Franz Kafka

Saturday, December 27, 2014

"A Gentleman Friend," by Anton Chekhov, full text, full version, English translation by Constance Garnett, from "The Chorus Girl and other stories," by Anton Chekhov


LiteraryJoint is proud to present the full text edition of "The Chorus Girl and other stories," a collection of short stories by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, many of them not yet very well known by the general public. Every month, we will commit one of our weekly post to these stories, in their English translation by Constance Garnett. After My Life, On the Road, The Chorus Girl, VerotchkaAt a Country House, A Father, Rothschild's Fiddle, Ivan Matveyitch, Zinotchka, and Bad Weather, we now continue with "A Gentleman Friend," which will be followed by "A Trivial Incident."

Portrait of Anton Pavlovich Chekhov,
THE charming Vanda, or, as she was described in her passport, the "Honourable Citizen Nastasya Kanavkinа", found herself, on leaving the hospital, in a position she had never been in before: without a home to go to or a farthing in her pocket. What was she to do?
The first thing she did was to visit a pawn-broker's and pawn her turquoise ring, her one piece of jewellery. They gave her a rouble for the ring . . . but what can you get for a rouble? You can't buy for that sum a fashionable short jacket, nor a big hat, nor a pair of bronze shoes, and without those things she had a feeling of being, as it were, undressed. She felt as though the very horses and dogs were staring and laughing at the plainness of her dress. And clothes were all she thought about: the question what she should eat and where she should sleep did not trouble her in the least.
"If only I could meet a gentleman friend," she thought to herself, "I could get some money. . . . There isn't one who would refuse me, I know. . ."
But no gentleman she knew came her way. It would be easy enough to meet them in the evening at the "Renaissance," but they wouldn't let her in at the "Renaissance" in that shabby dress and with no hat. What was she to do?
After long hesitation, when she was sick of walking and sitting and thinking, Vanda made up her mind to fall back on her last resource: to go straight to the lodgings of some gentleman friend and ask for money.
She pondered which to go to. "Misha is out of the question; he's a married man. . . . The old chap with the red hair will be at his office at this time. . ."
Vanda remembered a dentist, called Finkel, a converted Jew, who six months ago had given her a bracelet, and on whose head she had once emptied a glass of beer at the supper at the German Club. She was awfully pleased at the thought of Finkel.
"He'll be sure to give it me, if only I find him at home," she thought, as she walked in his direction. "If he doesn't, I'll smash all the lamps in the house."
Before she reached the dentist's door she thought out her plan of action: she would run laughing up the stairs, dash into the dentist's room and demand twenty-five roubles. But as she touched the bell, this plan seemed to vanish from her mind of itself. Vanda began suddenly feeling frightened and nervous, which was not at all her way. She was bold and saucy enough at drinking parties, but now, dressed in everyday clothes, feeling herself in the position of an ordinary person asking a favour, who might be refused admittance, she felt suddenly timid and humiliated. She was ashamed and frightened.
"Perhaps he has forgotten me by now," she thought, hardly daring to pull the bell. "And how can I go up to him in such a dress, looking like a beggar or some working girl?"
And she rang the bell irresolutely.
She heard steps coming: it was the porter.
"Is the doctor at home?" she asked.
She would have been glad now if the porter had said "No," but the latter, instead of answering ushered her into the hall, and helped her off with her coat. The staircase impressed her as luxurious, and magnificent, but of all its splendours what caught her eye most was an immense looking-glass, in which she saw a ragged figure without a fashionable jacket, without a big hat, and without bronze shoes. And it seemed strange to Vanda that, now that she was humbly dressed and looked like a laundress or sewing girl, she felt ashamed, and no trace of her usual boldness and sauciness remained, and in her own mind she no longer thought of herself as Vanda, but as the Nastasya Kanavkin she used to be in the old days. . . .

Friday, December 19, 2014

"Settembre a Venezia" by Vincenzo Cardarelli; English version: September in Venice, by Vincenzo Cardarelli, translated in English by LiteraryJoint

Presented below is "Settembre a Venezia" (September in Venice), one of the most well known lyrics by Italian poet Vincenzo Cardarelli (pseudonym of Nazareno Caldarelli, May 1, 1887, June 18, 1959) 

The Grand Canal and the Church of the Salute, by Canaletto, 1730.


September in Venice

Already by September darken
in Venice the precocious sunsets
and the stones dress in mourning.
The sun's last beam is a dart
on the golden mosaics and lights up
fires made of straw, ephemeral beauty.
And quietly, behind the Procuratìe, (*)
meanwhile rises the moon.
The festive and silver lights laugh,
they keep chatting afar with trepidation
in the cool and dark air.
I look at them in fascination.
Perhaps, later on I will remember
these great nights
that are quick to come,
and their lights
that now sink me a bit into despair
(to me, always estrange and distant!)
more beautiful and livelier
will shine back again
in my imagination.
And it will be a true and quiet
happiness mine.
(*) Literally "procuracies,"  they are three connected buildings on St Mark's Square in Venice. They are also connected to St Mark's Clocktower.

From the collection "Poesie," by Vincenzo Cardarelli, 1936.
From "Vincenzo Cardarelli: The Forgotten amongst the Great. A Collection of the Best Poems by Vincenzo Cardarelli, Translated in English," available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touchon NOOK Bookon Koboand as printed, traditional edition through Lulu.

Original Version in Italian:

Settembre a Venezia

Già di settembre imbrunano
a Venezia i crepuscoli precoci
e di gramaglie vestono le pietre.
Dardeggia il sole l'ultimo suo raggio
sugli ori dei mosaici ed accende
fuochi di paglia, effimera bellezza.
E cheta, dietro le Procuratìe,
sorge intanto la luna.
Luci festive ed argentate ridono,
van discorrendo trepide e lontane
nell’aria fredda e bruna.
Io le guardo ammaliato.
Forse più tardi mi ricorderò
di queste grandi sere
che son leste a venire,
e più belle, più vive le lor luci,
che ora un po’ mi disperano
(sempre da me così fuori e distanti!)
torneranno a brillare
nella mia fantasia.
E sarà vera e calma
felicità la mia.
Dalla raccolta "Poesie, di Vincenzo Cardarelli, 1936.
da PensieriParole <http://www.pensieriparole.it/poesie/poesie-d-autore/poesia-31204?f=a:891>

Thursday, December 11, 2014

An Italian Christmas Tale: "L'Inverno e il Re Triste, una Favola." A special gift from LiteraryJoint: free e-book download (Italian)

Front cover of "L'Inverno e il Re Triste, una Favola"

Free download throughout the Holiday Season 2014. Get your free e-book and enjoy!

Alle soglie dell'inverno, al limitare dei suoi giorni, un Re si spinge fin nei meandri del bosco, ove una creatura delle foreste gli confiderà un segreto fuggevole e misterioso...

Visit the Author's Bookstore.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

"Seagulls," by Vincenzo Cardarelli. "Gabbiani," a poem by Vincenzo Cardarelli, translated in English by LiteraryJoint

Presented below is "Seagulls" (Gabbiani), one of the most well known lyrics by Italian poet Vincenzo Cardarelli (pseudonym of Nazareno Caldarelli, May 1, 1887 - June 18, 1959.)


A picture of poet Vincenzo Cardarelli

Seagulls


I know not where seagulls make their nest
where find they peace.
I am like them
in perpetual flight. 
I skim life
like they do with the water catching food.
And perhaps like them too, I cherish quietness,
the great quietness of the sea,
but my fate is to live
wavering in the gale.

by Vincenzo Cardarelli, from the collection "Poesie", 1942. 
From "Vincenzo Cardarelli: The Forgotten amongst the Great. A Collection of the Best Poems by Vincenzo Cardarelli, Translated in English," available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touchon NOOK Bookon Koboand as printed, traditional edition through Lulu.

Original version in Italian: