Excerpted from, “The Critical Prose of Alexander Pushkin,” Indiana
University Press, 1969. Pages 240-241.
The characters created by Shakespeare are, as in Moliere, basically types
of such and such a passion, such and such a vice, but living beings filled
with many passions, many vices; circumstances develop their varied and
many-sided personalities before the viewer. In Moliere, the miserly–and
thst’s all; in Shakespeare, Shylock is miserly, acute, vindictive,
philoprogenitive, and witty. In Moliere, the hypocrite dangles after the
wife of his benefactor — hypocritically; he takes the estate into his care
— hypocritically; and asks for a glass of water — hypocritically. In
Shakespeare, the hypocrite passes sentence with vainglorious severity —
but justly. He justifies his cruelty with the profound judgement of a
statesman. He seduces innocence with powerful, convincing sophisms — not
with a ridiculous mixture of piety and rakery. Angelo is a hypocrite
because his public acys contradict his hidden passions. And what profundity
there is in this character!
But perhaps nowhere is the many-sided genius of Shakespeare reflected with
such variety as in Falstaff, whose vices, one connected to another, form an
amusing ugly chain, like an ancient Bacchanalia. Analyzing Falstaff’s
character, we see that its main feature is voluptuousness; probably from
youth, coarse, cheap woman chasing was his first interest, but he is
already past fifty. He’s gotten fat and grown decrepit. Gluttony and
wine have noticeably won out over Venus. Secondly, he is a coward,
but spending his life with young scape graces and constantly subjected
to their mockery and pranks, he conceals his.cowardice by means of
evasiveness and mocking boldness. By habit and calculation he is
boastful. Falstaff is not at all stupid –on the contrary. He even has
some of the customs of a man who has occasionally seen good society.
He has absolutely no principles. He’s as weak as a woman. He needs
strong Spanish wine, rich dinners, and money for his mistresses. In
order to acquire them he is rwady for anything– except manifest
danger.
In my youth, chance brought me together with a man in whom nature, it
seemed, wishing to imitate Shakespeare, reproduced his great creation.
He was a second Falstaff: voluptous, cowardly, boastful, not stupid,
amusing, without any principles, tearful, and fat. One circumstance
lent him an original charm. He was married. Shakespeare didn’t manage
to marry off his bachelor. Falstaff died among his girlfriends, not
having managed to be a horned spouse, nor the father of a family —
how many scenes lost to the brush of Shakespeare!
Here is a touch from the domestic life of my respectable friend. One
day in his absence, his four year old son, the very image of his
father and a little Falstaff II, kept repeating to himself, “How bwave
Papa is! How the Soveweign woves Papa!” The boy was overheard and they
called to him, “Volodya, who told you that?” Volodya answered, “Papa!”
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