I’ve been putting off Maxim Gorky’s most famous play, The Lower Depths (Russian, English) — probably the most famous thing he ever wrote — for decades; it’s one of the few Famous Works of Russian Literature I had never read, even in translation. I didn’t have high regard for Gorky as a writer, and I was afraid it would just be a slush of socially significant characters saying socially significant things, and who needs that (except the Party, comrade)? But I noticed that Criterion Channel had filmed versions by two of my favorite directors, Jean Renoir (Les Bas-fonds) and Akira Kurosawa (どん底, Donzoko), and I didn’t want to see them without first becoming acquainted with the source material, so I plunged in.
As those of you familiar with the play will have expected, I was pleasantly surprised. Sure, it’s chock full of social significance, but it’s also got well-drawn characters and good meaty language, so I enjoyed it; one of the characters, Satin, is fond of randomly spouting impressive words he ran across (Органон [organon]… Сикамбр [one of the Sicambri]… Макробиотика [macrobiotics]… транс-сцедентальный [transcendental]…), which of course gave me extra pleasure. (Incidentally, I hadn’t realized that macrobiotic goes back to the 18th century in the now obsolete sense “Inclined or tending to prolong life; relating to the prolongation of life”: 1797 “Hence arises a particular science, the Macrobiotic, or the Art of prolonging it [sc. life], which forms the subject of the present work… The object of the medical art is health; that of the macrobiotic, long life.”) You can read a clumsy but reasonably accurate plot summary at the Wikipedia page; what I want to focus on here is the argument that goes on throughout much of the play about lies and truth, a theme that’s come up here more than once (in Crime and Punishment, in The Devils, in Rasputin’s Downstream). I’ll quote the (archaic but online) 1922 English version by Jenny Covan (from the introduction: “Here for the first time, the vigor, the virility, the humanity and the humor of the original survive the transfer from the Russian tongue to our own, without mysterious and vaguely symbolic ‘meanings’ gratuitously appended”) and provide a bit of the Russian for those who want to search the above-linked text for the original.
A few lines into the play we get Kleshch saying Врешь! [You lie!], an exclamation that will occur repeatedly (it’s later used by Pepel, Bubnov, Medvedev, the Actor, Vasilisa, and Nastya), but the idea comes to the fore in Act III. Near the start we get this exchange:
BUBNOFF. [И чего это… человек врать так любит?] And why are people so fond of lying—just as if they were up before the judge—really!
NATASHA. I guess lying is more fun than speaking the truth—I, too . . .
THE BARON. What—you, too? Go on!
NATASHA. Oh—I imagine things—invent them—and I wait—
A little later comes this extended passage:
BUBNOFF. [Мм-да!.. А я вот… не умею врать!] Hm—yes—I, for instance, don’t know how to lie . . . why—as far as I’m concerned, I believe in coming out with the whole truth and putting it on thick . . . why fuss about it?
KLESHTCH [again jumps up as if his clothes were on fire, and screams] What truth? Where is there truth? [Tearing at his ragged clothes] Here’s truth for you! No work! No strength! That’s the only truth! Shelter—there’s no shelter! You die—that’s the truth! Hell! What do I want with the truth? Let me breathe! Why should I be blamed? What do I want with truth? To live—Christ Almighty!—they won’t let you live—and that’s another truth!
BUBNOFF. He’s mad!
LUKA. Dear Lord . . . listen to me, brother—
KLESHTCH [trembling with excitement] They say: there’s truth! You, old man, try to console every one . . . I tell you—I hate every one! And there’s your truth—God curse it—understand? I tell you—God curse it!
[Rushes away round the corner, turning as he goes.]
[…]LUKA [to Bubnoff, thoughtfully] [Вот… ты говоришь — правда…] There—you say—truth! Truth doesn’t always heal a wounded soul. For instance, I knew of a man who believed in a land of righteousness . . .
BUBNOFF. In what?
LUKA. In a land of righteousness. He said: “Somewhere on this earth there must be a righteous land—and wonderful people live there—good people! They respect each other, help each other, and everything is peaceful and good!” And so that man—who was always searching for this land of righteousness—he was poor and lived miserably—and when things got to be so bad with him that it seemed there was nothing else for him to do except lie down and die—even then he never lost heart—but he’d just smile and say: “Never mind! I can stand it! A little while longer—and I’ll have done with this life—and I’ll go in search of the righteous land!”—it was his one happiness—the thought of that land . . .
PEPEL. Well? Did he go there?
BUBNOFF. Where? Ho-ho!
LUKA. And then to this place—in Siberia, by the way—there came a convict—a learned man with books and maps—yes, a learned man who knew all sorts of things—and the other man said to him: “Do me a favor—show me where is the land of righteousness and how I can get there.” At once the learned man opened his books, spread out his maps, and looked and looked and he said—no—he couldn’t find this land anywhere . . . everything was correct—all the lands on earth were marked—but not this land of righteousness . . .
PEPEL [in a low voice] Well? Wasn’t there a trace of it?
[Bubnoff roars with laughter.]
NATASHA. Wait . . . well, little father?
LUKA. The man wouldn’t believe it. . . . “It must exist,” he said, “look carefully. Otherwise,” he says, “your books and maps are of no use if there’s no land of righteousness.” The learned man was offended. “My plans,” he said, “are correct. But there exists no land of righteousness anywhere.” Well, then the other man got angry. He’d lived and lived and suffered and suffered, and had believed all the time in the existence of this land—and now, according to the plans, it didn’t exist at all. He felt robbed! And he said to the learned man: “Ah—you scum of the earth! You’re not a learned man at all—but just a damned cheat!”—and he gave him a good wallop in the eye—then another one . . . [After a moment’s silence] And then he went home and hanged himself!
And in Act IV, after Luka (“the old man”) has left:
KLESHTCH. [Правды он… не любил, старик-то…] The old man didn’t like truth very much—as a matter of fact he strongly resented it—and wasn’t he right, though? Just look—where is there any truth? And yet, without it, you can’t breathe! For instance, our Tartar Prince over there, crushed his hand at his work—and now he’ll have to have his arm amputated—and there’s the truth for you!
SATINE [striking the table with his clenched fist] Shut up! You sons of bitches! Fools! Not another word about that old fellow! [To the Baron] You, Baron, are the worst of the lot! You don’t understand a thing, and you lie like the devil! The old man’s no humbug! What’s the truth? Man! Man—that’s the truth! He understood man—you don’t! You’re all as dumb as stones! I understand the old man—yes! He lied—but lied out of sheer pity for you . . . God damn you! Lots of people lie out of pity for their fellow-beings! I know! I’ve read about it! They lie—oh—beautifully, inspiringly, stirringly! Some lies bring comfort, and others bring peace—a lie alone can justify the burden which crushed a workman’s hand and condemns those who are starving! I know what lying means! The weakling and the one who is a parasite through his very weakness—they both need lies—lies are their support, their shield, their armor! But the man who is strong, who is his own master, who is free and does not have to suck his neighbors’ blood—he needs no lies! To lie—it’s the creed of slaves and masters of slaves! Truth is the religion of the free man!
THE BARON. Bravo! Well spoken! Hear, hear! I agree! You speak like an honest man!
SATINE. And why can’t a crook at times speak the truth—since honest people at times speak like crooks? Yes—I’ve forgotten a lot—but I still know a thing or two! The old man? Oh—he’s wise! He affected me as acid affects a dirty old silver coin! Let’s drink to his health! Fill the glasses . . . [Nastya fills a glass with beer and hands it to Satine, who laughs] The old man lives within himself . . . he looks upon all the world from his own angle. Once I asked him: “Grand-dad, why do people live?” [Tries to imitate Luka’s voice and gestures] And he replied: “Why, my dear fellow, people live in the hope of something better! For example—let’s say there are carpenters in this world, and all sorts of trash . . . people . . . and they give birth to a carpenter the like of which has never been seen upon the face of the earth . . . he’s way above everybody else, and has no equal among carpenters! The brilliancy of his personality was reflected on all his trade, on all the other carpenters, so that they advanced twenty years in one day! This applies to all other trades—blacksmiths and shoemakers and other workmen—and all the peasants—and even the aristocrats live in the hopes of a higher life! Each individual thinks that he’s living for his own Self, but in reality he lives in the hope of something better. A hundred years—sometimes longer—do we expect, live for the finer, higher life . . .” [Nastya stares intently into Satine’s face. Kleshtch stops working and listens. The Baron bows his head very low, drumming softly on the table with his fingers. The Actor, peering down from the stove, tries to climb noiselessly into the bunk] “Every one, brothers, every one lives in the hope of something better. That’s why we must respect each and every human being! How do we know who he is, why he was born, and what he is capable of accomplishing? Perhaps his coming into the world will prove to be our good fortune . . . Especially must we respect little children! Children—need freedom! Don’t interfere with their lives! Respect children!” [Pause]
THE BARON [thoughtfully] Hm—yes—something better?—That reminds me of my family . . . an old family dating back to the time of Catherine . . . all noblemen, soldiers, originally French . . . they served their country and gradually rose higher and higher. In the days of Nicholas the First my grandfather, Gustave DeBille, held a high post—riches—hundreds of serfs . . . horses—cooks—
NASTYA. You liar! It isn’t true!
THE BARON [jumping up] What? Well—go on—
NASTYA. It isn’t true.
THE BARON [screams] A house in Moscow! A house in Petersburg! Carriages! Carriages with coats of arms!
[Kleshtch takes his concertina and goes to one side, watching the scene with interest.]
NASTYA. You lie!
THE BARON. Shut up!—I say—dozens of footmen . . .
NASTYA [delighted] You lie!
THE BARON. I’ll kill you!
NASTYA [ready to run away] There were no carriages!
SATINE. Stop, Nastenka! Don’t infuriate him!
THE BARON. Wait—you bitch! My grandfather . . .
NASTYA. There was no grandfather! There was nothing!
[Satine roars with laughter.]
THE BARON [worn out with rage, sits down on bench] Satine! Tell that slut—what—? You, too, are laughing? You—don’t believe me either? [Cries out in despair, pounding the table with his fists] It’s true—damn the whole lot of you!
NASTYA [triumphantly] So—you’re crying? Understand now what a human being feels like when nobody believes him?
That last exchange is brilliant, and Luka is a wonderful character. I enjoyed watching the 1972 Sovremennik performance of the play, and I’m looking forward to the Renoir and Kurosawa versions.
Update. Well, watching Les Bas-fonds was an interesting experience. I was nervous when I realized they’d “opened it up” and given the Baron a backstory, but it turned out it was very well done (unsurprising when you realize the script is by Yevgeny Zamyatin), and I relaxed and enjoyed the movie, which in many respects hews remarkably close to Gorky (keeping the Russian names, cultural references, and so on, and even preserving the set as described in the stage directions). On the other hand, it’s utterly changed by being Frenchified and therefore romanticized: Jean Gabin plays Pepel, who therefore becomes the central character, and it ends happily with him and his love interest walking down a road hand in hand. C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre !
Maxim Gorky’s most famous play, The Lower Depths (Russian, English) — probably the most famous thing he ever wrote
I didn’t recognize the English title at all, I have vague recollections of having heard of «На Дне».
Certainly in the 1990s when I was living in Russia this was not a „Famous Work“ people talked about. And I even lived in Nizhny Novgorod for several months. „Mother“ would have been my guess as Gorky‘s most famous work in general. I remember coming across collections of his short stories fairly often (I still have a late Soviet era edition somewhere) but not his plays. When I was in graduate school Gorky had pretty much disappeared from the canon anyway. Has there been a Gorky revival in the last 20 years in Russia I wonder?
Oh well, when I talk about these things it reflects the situation before the USSR collapsed. I know something about changes in reputation since then, but not a lot. Back in the day, Gorky was a Big Name and that was his Big Play. These are degenerate times.
I confess that The Lower Depths is one of the few Kurosawa films that I have practically no memory of.
My brother also has no memory of it. We’ll see how quickly I forget it!
These are degenerate times.
They truly are. I was just in a thread with lit minded folks about long forgotten writers who used to be famous, and someone said “has anyone ever heard of Lawrence Durrell?”
Vanya’s comment is a nice set-up for my off-topic question, which concerns a long-forgotten writer who was perhaps never really that famous, and may in fact have more recently become “famous” precisely for his obscurity among scholars of the more obscure byways of Modernism. (Some piece about him published in the Nineties apparently had the rather mean headline “Lost Man of the Lost Generation.”)
So my question is whether any of the denizens of the Hattery are familiar with the work of Eugene Jolas (1894-1952), and in particular with his poetry (not really featured in the wiki article about him as the most important facet of his writing …), and in further particular with his poetry that is not written in English or really any identifiable/decipherable language. I came across his work, fortuitously enough, because I was browsing a poetry anthology on April Fools Day, and his “Mater Dolorosa” (the sole work of his that anthology included) seemed the most notably April-Foolish of what I saw.
It’s written in the style of a medieval Latin hymn except only a minority of its words are actually plausibly Latin and the remainder are … something else. Sample stanza:
dringa flores asirama
frils amina glinganama
doli sinta gloombarun
This piece from 2015 cites a similar poem with lines like “Blitza eclaira” and “Whirlala grellila” while insisting that “This is no Dada.” https://escholarship.org/content/qt9f7486t2/qt9f7486t2_noSplash_5300d656dc66f5c094170d168363a7f3.pdf
Did all or at least some of you literary sophisticates know about his stuff like this decades ago, or is it as eccentric/marginal/obscure as it originally struck me?
I’ve heard of Lawrence Durrell, but he’s definitely Gerald Durrell’s Brother these days.
So my question is whether any of the denizens of the Hattery are familiar with the work of Eugene Jolas (1894-1952)
I am familiar with him solely for his modernist magazine transition (which I see Jonathan Morse referred to in this 2020 comment); I did not know about his poetry, but it sounds amusing.
We have discussed Lawrence Durrell a number of times (e.g.); it is depressing to think he is no longer much remembered. He was a hell of a writer.
I’m familiar with Jolas’ name from the biography of James Joyce.
When I was in graduate school Gorky had pretty much disappeared from the canon anyway.
About when was that? I studied Slavistics in the late 80s/early 90s, and at that time our lecturers, besides covering the great 19th century writers, concentrated on all the new and exciting stuff coming out of the USSR, plus earlier 20th-century writers that were not fully regime-compatible, like Bulgakov and Aksyonov (just to give two examples). A figure sainted by the Socialist-Realist orthodoxy like Gorki was simply not interesting enough (although most of his works were written before Socialist Realism was a thing.)
All I ever read by him were short stories; a collection (in German translation) that my parents owned. I only have a dim recollection, as that was over 40 years ago; I remember that one of them involved gypsies. I’ve never watched or read any of his plays.
Gorky was still on the menu when I did Russian at school (early 1970’s.) Alas, I never got very far, and have subsequently forgotten most of what little I knew. Perhaps I can blame Gorky.
discussed Lawrence Durrell a number of times; it is depressing to think he is no longer much remembered. He was a hell of a writer
Indeed. The Alexandria Quartet is one of my guilty pleasures. (Can’t abide Gerald.)
Lower depths probably remains in repertory of many theaters (under Russian, and maybe some other countries’, system some theaters, called repertory theaters maintain a stock of plays that they perform over and over again on rotation. This is in oppositions to entreprise which does a series of one-off productions running for several performances and maybe travelling to different cities). In other words, if you happen to be in a large Russian city for a few months, chances are that you can see it performed. And I guess in Moscow, with its hundreds of theaters, it is almost guaranteed on any single day. On the other hand, it is not a part of the common parlance of Russian intelligentsia. That is, you cannot quote it offhand and expect people to have any clue as to what you refer to.
@do
For some reason I remember this exchange from Act 1:
Актер (слезая с печи). Мне вредно дышать пылью. (С гордостью.) Мой организм отравлен алкоголем… (Задумывается, сидя на нарах.)
Сатин. Организм… органон…
—
To paraphrase,
Actor: my organism is (or “has been”) poisoned by alcohol
Satin: organism, orgasm
—
This may say more about me than about the play.
About when was that? I studied Slavistics in the late 80s/early 90s,
Same here, Hans. And our curriculums sound very similar. There was a lot of excitement about Silver Age writers who had been somewhat neglected in the Soviet era – Sologub, Remizov, Byeli, and also people were rediscovering émigré writers like early Nabokov, Berberova, late Bunin, etc. ( Although it feels like Gazdanov was rediscovered much later – I only started reading him 10 years ago. But maybe that’s me.) So not much time for poor Gorki.
The most famous quote from the play was Satin’s “Человек — это звучит гордо.” [Man — that has a proud sound to it. (“man” = ‘human being’)] I’ve seen that referenced in other works and learned to recognize it long before I read Gorky. But now maybe it’s forgotten.
émigré writers like early Nabokov, Berberova
I happened on an paperback copy of C’est moi qui souligne last year, and read some of it. The first syllable of her name is stressed, right ? I thought I had already asked that here, but I can’t find the post.
No, the second: Ber-BER-ova. It’s a Russianized form of the Armenian name Berberyan (her father was Armenian).
She has some good stories to tell but is unbelievably bitchy (if that word is still allowable); she has nasty things to say about everybody except her nearest and dearest.
Thanks for the reminder. Cathy Berberian singing Pierrot Lunaire. I think I have a CD with her singing something by Scelsi, but can’t find it now.
Nowadays I’d rather listen to Moriondo. Hate it.
She has some good stories to tell but is unbelievably bitchy
That’s one reason I stopped reading it, I think.
“Человек — это звучит гордо.”
Yes, I definitely recognize the quote even if I couldn’t have told you where it came from. It‘s appeared in so many texts over the years that I assume even younger literate Russians know it.
We discussed that name here.
Gorky’s autobiographical trilogy left a strong impression on me, particularly because of how cruel the characters could be to one another. The first part was the most interesting. After that, I tried reading Mother, but I didn’t even finish it—I found it rather dull.
Yes, the autobiographical trilogy is good. That’s the one thing of his I’d recommend to people — plus the play, now, I guess.
I am someone who due to my own relative level of interest in modernist paintings versus Communist agitprop does not treat bare “Gorky” as presumptively referring to Maxim because I have encountered it in enough contexts where it meant Arshile. This post suddenly made me wonder if they were perhaps related, but the wiki article on Arshile has a phrase about him “telling people he was a relative of” Maxim, in a context that carries a strong implicature that what he was telling people was false. In any event, apparently neither “Arshille” nor “Gorky” were part of his birth name but constituted a new not-sounding-Armenian-coded name he adopted as a refugee while “reinventing his identity.” Although for all I know “Maxim Gorky” wasn’t a birth name, any more than Lenin or Stalin or Trotsky went by their birth names.
Although for all I know “Maxim Gorky” wasn’t a birth name
It was not; his real name was Alexei Peshkov.
Well, if Arshille Gorky’s birth name had been something somethingovich Peshkov, we’d have something interesting, but apparently it wasn’t.
I would hypothesize that The Song of the Stormy Petrel is the best-known source of Gorky’s quotes in contemporary Russian, seconded possibly by Satin’s “Человек — это звучит гордо.” My guess is that everybody knows the line about the Stupid Penguin and maybe a few others. Not necessarily out of respect to Gorky himself; more like because the 1901 poem gave rise to countless spoofs.
The Depths isn’t a rote ideological drivel like “Mother” or a somewhat-laughable attempt at building a quasi-religion with its hymns and myths like “Petrel” and the whole series to which it belongs. In part it survives as a theater play because it’s a decent theater play.
the Stupid Penguin
I have tariffed
the penguins
that are on
Heard Island
and which
you were probably
assuming
did not export goods
forgive me
they were taking advantage of us
so cunning
and so cold
— Janel Comeau (@verybadllama.bsky.social)
(Via LLog)
The capitalist penguins of the Morons’ Day (April 2) totally look like they were lifted from Gorky’s poetry. But then so many things happening today seem to be lifted from the Stalinist playbook…
I would hypothesize that The Song of the Stormy Petrel is the best-known source of Gorky’s quotes in contemporary Russian
Oh yeah, I forgot about that — you’re quite right.
https://youtube.com/watch?v=0QtwFIullXo&pp=0gcJCdgAo7VqN5tD
Better version:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dps1jfx8ZOk
So the species’ name doesn’t work in the poem in English?
Though… I don’t even know what species is meant. Perhaps one of shearwaters. They are Procellaria and other Procellariidae in Latin and the Russian name literally means “storm messenger” (wherewher it’s calqued from). The Russian name for gadfly petrels is typhoonnik:)
Petrel sounds more like that gagara (“loon”) of vam gagaram nedostupno”.
“tariffed the penguins” – mere 10%. Not 50% as for Lesotho.
“Gorky’s quotes”
Also:
Какая глыба, какой матерый человечище! (Lenin about Tolstoy according to Gorky)
and
Эта вещь посильнее, чем “Фауст” Гёте etc. (the actual words are slighly different*)
* actually, I even like Gorky’s museum mentioned in the article.
The thing is that entrance used to be free (even 20 years ago, less sure about now: there was a wave of commercialisation fo everything in 10s), meanwhile the house itself is very interesting (and the famous stairway inside). But it did not occur to me to read there books with quotes.
Japanese carved ivory, a pocket knife and other Gorky’s possessions were much more interesting:)
“Монументальный камин с полуобнаженной женщиной-бабочкой, декор которого смущал писателя, убрали из гостиной, после чего найти его не удалось[9][22]. На этом месте Горький расположил коллекцию декоративных статуэток из слоновой кости”
https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Особняк_С._П._Рябушинского
Oh, shit. Half-naked butterfly woman sounds even better than Japanese ivory (thought those were not in the гостиная anyway):((