 229, 231 colonialism 5, 16, 17, 31, 60–1, 61–2, 66, 89, 90, 91, 92, 95, 99, 134, 139, 177, 180, 182, 185, 205, 209, 225, 241, 242, 243, 247–9, 251, 268, 269, 275, 288, 296, 297, 325, 342, 363, 364, 367, 368, 372, 373–4, 376–9, 380 communism 8, 29–30, 57, 125, 126, 132, 139, 141, 166–7, 261, 269, 282–3, 288, 312–13, 319, 320–1, 338–9, 340, 363, 389, 399–400 see also Marxism, Marxist; Stalin, Stalinism; and socialism Conrad, Joseph anarchism 7, 13, 14, 125, 126–8, 132, 134, 137, 138, 144, 175, 185, 247, 250, 284, 313 anti-Russian attitude 11, 14, 15, 282, 313, 332, 333, 341, 345 art of the novel 5, 17, 81, 163, 166, 246, 390–1, 394, 402–3 as moral guide 2, 4, 8, 26, 28–9, 33, 35, 41, 185, 231, 374

505

Index as psychological explorer 5, 8, 17, 35, 40, 43, 77, 81, 83, 112, 141, 164, 169, 170, 181, 206, 219, 233, 295, 310, 335, 336, 339–340, 344, 367–8, 369, 392, 393, 394, 401–2, 741 as writer of adventure fiction 4, 7, 10, 12, 14, 16, 17, 77, 131, 134, 138, 140, 141, 152, 171, 173, 194, 195, 197–8, 206, 232, 236–7, 254, 279, 281, 299, 305, 309, 310, 312, 316, 321–2, 335–6, 342–3, 390, 392, 393–4, 396, 401, 402, 403 as writer of boys’ books / children’s book / juvenile fiction 7, 13, 14, 15, 17, 125, 131, 141–2, 146, 147, 270–1, 284, 295, 302, 321, 337, 357, 371 as writer of the sea 3, 10, 11, 12, 15, 16, 24, 25–6, 134, 138, 140, 141, 143, 147, 152, 169, 171, 194, 195, 197, 232, 235, 236–7, 240–1, 254, 264, 282, 295, 305, 309, 315, 335, 336–7, 338, 341, 342, 344, 348, 357, 359, 390, 394–5, 400, 401, 402, 404 betrayal 2, 35, 37, 38, 286, 336, 355, 357 desertion 2, 24, 25, 38, 40 doubles 178, 183, 184, 196, 253, 266, 275 duty 7, 29, 42, 113, 153, 173, 225, 306, 316, 342 epic 170, 173, 174, 193, 254, 265 as ethical writer 2, 8, 28, 35, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 82, 95, 112, 166–7, 170, 185, 187, 205, 206, 219, 233, 355, 394 exile 35, 112, 122, 123, 128, 137, 171, 225, 242, 290, 383 existentialism 8, 116, 123, 134, 171, 184, 186, 265, 266, 268, 275, 307 exoticism 5, 7, 8, 10, 13, 15, 17, 22, 40, 49–50, 78, 79, 80, 134, 137, 141, 147, 152, 164, 169, 170, 210–11, 225, 249, 279, 284, 299, 303, 310, 311, 312, 328, 335, 338, 340, 345, 355, 367, 369, 390, 392, 396 fidelity 2, 29, 30, 33, 35, 42, 43, 93, 113, 137, 232, 234, 290, 315 film adaptations 2–3, 5, 100–1, 158, 172, 219, 225, 262, 264, 297, 299, 303, 320 graphic novels 5, 14, 98–9, 172, 266, 301, 303 guilt 39, 42, 44, 173, 176 hero, heroism 2, 26, 28, 37, 78, 79, 83, 173, 176, 183, 185, 186, 211, 225, 232, 315, 334, 355, 357 honour 28, 29, 33, 35, 42, 46, 119, 244, 253, 254, 289, 301, 336 humanism 8–9, 28, 134, 141, 161, 171, 172, 181, 186, 232, 234, 395 as moral guide 2, 4, 8, 26, 28–9, 33, 35, 41, 185, 231, 374 nihilism 9, 176, 180, 184–5 patriotism 1, 25, 28, 38, 232, 323 pessimism 127, 167, 171, 185, 197, 199, 301, 305, 352, 355, 368, 390, 395 scepticism 123, 177, 180, 184, 225, 286, 302, 313, 344, 360, 368 Slavism/Slavonism 36, 153, 170, 171, 194, 196, 199, 232–3, 277, 305, 334, 346, 348, 350, 352, 354, 359, 360, 371, 392–3

506

solidarity 30, 31, 46, 139, 174, 184, 343, 357, 402 stage adaptations 3, 5, 12, 14, 99–100, 261–8, 270–6, 285, 302, 306–7, 319–20, 380 supernatural 176, 240, 255, 305 tragedy 79, 80, 113, 115, 134, 186, 193, 241, 254, 286, 303, 355, 392 uncategorizability 116, 149, 198, 375 women 169–70, 186, 273, 293 works Almayer’s Folly 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 26–7, 31, 36, 37, 40, 51, 52, 83, 96, 100–1, 108, 129, 133, 136, 139, 145, 147, 149, 152, 153, 157, 175, 178, 182, 186, 191, 195, 198, 207, 210, 211, 215–18, 222, 223, 224, 229, 230, 243, 244, 253, 279, 280, 283, 292, 298, 309–10, 311, 312, 318, 327, 332, 339, 358, 359, 360, 363, 366, 367, 368, 369, 370, 371, 373, 389, 390, 400, 401, 402–3 ‘Amy Foster’ 2, 6, 7, 40, 96, 108, 133, 140, 143, 147, 178, 185, 223, 229, 277, 310, 327, 331, 339, 354, 359, 360, 381, 383, 387, 388, 390 ‘A Note on the Polish Problem’ 37 A Personal Record 15, 21, 40, 110, 139, 140, 144, 191, 200, 201, 223, 224, 305, 318, 323, 360, 364, 386–7, 388; see also Some Reminiscences A Set of Six 12, 107–8, 128, 135, 140, 142, 147, 153, 229, 277, 280, 292, 295, 312, 324, 353 ‘A Smile of Fortune’ 96, 142, 143, 179, 339 ‘An Anarchist’ 126, 128, 229, 301 An Outcast of the Islands 1, 6, 22, 31, 36, 37, 40, 107, 113, 129, 136, 144, 145, 178, 182, 191, 229, 244, 292, 293, 310, 326, 339, 358, 359, 363, 366, 373, 390 ‘An Outpost of Progress’ 2, 4, 10, 12, 13, 16, 31, 40, 80, 85, 99–100, 133, 140, 143, 182, 196, 219, 220–1, 222, 224, 228, 278, 291–2, 302, 326, 331, 336, 338, 339, 341, 342, 343, 364, 366, 367, 369, 389, 390, 391, 400, 401 ‘Autocracy and War’ 37, 390 ‘Because of the Dollars’ 6, 143, 339, 342, 359 ‘Books’ 285 Chance 4, 6, 12, 27, 82, 96, 108, 110, 131, 132, 133, 134, 139, 140, 155, 161, 178, 179, 186, 198, 253, 280, 292, 293, 315, 318, 325, 339, 363, 403 ‘Congo Diary’ 148, 284 ‘Falk’ 2, 7, 12, 14, 40, 108, 140, 143, 158, 178, 229, 264, 301, 331, 336, 339, 341, 342, 343, 390 ‘Freya of the Seven Isles’ 2, 11, 12, 40, 112, 133, 143, 147, 149, 179, 243, 264, 293, 302, 331, 336, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 359, 360, 390 ‘Gaspar Ruiz’ 6, 7, 96, 140, 147, 196, 215, 220, 229, 243, 284, 353, 354 ‘Geography and Some Explorers’ 201, 343 ‘Guy de Maupassant’ 343 ‘Heart of Darkness’ 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 16, 31, 32, 34, 40, 51, 57–8, 59–61, 62–5, 66–8, 71, 73, 78, 87–95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102,

Index 104–5, 108, 111, 120, 129, 131, 132, 133, 140, 143, 147, 148, 149, 153, 158, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 178, 180–4, 193, 196, 200, 201–2, 205, 222, 223, 224, 228, 229, 230, 243, 244, 245, 246, 249, 253, 257–8, 261–2, 264–76, 277, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287–9, 291, 293, 294, 295, 296–7, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302–4, 305, 306, 307–8, 313, 316, 318, 319, 320–1, 322, 323, 328, 331, 336, 339, 342, 343, 356, 357–8, 359, 360, 364, 366, 372, 373–4, 375–6, 377, 378–80, 381, 382, 383, 386, 390, 391, 401–2 ‘Il Conde’ 6, 178, 229, 277, 338, 342, 359 ‘John Galsworthy’ 343 ‘Karain’ 4, 6, 11, 12, 13, 40, 78, 80, 85, 140, 143, 153, 185, 220, 264, 278, 279, 331, 338, 339, 359, 367, 369 Last Essays 313 ‘Laughing Anne’ 331, 339, 342, 343; see also ‘Because of the Dollars’ Lord Jim 2, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 21, 22, 24, 29, 31, 32, 35–55, 59, 65, 73, 78, 79, 81, 93, 94, 96, 97, 98, 108, 110, 120, 121, 129, 131, 132, 133, 135, 136, 139, 140, 147, 148, 149, 151, 152, 157, 158, 159, 170, 171, 172, 173, 175, 176, 191, 193, 195, 197, 198, 201, 202, 205, 215, 222, 229, 239, 244, 253, 255–6, 269, 271, 279, 280, 284, 285, 286, 289, 290, 292, 293, 295, 297–8, 301, 302, 303, 313, 314, 315, 326, 327, 331, 336, 339–40, 342, 343, 348, 354, 355, 359, 360, 365, 374, 377, 386, 390, 391, 397 Nostromo 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15, 81, 98, 108, 110, 129, 131, 132–3, 136, 139, 140, 148, 151, 152, 153, 158, 173, 176–7, 191, 195, 215, 222, 229, 230, 243, 246, 249, 256–7, 269, 280, 281, 282, 286, 293, 295, 297, 315, 318, 324, 327, 332, 339, 342, 351, 355, 358, 359, 360, 364, 374, 377, 391 Notes on Life and Letters 144, 161, 284, 313 ‘One Day More’ 100, 267 ‘Out of Literature’ 187 ‘Poland Revisited’ 96 ‘Prince Roman’ 21, 140, 233, 277, 388 Romance 7, 36, 153, 280, 281, 339 ‘Some Reflections on the Loss of the Titanic’ 196 Some Reminiscences 324, 350–1; see also A Personal Record Suspense 7, 27, 179, 186, 194, 236, 326 Tales of Hearsay 111, 142, 144 Tales of Unrest 5, 6, 7, 12, 36, 40, 79, 107, 135, 142, 198, 207, 211, 219, 220, 222, 229, 230, 243, 278, 284, 292, 349, 363, 365–6, 367–70, 386, 390 The Arrow of Gold 6, 11, 14, 27, 31, 40, 125, 136, 143–4, 155, 156, 191, 195, 218, 229, 280, 281, 282, 293, 295, 309–10, 325, 363 ‘The Black Mate’ 129, 138, 140, 143, 301, 336, 339, 342, 343, 390

‘The Brute’ 6, 143, 196, 220, 229, 339 ‘The Crime of Partition’ 37 ‘The Duel’ 3, 6, 34, 108, 158, 170, 178, 229, 253, 285, 336, 339, 341, 342, 343, 360 ‘The End of the Tether’ 7, 12, 40, 96, 143, 153, 223, 229, 280, 284, 293, 310, 319, 331, 336, 339, 341, 342, 343, 359, 389, 390, 400 ‘The Idiots’ 12, 13, 142, 279, 331, 339, 367, 368 ‘The Informer’ 126, 128–9, 138, 229, 295, 336, 338, 339 The Inheritors 36 ‘The Inn of the Two Witches’ 7, 143, 170, 191, 228, 229, 339, 342 ‘The Lagoon’ 6, 10, 11, 12, 15, 16, 40, 140, 143, 207, 211, 212–14, 218, 220, 225, 264, 278, 279, 292, 331, 336, 338, 339, 341, 342, 343, 348, 349–50, 354, 359, 364, 367, 368, 369, 389, 390, 400 The Mirror of the Sea 11, 12, 27–8, 31, 40, 117, 118–19, 144, 187, 191, 199–200, 201, 237, 240, 241, 242, 284, 293, 336, 342, 359, 364, 390 The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ 2, 4, 6, 11, 12, 36, 79, 80, 89, 101, 108, 110, 121, 136, 139, 140, 143, 149, 151, 153, 156, 157, 158, 167, 173–4, 184, 185, 193, 195, 219, 228, 229, 243, 244, 246, 253, 266, 268, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 292, 295, 304, 310, 313, 315, 316, 318, 323, 324, 327–8, 332, 348, 355–6, 359, 360, 370, 372, 390 ‘The Partner’ 31, 133, 138, 140, 229, 313, 339, 342 ‘The Planter of Malata’ 125, 143, 244, 292, 301, 339, 342 The Rescue 6, 13, 37, 40, 136, 142, 170, 229, 280, 281, 285, 286, 290, 293, 312, 339, 342, 359, 389, 390, 400, 403 ‘The Return’ 2, 5, 11, 100, 142, 183, 264, 302, 307, 329, 331, 339, 367–8, 369, 371 The Rover 2, 6, 10, 15, 37, 108, 136, 143, 144, 234, 236, 280, 293, 358–9, 363 The Secret Agent 2, 4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 22, 40, 59, 80, 81, 96, 107, 108, 110, 111, 116, 122, 126, 128, 129, 130, 136, 143, 144, 145, 147, 149, 152, 153, 155–6, 157, 158, 170, 175, 178, 180, 185, 193, 222, 229, 244, 245, 247, 250, 253, 267, 277, 280, 281, 282, 284, 285, 287, 293, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 302, 303, 313, 318, 323, 338, 339, 341, 342, 345–6, 356, 358, 360, 363, 366, 371, 375, 390, 391, 401 ‘The Secret Sharer’ 2, 3, 12, 96, 129, 138, 143, 157, 158, 159, 177–8, 179, 198, 253, 264, 293, 294, 302, 313, 326, 331, 336, 339, 341, 342, 343, 359, 360 The Shadow-Line 2, 6, 12, 15, 32, 83, 90, 96, 110, 111, 116, 129, 136, 137, 138, 143, 157, 158, 172, 173, 185, 193, 195, 198, 223, 224, 225–6, 229, 243, 253, 255, 269, 282–3, 293, 302, 304–5, 306–7, 310, 314, 336, 339, 341, 342, 343, 351–3, 357, 359, 360, 364, 372, 390 ‘The Sinking of the Tremolino’ 264

507

Index The Sisters 27, 388 ‘The Tale’ 125, 143, 163, 339 ‘The Warrior’s Soul’ 140 ‘Tomorrow’ 2, 3, 7, 16, 40, 100, 142, 147, 153, 229, 310, 331, 336, 339, 341, 342, 343, 389, 390, 400; see also ‘One Day More’ ‘Twixt Land and Sea 6, 12, 135, 165, 179, 280, 284, 293, 363, 366, 367, 368, 371 ‘Typhoon’ 4, 6, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 32, 39, 47, 80, 81, 82, 90, 96, 101, 108, 109, 129, 133, 137, 138, 140, 143, 147, 157, 158, 173, 193, 198, 200, 201, 206, 207, 218, 222, 229, 230, 238, 241, 244, 264, 284, 292, 293, 295, 301, 313, 314, 315, 327, 331, 336, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343, 347–8, 353–4, 359, 360, 363, 374, 389, 390, 391, 400, 403 Typhoon and Other Stories 36, 135, 147, 178 Under Western Eyes 3, 6, 8, 12, 14, 22, 59, 96, 108, 120, 128, 129, 130, 136, 144, 145, 153, 170, 207, 215, 228, 229, 231, 233, 243, 255–6, 277, 280, 282, 284, 286, 287, 288, 292, 293, 295, 313, 317, 318, 321, 331, 338–9, 341, 342, 343, 344–6, 355, 356–7, 360, 381, 383–4, 390, 391 ‘Up-river Book’ 148 Victory 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, 13, 37, 40, 93, 94–5, 96, 98, 108, 110, 129, 135, 136, 139, 148, 152, 158, 171, 180, 184, 186, 191, 193, 198, 219, 229, 244, 267, 280, 281, 292, 293, 315, 318, 319–20, 339, 342, 356, 360, 363, 366, 386, 391 ‘Well Done!’ 84 Within the Tides 96, 144, 153, 191, 198, 229, 230, 284, 293 ‘Youth’ 6, 7, 11, 12, 15, 40, 63, 93, 98, 101, 109, 112, 117–18, 126, 129, 131, 133, 138, 140, 143, 147, 157, 195, 229, 253, 264, 269, 282, 287, 293, 294, 295, 306, 307, 310, 313, 316, 318, 324, 331, 336, 338, 339, 342, 343, 353, 357, 359, 372, 386, 390 Youth and Other Stories 36, 110, 294, 347–8 Conrad Museum (Terekhove) 16, 396–7 see also International Museum of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski, Berdichiv Coppola, Francis Ford 102, 149 see also Apocalypse Now cosmopolitanism 1, 5, 6, 67, 85, 108, 109, 114, 116, 225, 237, 323, 368 Crane, Stephen 5, 151 Curelli, Mario 4, 7, 9, 161, 163, 165–6, 171, 172, 173, 174, 177, 178, 180, 182, 185, 313 D’Arzo, Silvio 171, 181 Dąbrowska, Maria 24, 26, 30–1, 40, 41, 43, 44 Dąbrowski, Marian 24 Danehl, Günther 120, 122 Davray, Henry-Durand 4, 5, 78–80, 81, 84, 85–6, 103, 105

508

decadence 12, 15, 26, 27, 164, 170, 171, 177, 184, 185, 194, 279, 334, 339, 339–40, 345, 395 decolonisation 16, 325, 364, 372 D’Elia, Gaetano 178, 180 D’Humières, Robert 4, 80, 85, 89 De Maupassant, Guy 37, 109, 134, 170, 328, 356, 368 De Prada, Juan Manuel 202–3, 204 De Smet, Joseph 4, 80, 81, 82, 85 Defoe, Daniel 90, 96, 152, 253, 326, 335, 394 Di Lampadusa, Tomasi 172, 173 Dickens, Charles 37, 82, 96, 205, 232, 252, 282, 335, 343, 351, 359, 367, 391 Domenichelli, Mario 157, 171, 178, 180, 183–4 Donovan, Stephen 263, 363, 365, 366, 379 Dostoevsky, Fyodor 13, 14, 17, 32, 59, 109, 134, 163, 164, 166, 169, 170, 176, 183, 232, 252, 253, 281, 310, 312, 333, 335, 341, 344, 353, 394 Doyle, Arthur Conan 141, 194, 262, 284, 325, 344 Dudek, Jolanta 32, 33, 263 Dukaj, Jacek 3, 4, 32, 57–73 Duras, Marguerite 102, 105 Ekelöf, Gunnar 372, 375 Eliot, T.S. 273, 289, 346 elites 8, 13, 32, 44, 80, 82, 137, 161, 211, 291, 338, 346 Enard, Matias 104–5 Esquerra i Clivillés, Ramon 218–20, 221, 225, 237 Estelrich, Joan 10, 192–3, 194, 207, 208, 210–11, 214, 215, 218, 219, 220, 225, 227–34, 237, 242 European Union 3, 59, 261, 304 fascism 2, 6, 7, 8, 28, 111, 122, 162, 164, 197, 312 see also Nazis/Nazism Faulkner, William 153, 197, 199, 243, 254, 289, 335, 341 feminism 9, 172, 186, 196, 365, 366, 370, 382 First World War 2, 6, 24, 61, 70, 80, 83, 108, 109, 111, 117, 139, 151, 171, 193, 210, 249, 252, 278, 292, 324–5, 364, 403 Fischer, Samuel 109–10, 111 Flaubert, Gustave 45, 79, 90, 134, 163, 167, 169, 170, 186, 243, 253, 254, 279, 356 Ford, Ford Madox 5, 36, 153, 199, 281 Forster, E. M. 161, 186, 243, 295 Fothergill, Anthony 6, 263, 305, 312 France, Anatole 36, 140, 324 Franco, General 9, 10, 193, 196, 203, 221, 222, 227, 231, 234, 235 Fraser, Gail 349–50, 381, 383 Fredriksson, Gunnar 363, 373–4, 376, 377, 378, 379 Freissler, Ernst (Ernst Wolfgang Günter) 108, 111, 113–14, 116, 121 Furst, Henry 151–2, 171 Gadda, Carlo Emilio 154, 155–7 Galsworthy, John 109, 116, 154, 193, 231, 317, 335, 351 García Márquez, Gabriel 244, 246 general reader 5, 15, 16, 28, 33, 41, 80, 82, 97, 118, 161, 192–3, 194, 196, 205, 211, 229–30, 281, 296

Index Gide, André 4, 5, 79, 80, 82, 88, 89, 92–3, 96, 108, 109, 116, 154, 198, 202, 206, 218, 359 Gillon, Adam 25, 27, 28–9, 43 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang (von) 37, 85, 108, 145, 185, 350 GoGwilt, Christopher 60, 67 Gombrowicz, Witold 27–8 Gomulicki, Wiktor 24, 39 Gorky, Maxim 13, 15, 215, 232, 281, 331, 332, 336, 368 Gorlier, Claudio 173, 174, 185 Gozzi, Francesco 176, 181 Greene, Graham 202, 343 Grigorova, Margreta 11–12, 126, 262, 264, 269 Guidacci, Maria 154, 155 Guillaume, Isabelle 89, 90 Guillot, René 90–2 Gullón, Ricardo 195–6 Hampson, Robert 1, 59, 67, 263, 368, 390–1 Hardy, Thomas 156, 193, 194, 205, 232, 285, 332, 367 Hawthorn, Jeremy 317, 320 Herzog, Werner 107, 119 see also Aguirre: the Wrath of God Hirn, Yrjö 365, 369 Hooper, Myrtle 381, 383 Hueffer, Ford Madox, see Ford, Ford Madox Hugo, Victor 37, 114, 243, 252, 391 Hyland, Peter 381, 382 Ibsen, Henrik 86, 109, 134, 350, 352, 367, 368, 384, 403 ideological wars 2, 8, 16, 21, 22, 27, 29–30 imperialism 4, 31, 58, 60, 126, 132, 134, 136, 137, 139, 140, 176, 182, 225, 237, 265, 269, 288, 297, 302, 312, 315, 326, 341, 342, 345, 373 impressionism 26, 60, 140, 175, 176, 182, 233, 343, 344 Ingilizov, Georgi 263, 264 internationalism 6, 114, 116, 327 International Museum of Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski (Berdichiv) 17, 397 Iribarren i Donadeu, Teresa 211, 214, 218, 219, 220, 227 Irish Free State 15, 215, 325 Irish Independence Struggle 215, 249, 323–5 Jahier, Piero 154, 165, 171 Jaloux, Edmond 83–4, 86, 92, 232 James, Henry 5, 134, 135, 154, 161, 164, 166, 169, 170, 199, 205, 253, 286–7, 356, 383 Jean-Aubry, G. 96, 156, 198, 236, 306 Jiménez, Juan Ramón 196, 198 Johanson, Klara 366, 367–8, 369, 370, 371 Joyce, James 15, 163, 211, 214, 232, 242, 243, 316, 323, 326, 328, 339, 346 Kafka, Franz 28, 109, 111, 184, 186, 257, 271, 272, 307 Kalynovych, Mykhailo 386, 389, 391–3, 400, 401–2, 403 Kanev, Hristo 264, 269, 271 Kantor, V. 334–5, 337 Karl, Frederick R. 139, 262

Kettle, Arnold, 7, 125, 132–3, 134, 315 Khrushchev, Nikita 12, 15, 16, 130, 338, 342 Kinkead, Alice 323, 325 Kipling, Rudyard 5, 12, 13, 14, 16, 38, 79–80, 85, 90, 96, 116, 134, 162, 164, 167, 171, 197, 232, 278–9, 281, 293, 311, 312, 321, 337, 348, 353, 368, 378, 379, 393, 401 Kirschner, Paul 145, 368 Knowles, Owen 67, 305, 311, 313, 316, 320 Kocówna, Barbara 31, 43 Komornicka, Maria 22–3, 39 Korzeniowski, Apollo (father) 1, 24, 113, 127–8, 251, 277, 283, 333, 335, 345, 386, 388, 391, 394 Kott, Jan 29–30, 43 Kozak, Dmytro 17, 390 Krajka, Wiesław 25, 32, 263 Kramer, Jürgen 381, 383 Kujawska-Lis, Ewa 2, 3, 27, 32, 45, 48, 50 Lagercrantz, Olof 13, 291, 299, 363, 373, 374–6, 377–9 Lamolle, Odette 96, 97 Larbaud, Valery 4, 82, 232 Lawrence, D.H. 15, 346, 352 Leavis, F. R. 120, 154, 196, 244, 247, 252, 255, 295, 305–6 Lefevere, André 21, 22, 26, 29 Leiris, Michel 5, 93–5 Lenin, Vladimir 134, 139, 215, 377 Levi, Primo 159, 171, 187 Lindqvist, Sven 13, 291, 300, 363, 373, 376, 377–9 Lombardo, Agostino 158, 170, 185 London, Jack 12, 14, 26, 116, 141, 203, 278–9, 281, 311, 321, 337 Lönnroth, Lars 363, 373, 377–8 López-Llausàs, Antoni 215, 218, 230 Lukács, Georg 184, 314–15, 316 Lutosławki, Wincenty 1, 22, 38 Lynd, Robert 15, 323–4 Macià i Llussà, Francesc 215, 216 Madsen, Peter 296–7 Maifet, Hryhory 394, 401, 402–3 Maisonnat, Claude 5, 100, 101, 102 Malraux, André 5, 30, 87–8, 90, 102 Manganelli, Giorgio 170, 171 Mann, Thomas 6, 13, 17, 107, 109, 111–12, 113–14, 116, 117, 128, 131, 133, 154, 183, 186, 281, 309, 345 Maraini, Dacia 157–8, 159, 171 Marenco, Flavia, 157 Marenco, Franco 8, 157, 158, 172, 174, 176–7, 180, 182, 184 Marias, Javier 193, 194–5, 199–200, 204, 240, 246 Marroni, Francesco 178, 180 Marx, Karl 108, 123, 132 Marxism, Marxist 7, 8, 30, 125, 132, 134, 135, 139, 171, 282, 313, 314, 315–16, 317, 321, 336, 395, 401

509

Index Marxist historicism 9, 172 Marxism-Leninism 7, 125, 126–8, 136 Mauclair, Camille 78, 79, 84 Melville, Herman 134, 147, 165, 197, 241, 286, 353 Meredith, George 194, 205 Millàs i Raurell, Josep Maria 211–13, 214, 220 Miłosz, Czesław 29, 31, 385 modernism, modernists 4, 17, 21, 22, 26, 35, 39, 82, 173, 175, 182, 184, 185, 267, 297, 299, 302, 303, 305, 327, 328, 343, 351, 355, 360, 372, 390 Modrzewski, Stanisław 32, 33, 266 Monod, Sylvěre 96, 97, 156 Moore, Gene M. 3, 245, 305, 316, 320 Moravia, Alberto 9, 153, 159, 171, 176, 182, 262 Moretti, 176, 181, 183 Moser, Thomas 184, 186, 316, 383 multilingualism, plurilingualism 1, 4, 6, 67, 68–71, 116, 174, 235, 247, 254–5, 305, 347, 354, 386 Muñoz Molina, Antonio 203, 204 Mursia, Ugo 152, 155, 157, 161, 172, 177 Mussolini, Arnaldo 7, 153 Mussolini, Benito 7, 8, 153, 162 Nabokov, Vladimir 46, 337 Najder, Zdzisław 22, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 31, 32, 33, 36, 38, 40, 43, 44–5, 47–9, 51, 53–4, 263, 277–8, 309, 310, 323, 373, 397 nationalism 5, 6, 8, 15, 46, 85–6, 114, 115, 122, 123, 164, 225, 249, 256, 321, 323, 324, 328 naturalism 5, 77, 86, 206, 328 Nazis/Nazism 2, 6, 13, 28, 29, 35, 109, 110–11, 112, 114–15, 118, 122, 131, 139, 165, 172, 256, 280, 281, 305, 367, 372, 375, 376, 377 Nemerovska, Olha 393, 401, 402, 403 Nietzsche, Friedrich 72, 107, 109, 117, 175, 176, 177, 183, 184, 185 O’Brien, Flann 15, 327, 328, 329 O’Connor 325, 327, 328 O’Faoláin, Seán 15, 325, 326–7, 328 O’Flaherty, Liam 15, 325–6, 327 O’Neill, Eugene 100, 109, 269 Oliva, Renato 182, 183 Orzeszkowa, Eliza 22–3, 37, 38 Paccaud-Huguet, Josianne 5, 98, 100, 101, 102 Pagetti, Carlo 157, 174, 177, 180, 185 Palme, Olof 373, 376 Pater, Walter 165, 279, 287 Pavese, Cesare 8, 9, 159, 165–6, 171, 172 Pavlov, Grigor 267, 268–9, 270 Pelikan Straus, Nina 381, 382 Perés, Ramón 192, 205, 229, 230 Pérez-Reverte, Arturo 199, 202, 203, 204 Piłsudski, Józef 3, 108 Pla, Josep 10, 227, 230, 231, 232, 234–9, 242 Placci, Carlo 151, 152, 169

510

Poe, Edgar Allen 141, 197, 273, 274 Porée, Marc 96, 101 Polish Romanticism 2, 21, 24, 26, 35, 37, 45, 283, 289 Poradowska, Marguerite 4, 85, 273 post-colonialism 9, 16, 32, 68, 196, 225, 255, 303, 365, 370, 378, 379 Praz, Mario 8, 153, 162, 163, 164–5, 166, 167, 170, 172 Prinzhofer, Renato 157, 172 Prorok, Leszek 3, 29, 41 Proust, Marcel 83, 164, 166, 169, 186, 194, 243, 302, 312, 316, 331, 352 publications (newspapers and journals) Austria Arbeiter-Zeitung Wien 146 Die Presse Wien 146 Oberösterreichische Nachrichten 146 Salzburger Nachrichten 146 Wiener Zeitung 146 Bulgaria Literature 263 Literature Gazette 263 Morski Sgovor 11, 264 Catalonia D’Ací i D’Allà 208, 209–10, 211–12, 218, 220 El Día Gráfico 228 El Matí 218 Estat Català 215 L’Avenc 205, 224 La Publicitat 215, 218 La Revista 210, 211, 213, 214, 218, 231 La Revista de Catalunya 210, 211, 231, 236 La Veu de Catalunya 209, 211, 218 Lletres de Filosofia i Humanitats 223 Mirador 218 Quadernis literaris 230 see also Spain (Former) Czechoslovakia Ahoj na neděli (Hello for Sunday) 280, 281 Eva 280 Kritická příloha Revolver Revue 284, 288 Lidové Noviny (People’s Newspaper) 280 Listy pro umění a kritiku 13, 285 Moderní revue 12, 279 Právo lidu (The Right of the People) 280 Rozpravy Aventina (The Discourses of the Aventinum) 280 Denmark Aktuel 297 Berlingske Tidende 293 Cosmopolis, Revue Internationale 291–2 Dansk Litteraturtidende (Danish Literary Newsletter) 293 Ekstra Bladet 297 Information 299 Kristeligt Dagblad 299 Kritik 298 Kultur og Klasse 297 Politiken 291, 293, 297, 299

Index Samvirke (Co-op) 296 Weekendavisen 298, 299 France L’Action française 86 La Nouvelle Revue Française 4, 80, 82, 83, 85, 163, 206 La Revue 80 La Revue des Deux Mondes 4, 87, 206 La Revue de Paris 82 Le Correspondant 80 L’Époque Conradienne 5, 98 Le Monde 98, 101 Le Progrès 4, 80 Le Temps 80 Les Nouvelles Illustrées 4, 80, 85 Mercure de France 4, 80, 81, 85 Germany Die Central-Verein Zeitung 112–13 Die Frankfurter Zeitung 112–13 Die Neue Rundschau 109, 114, 115, 116 Sonntag 126 Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik 313 Greece New Hestia 305–6 To Vima 304–5 Hungary Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies 318–19 Nagvilág (The Greater World) 316 Napkelet (East) 310, 311 Nyugat (West) 309, 311 Ireland The Bell 326 Irish Daily Independent 324 The Irish Statesman 325, 328 The Irish Times 324, 327 Italy Anglistica Pisana 171 Il Convegno 163, 169 Il Marzocco 151, 169 Il Tempo 151 L’Idea Nazionale 151 L’Illustrazione del Popolo 7, 152 L’Italia che scrive 152 L’Unita 8, 166 La Ronda 163, 169 La Tribuna 163 La Voce 171 Lacerba 171 Merope 9, 171, 178 Netherlands Het Nieuws van den Dag 1 Poland Chimera 39 Informacje Polskiego Klubu Conradowskiego 32 Kraj 1, 21, 36, 38 Kwartalnik Neofilogiczny 358 Literatura na Świecie 46

Merkuriusz Polski Ordynaryiny 27 Przegląd Literacki 21 Ruch Literacki 37 Sygnały 27 Tygodnik Mód i Powieści 37 Tugodnik Romansów i Powieści 1, 22 Wiadomości Literackie 37, 41 Yearbook of Conrad Studies 33 Russia Inostrannaya Literatura (Foreign Literature) 345 Internatsional’naya Literatura (International Literature) 340 Oktyabr (October) 339 Revolutsiya i kul’tura (Revolution and Culture) 339–40 Voprosy literatury (Matters of Literature) 336–7 Slovenia (and former Yugoslavia) Amerikanski Slovenec (American Slovenian) 353 Ameriški družinski koledar (The American Family Almanac) 350 Dom in svet (Home and the World) 347, 351, 353 Glas naroda (The People’s Voice) 354 Jadranska straža (The Adriatic Sentinel) 359 Jutro (Morning) 347, 352, 353 Književni glasnik (Literary Messenger) 351 Kritika (Criticism) 347 Ljubljanksi zvon (The Ljubljana Bell) 347, 349–50, 351, 352, 353 Mentor 352 Mladika (Young Branch) 352, 353 Mladinski list – Juvenile 354 Novice (News) 347 Obzor (Horizon) 359 Proletarec (The Proletarian) 350 Primorski dvenik (The Littoral Daily) 353 Revue 358 Slovan (The Slav) 353 Slovenec (the Slovenian) 348, 353, 354 Slovenski narod (Slovenian People) 348 Sodobnost (Modernity) 347, 350 Srpski književni glasnik (Serbian Literary Messenger) 358 Svoboda (Freedom) 350 Spain ABC 203 Cuba contemporánea 194 Destino 234, 235, 236–7 El Signo Futuro 193 España 193 Ínsula 195 La Esfera 193 La Libertad 194 La Voz 194 Prometeo 230, 231 Revista de Occidente 194, 196, 220, 229, 230

511

Index see also Catalonia Sweden (and Finland) Aftonbladet 365, 366, 370, 373, 376, 377 Aftonposten 364 Argus 365 Björneborgs Tidning 365 Bonniers Litterära Magasin 382 Borås Tidning 365 Dagens Nyheter 363, 364, 365, 366, 367, 368, 369, 372, 373, 374, 375, 376, 377 Dagny 365, 366 Euterpe 365 Falukuriren 365 Götesborgs Aftonpost 365, 366 Hufvudstadsbladet 365 Karavan 378 Karlstadstidningen 365 Kristianstads Läns Tidning 365 Idun 365, 367 Landskronaposten 365 Nutid 366, 368 Nya Argus 365, 370 Nya Dagligt Allehanda 366, 367, 370 Ord och Bild 368 Öresundsposten 365 Social-Demokraten 365, 368 Stockholms Dagblad 364, 365, 366 Svenska Dagbladet 363, 365, 366, 367, 368, 369–70, 371, 372, 376, 377, 378, 379, 381 Tidning för Falu Land och Stad 365 Tidskrift för litteraturvetenskap 383 Varia 365 Vårt Land 366, 367, 370 Wiborgs Nyheter 365, 369 Switzerland Der Landbote Winterthur 146 Neue Zürcher Zeitung 145, 146, 147 Tages-Anzeiger Zürich 146 Ukraine Dilo (Affair) 399 Proletarskaia Pravda (Proletarian Truth) 399 Vechernieye Radio (Evening Radio) 399 Zhytta i Revolutsia (Life and Revolution) 391 publishers Austria Stockmann Verlag 146 Bulgaria Georgi Bakalov Press 264 Catalonia Alpha 233 Catalònia 215, 218 Columna 222 Destino 222, 234, 235, 236 Edhasa 216 Edicions 222, 223 Ediciones Artemisa 228

512

Editorial Catalana 209, 215, 230, 231 Enric Peres i Sunyer 223 Espasa 208 L’Avenc 223, 224 Laertes 222 Llibreria de Catalònia 230, 231 Mentora 215 Montaner y Simón 9, 207, 208, 218, 227–31, 240, 244 Nova Terra 222 Proa 222 Viena Edicions 222, 223 see also Spain (Former) Czechoslovakia Epos 284 František Jiroušek 279 František Topič 280 Kamilla Neumannová 279, 280 Melantrich 13, 280–1, 282, 285 Panorama 283 Tatran 284 The Central Printing Cooperative of the Socialist Party of Czechoslovak Workers 280 Vyšehrad 283 Denmark Aschehoug 294 Martins Forlag 292–3 V. Pio 292 France Autremont 96, 97 Éditions de la Nouvelle Revue Française 82, 198 Flammarion 96 Gaston Gallimard 7, 88, 93, 95–6, 146 J’ai lu 96 Mercure de France 4, 80 Germany Albert Langen 6, 121 Aufbau Verlag 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 133, 135–8, 139, 140, 142, 143–4 Carl Schünemann Verlag 148 Der Kinderbuchverlag 129, 138 Dieterich (Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung) 128, 137, 138, 143, 144, 148 Engelhorn Verlag 6, 108, 147 Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag 138, 139, 144 Insel Verlag 126, 131, 138 Paul List 131 Philipp Reclam 137, 138 Piper Verlag 149 S. Fischer Verlag 6, 108–10, 114, 116, 117, 120, 121, 122, 125, 128, 129, 132, 135–6, 137, 138, 140, 142–3, 146, 147, 148, 149 Suhrkamp Verlag 122, 126 Tauchnitz Verlag 107–8 Union Verlag 133, 138 Verlag Neues Leben 129, 131, 138, 141–2, 143, 144

Index Hungary Európa 318 Genius 309–10 Pantheon 309, 310 Italy Bompiani 8, 9, 146, 153–4, 155, 157, 161, 165, 166, 172, 178 BUR 153 Bottega di Poesia 7, 153 Corticelli 153 Edizioni Alpes 7, 153 Feltrinelli 182 Giulio Einaudi 8, 158, 165, 166, 182 Marsilio 158, 178 Mursia 8, 9, 157, 158, 161, 172, 173 Rizzoli 153 Sonzogno 7, 153, 166 Netherlands C. Hafkamp 1 Poland Dom Ksiażki Polskiej 27, 41 Ignis 26, 41 Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy 31, 44 Poziom 31 Zielona Sowa 45 Znak 45 Russia Gosudarstvennoe Izdatel’stvo Khudozhestvennoy Literatury (The State Publishing House of Fiction) 343 Nashi Dni (Our Days) 338 Universal’naya Biblioteka (Universal Library) 339 Vsemirnava Literatura (World Literature) 332 Vysshaya Shkola (Highest School) 344 Slovenia (and former Yugoslavia) Cankarieva založba 355 Evalit 353 Karantanija 357 Slovenski knjižni zavod (Slovenian Literary Institution) 353 Tiskovna Zadruga (Cooperative Press) 351 Založba Karantanija 353 Spain Bruguera 205 Destino 234, 236 Edicions Bromera 222 Editorial Planeta 195 Ensiola Editorial 222 Hiperión 199 La Gaya Ciencia 200 Juan Granica 200 Mondadori 201 Montaner y Simón 9, 10, 11, 192–3, 194, 203, 215, 220, 227–31, 240, 241, 244, 246 Prometeo 192 Reino de Redonda 199 Sembra Llibres 223

Tres i Quatre 222 see also Catalonia Switzerland Classen Verlag 147 Diogenes Verlag 146, 147, 148 Franke Verlag 150 Haffmans Verlag 121, 146, 148–9 Manesse Verlag 146, 147 Sauerländer Verlag 147 Schibli-Doppler 148 Ukraine Astrolabia 390, 396 DVU 389 Folio 390 Knyhospilka (Ukrainian Cooperative Publishing Association) 389 Mayak 390 Molod’ 390 Radyans’kyi Pys’mennyk 389 Slovo (Word) 389, 400 Tempora 390–1, 396 Znannya 390 Puxan-Oliva, Marta 197, 205 race, racism 68, 71, 93, 99, 121, 149, 174, 185, 197, 209, 214, 265, 274–5, 301, 303–4, 312, 315, 328, 369–70, 371, 372, 373, 378–9, 380, 382 realism 28, 77, 78, 127, 153, 170, 171, 176, 194, 236, 287, 325, 327, 328, 337, 345, 356 critical realism 282, 357 psychological realism 350 social realism 200 socialist realism 135, 315, 332, 394 Regàs, Rosa 193, 200–1, 204 Reverte, Javier 201–2 Riviěre, Jacques 81, 83, 84, 86, 206 Rizzoli, Angelo 153, 158–9, 176 romance 17, 78, 84, 194, 325, 337, 394 roman psychologique 5, 77, 84, 87 romanticism 12, 26, 28, 108, 164–5, 171, 172, 279, 286, 340, 341, 343, 352, 402 see also Polish Romanticism Ruhe, Algot 366–7, 369–70 Russia 1, 57, 58, 275 Russian Empire 61–2, 66, 71–2, 73, 277, 305, 333, 337, 364, 385, 387–8 Said, Edward 63, 100, 241 Sánchez Piñol, Albert 223–4, 225 Saracino, Marilena 178, 186 Schopenhauer, Arthur 107, 175, 180, 185, 197, 256, 367, 375 Schwob, Marcel 77–8, 79, 80, 81, 84, 206 Schulz, Ivan 279, 280, 282 Sebald, W.G. 119, 128, 304 Second World War 2, 4, 7, 12, 15, 16, 21, 28–9, 34, 35, 43, 107, 114, 121, 123, 126, 154, 221, 235, 263,

513

Index 264, 267, 268, 285, 294, 301, 302, 303, 307, 319, 341, 348, 349, 354, 358, 359, 372, 373 Seghers, Anna 128, 131, 133 Serpieri, Alessandro 157, 158, 174–6, 178, 180 Sertoli, Giuseppe 8, 157, 158, 173–4, 179, 182 Shaw, George Bernard 108, 109, 332, 350, 351, 399 Sinclair, Upton 27, 109 Skolik, Joanne 31, 32 Škvorecký, Josef 283, 288, 289 Smith, Johanna M. 381, 382 socialism 135, 136, 139, 324, 325, 350, 363, 373, 374, 376 Soviet hegemony 2, 12, 13, 14, 16, 35, 126, 385–6, 395, 399–400, 403 Spanish Civil War 9, 10, 193, 203, 218, 221, 222, 225, 227, 229, 235 Stalin, Joseph; Stalinism 14, 15, 16, 29, 32, 35, 44, 110, 116, 126, 130, 282, 288, 313, 338, 339–42, 395 Steltenpool Robert 1, 363 Stevenson, Robert Louis 13, 15, 17, 77, 78, 96, 103, 116, 134, 141, 152, 164, 167, 171, 185, 197, 198, 232, 253, 279, 293, 312, 324, 336, 337, 341, 344, 352, 371, 392, 393, 394, 401 Štingl, Franc 347–8, 358 Stresau, Hermann 114–15 Suhrkamp, Peter 110, 111, 117, 122 symbolists 4, 26, 77, 86, 287 symbols/symbolism 24, 35, 39, 50, 59–60, 166, 170, 179, 183, 197, 201, 286, 295 Third Reich 107, 110, 117, 118 Todorov, Tzvetan 92, 181, 270 Tolstoy, Leo 32, 109, 116, 141, 252, 335 transnationalism 1, 9, 11, 12, 14, 123, 185, 211, 252, 307, 333 translation 1–2, 3, 5–7, 9, 10, 14, 15, 35–6, 40, 41, 42, 44–54, 86, 114, 119–23, 140–1, 148–9, 152, 153–5, 155–7, 158–9, 212–13, 213–14, 215–18, 219, 220–1, 221–2, 304, 310–11, 318, 347, 349, 352–3, 355, 389, 403 cultural translation 107, 115, 120–1, 310–11 Trotsky, Leon 109–10 Turgenev, Ivan 32, 37, 324, 341, 394

514

Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union 13, 130, 282 Ujejski, Józef 12, 24, 26, 28, 40 Urnov, Dmitriy 332–3, 334, 336–7, 345 Valchanov, Vassil 263, 264 Valcheva, Valeria 12, 261–3, 265, 266–7, 268, 270–6 Vallorani, Nicoletta 178, 181 Vargas Llosa, Mario 11, 243–6, 247–52, 262 Vásquez, Juan Gabriel 11 Verne, Jules 59, 78, 141 Vidan, Ivo 16, 319, 358–9 Villa, Luisa 176, 178, 179, 184 Wagner, Richard; Wagnerism 86, 170, 173, 271, 306 Waliszewski, Kazimierz 36, 37, 39, 40, 80, 332 Wassermann, Jakob 107, 111, 113–14, 116, 128 Weimar Republic 107, 111, 112, 116 Weinfurter, Karel 279, 280 Welles, Orson 267, 273 Wells, H. G. 5, 38, 79–80, 82, 85, 108, 287, 317, 321, 325, 332, 343, 348, 399 Węsławska, Emilia 22, 36–7, 39, 40, 41, 48–9, 51, 53–4 Widmer, Urs 119, 128, 148, 149 Wilde, Oscar 38, 85, 96, 109, 141, 251, 351 Wolf, Christa 107, 119, 128 Woolf, Virginia 96, 108, 109, 154, 170, 186, 205, 243, 255, 289, 302, 312, 315, 342, 359 world literature 5, 17, 26, 45, 125, 128, 135, 136, 137, 138, 142, 147, 281, 285, 290, 309, 311, 314, 319, 325, 336, 345, 356, 386, 389, 395, 396 Yalta Conference 2, 21 Year of Joseph Conrad (2017) 3, 12, 17, 34, 263 Young Poland 26, 27, 35, 38 Zabierowski, Stefan 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, 31, 32, 33, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 46, 263 Zagórska, Aniela 6, 23, 24, 26–7, 31, 36, 40–1, 43, 44–5, 46–7, 48–9, 51–2, 53–4 Żeromski, Stefan 24, 25–6, 27, 40, 41 Zola, Émile 109, 140, 141, 367

515

516