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"Khovanchtchina" is never so much the tragedy, the monument to beings and cultures superseded and cast aside in the relentless march of life, as in the scene when Prince Ivan Khovansky meets his death. For at the moment that the old boyar, and with him the old order of Russia, goes to his doom, there is intoned by his followers the sweetest melody that Moussorgsky wrote or could write.
Others, like the instrumental accompaniment to the first entrance of Prince Ivan Khovansky, are some of those bits that represent a whole culture, a whole tradition and race. These pieces are the children of an infinitely noble mind.
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