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Updated: June 13, 2025
Up to this time the traditions of the Russian stage such as they were were wholly French. The piece is undoubtedly very clever, and conceived with true dramatic power. Since Pushkin's attempt, the historical drama based upon the English, has been very successfully cultivated.
The little scenes of Pushkin's play spin themselves off quickly through the music; the action is reinforced by a skeleton-like form of music, by swift vivid tonal etchings, by the simplest, directest picturings. Musical characterization is of the sharpest; original ideas pile upon each other and succeed each other without ado.
'She told you, he said, 'that we had read Pushkin together.... Remind her of one line of Pushkin's. 'What line? what line? I asked impatiently. 'This one: "What has been will not be again." With those words he went out of the room. I followed him; on the stairs he stopped. 'And is she very much upset? he asked me, pulling his cap over his eyes. 'Very, very much!... 'Poor thing!
His death, which occurred on February 10, 1837, was the result of a duel fought with his brother-in-law. Pushkin's career was one of almost unparallelled brilliancy. As a poet, he still remains the greatest Russia has produced; and although his prose works do not rise to the high standard of his verse, yet they are of no inconsiderable merit.
It is certain that no modern European tongue has been able fairly to represent the beauty of Pushkin's verse, to make foreigners feel him as Russians feel him, in any such measure as the Germans succeeded with Shakespeare, as Bayard Taylor with Goethe, as Ludwig Fulda with Rostand. The translations of Pushkin and of Lermontov have never impressed foreign readers in the superlative degree.
Nejdanov turned to her quickly. "Yes, from memory." Mariana was surprised at his reply. It seemed to her that she merely thought the question. "It is really wonderful..." she continued in the same tone of voice. "Why, he can't draw at all. What was I talking about?" she added aloud. "Oh yes, it was about Dobrolubov's poems. One ought to write poems like Pushkin's, or even like Dobrolubov's.
"You and I have both enjoyed ourselves, Annetta ... We have drained the cup to the bottom and now, to use an expression of Pushkin's, must shatter the goblet!" said Dilectorsky. "You do not repent, oh, my dear? ..." "No, no! ..." "Are you ready?" "Yes!" whispered she and smiled. "Then turn away to the wall and shut your eyes!" "No, no, my dearest, I don't want it so! ... I don't want it!
Our madame is very strict about books. She says they hinder our working. For, to her thinking ... 'But, I say, Yury Miloslavsky's not equal to Pushkin's Gipsies? Eh? Musa Pavlovna? Tarhov broke in with a smile. 'No, indeed! The Gipsies ... she murmured slowly. 'Oh yes, another thing, Vladimir Nikolaitch; don't come to-morrow ... you know where. 'Why not? 'It's impossible. 'But why?
In the senior classes they were reading aloud Gogol or Pushkin's prose works, and that made him sleepy; people, trees, fields, horses, rose before his imagination, and he would say with a sigh, as though fascinated by the author: "How lovely!"
Punin grumbled a little, but I sat him down on the sofa, so that he could listen more comfortably, and began to read Pushkin's poem. The passage came at last, 'old husband, cruel husband'; Punin heard the ballad through to the end, and all at once he got up impulsively. 'I can't, he pronounced, with an intense emotion, which impressed even me; 'excuse me; I cannot hear more of that author.
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