Socrates was once asked by a student, this inquiry: "What sort of individuals will we be the point at which we arrive at Elysium?" What's more, the appropriate response was this: "We will be a similar sort of individuals that we were here." If there is a day to day existence after this, we are getting ready for it now, similarly as I am today planning for my life tomorrow. What sort of man will I be tomorrow? Gracious, about a similar sort of a man that I am currently. The sort of a man that I will be one month from now relies on the sort of a man that I have been for the current month. 



On the off chance that I am hopeless today, it isn't inside the round of probabilities that I will be remarkably glad tomorrow. Paradise is a propensity. Also, on the off chance that we are going to Heaven, we would become acclimated to it. Life is a groundwork for the future; and the best groundwork for what's to come is to live as though there were none. We are setting up constantly for mature age. The two things that make mature age wonderful are renunciation and only thought for the privileges of others. In the play of Ivan the Terrible, the interest revolves around one man, Czar Ivan. On the off chance that anyone yet Richard Mansfield filled the role, there would be nothing in it. We get a brief look into the life of a dictator who has run the full extent of goosedom, cantankerousness, childishness, and whiner. Unexpectedly this man could execute other men, and this he does and has done as his impulse and temper would direct. He has been malevolent, merciless, combative, overbearing, and horrible. Since he feels the methodology of death, he would come to terms with God. However, he has deferred that issue excessively long. He didn't understand in youth and center life that he was then getting ready for mature age. 

Man is the aftereffect of circumstances and logical results, and the causes are to a degree in our grasp. Life is a liquid, and well has it been known as the flood of life we are going, streaming someplace. Strip Ivan of his robes and crown, and he may be an old rancher and live in Ebenezer. Each town and town has its Ivan. To be an Ivan, simply turn your temper free and practice pitilessness on someone or something inside your range, and the outcome will be a certain groundwork for a peevish, factious, picked, sniping, fastidious and silly mature age, complemented with numerous upheavals of fury that are horrible in their uselessness and ineffectualness. Childhood has no imposing business model on the fit. The characters of King Lear and Ivan the Terrible share much. One may nearly accept that the author of Ivan had felt the deficiency of Lear, and had seen the ludicrousness of making a sensational offer for compassion for sake of this elderly person push out by his girls. Lear, the inconvenient, Lear to whose agile tongue there was continually jumping words unprintable and names of tar, merits no delicate pity at our hands. For his entire life, he had been preparing his three little girls for precisely the treatment he was to get. For his entire life, Lear had been greasing up the chute that was to give him a snappy brave into that dark midnight storm. 


"Goodness, how more keen than a snake's tooth it is to have a difficult kid," he cries. There is something very as awful as an unpleasant youngster, and that is a difficult parent a perturbed, peevish parent who has an underground jargon and a demeanor to utilize it. The bogus note in Lear lies in providing for him a girl like Cordelia. Tolstoy and Mansfield sound valid, and Ivan the Terrible is the thing that he is without a statement of regret, reason, or clarification. Live with or without it if you don't care for plays of this sort, go to see Vaudeville. Mansfield's Ivan is awful. The Czar isn't old in years not more than seventy but rather you can see that Death is sniffing close upon his track. Ivan has lost the intensity of rest. He can't tune in, gauge, and choose he has no idea or thought for any man or thing this is his propensity forever. His hard hands are never still the fingers open and shut, and pick at things everlastingly. He bungles the cross on his bosom, changes his gems, scratches his universe, plays the fallen angel's tattoo, gets up anxiously, and looks behind the seat, holds his breath to tune in. At the point when individuals address him, he damns them brutally on the off chance that they stoop, and on the off potential for success that they have upstanding he blames them for the absence of regard. He asks that he be mitigated from the considerations of state, and afterward shudders for dread his kin will trust him. When solicited to remain ruler from Russia he continues to revile his councilors and blames them for stacking him with loads that they would not attempt to hold up under. 


He is a casualty of love senilis, and here if Mansfield made one stride more his authenticity would be horrifying, yet he stops as expected and recommends what he dares not express. This reeling, doddering, drooling, sneezing elderly person is infatuated he is going to marry a youthful, excellent young lady. He chooses gems for her he offers comments about what might turn into her excellence, sneers, and chuckles in broke falsetto. In the animality of youth, something is satisfying it is characteristic yet the indecencies of an elderly person, when they have gotten just mental, are generally loathsome. The individuals about Ivan are in mortal dread of him, for he is as yet the supreme ruler he can advance or disrespect, to end their lives or let them go free. They giggle when he chuckles, cry when he does, and watch his passing mind-sets with pounding hearts. He is seriously strict and influences the robe and cowl of a minister. Around his neck hangs the cross. His dread is that he will bite the dust with no chance of admission and exoneration. He implores High Heaven each second, kisses the cross, and his innocuous old mouth interposes petitions to God and condemnations on man concurrently. 

On the off chance that anyone is conversing with him, he looks the other way, descends until his shoulders possess the seat, scratches his leg, and keeps up a running remark of affront "Affirmative," "Goodness," "obviously," "Surely," "Ugh," "Hear him out now!" There is a satire side to this which diminishes the misfortune and shields the play from getting nauseating. Brief looks at Ivan's past are given in his jerky admissions he is the most hopeless and miserable of men, and you see that he is harvesting as he has planted. For his entire life, he has been getting ready for this. Every day has been the groundwork for the following. Ivan kicks the bucket in an attack of rage, heaving curses on his family and the court bites the dust in an attack of rage into which he has been intentionally insulted by a man who realizes that the upheaval is sure to slaughter the debilitated ruler. 


Where does Ivan the Terrible go when Death shuts his eyes? 

I know not. However, this I accept: No confession booth can pardon him no minister advantage him no God excuse him. He has cursed himself, and he started the work in youth. He was preparing for his entire life for this mature age, and this mature age was preparing for the fifth demonstration. The dramatist doesn't say as much, Mansfield doesn't say as much, yet this is the exercise: Hate is a fit of toxic substance anger is a poison erotic nature prompts demise grasping childishness is a lighting of the flames of damnation. It is every one of them arrangement circumstances and logical results. On the off chance that you are ever pardoned, you should clear yourself, for nobody else can. What's more, the sooner you start, the better. We regularly know about the wonders of mature age, yet the main mature age that is lovely is the one the man has for quite some time been planning for by carrying on with excellent life. All of us are correct presently getting ready for mature age. There might be a substitute someplace on the planet for Good Nature, however, I don't have the foggiest idea where it tends to be found. The mystery of salvation is this: Keep Sweet.