The Kreutzer Sonata, this stroboscopic masterpiece that stubbornly continues to not exalted despite those years and re-read, now scrambled after thoughtful, marks his arrival here. Not open any more, so be it. And this act is already a sign of my infinitesimal leave (hopefully slow, slow) from the universe on such gestures T. built a career. Flying over the plot and style, and I only a few puntarella di stagione. Nonostante continui ad apprezzare più il Tolstoj di Chadzi Murat o dei racconti di Sebastopoli o di alcuni episodi romanzeschi, la Sonata è fra tutte le opere tolstoine quella che mi mette più ansia, anzi che no. Non saprei definire cosa mi mette sulle scapole. Sarà che anch’io son caduto nella trappola del Conte finendo per soffermarmi sull’intrinseca malia morale dell’opera, passando solo in breve rassegna quella estetica, a torto. Perché il ritmo galoppante e il concitato racconto di Pozdnyšev sono quanto di meglio T. abbia fatto e continui a fare per l’umanità, e immancabilmente non ce lo vuole mostrare.
La bellezza del racconto procede di pari passo with its linearity and its clarity. Hemingway will remember as long fields of this lesson, too. When the alter ego of Hem, Nick Adams, he sees the trout incredulously through the clear water, clear, smooth river, we learn, through those eyes, all the effort that has cost the poetic to the author and his satisfaction. Few will see the trout in that way.
I wondered if it makes sense today to talk about sexual acts performed as a means of rehabilitation of humanity. I think not. He still makes sense to refer to a "tragedy of the bedroom," as T. called them. The idea that Tolstoy clings singular in this case is the beautiful and equally disturbing sonata of Beethoven, with whom he shared the power of expression and representation. Kipling's friend reminds us, in that wonderful diptych leaf of which are books of Puck, and the beautiful story of Brother tail, that Pharaoh and the druggist Toby "did not speak much to each other, but playing together and, those who can hear, the music is as good as the conversation. " Nothing could be truer. Also, perhaps the poor wife of Pozdnyšev was limited to the conversation, but denied the audacity to Tolstoy, and she died. And we weep for those who do not know and with whom they identify.
The last sad and smile at the end of Pozdnyšev His tragic story, the narrator leads almost to tears as the story of Paolo and Francesca did with Dante. And then we remember the opening words with which Pozdnyšev begins his story: "You want to tell you how your love has brought me to do what I have done?" Those very same words that Dante gives tearful fans: "Alas! How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire / Conducted these unto the dolorous pass! (...) Francesca, your martyrs / to make me weep with grief and pity. / But tell me at the time of those sweet sighs, / what and in what manner Love conceded, / That you should know your dubious desires? (...) Is no greater sorrow than to recall a happy time ... But, if know the first root / Of love thou hast so great desire, / I will say as one who weeps and says. "
The stories, both painful, both pathetic, are divided into a single point: the supremacy of carnal love in 'one, the story of Dante's love than the most exemplary leadership in the other. But they have so many similarities that when T. the story closes, we look around in wonderment and we understand to be in hell, and in the deepest and the narrow literary hell.
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