Usa

At the time when, disgusted with the Romanian society, Caragiale left for the civilized and ordered environment of Berlin, in what was to become a lifelong exile, a destiny saw the light of the day in the outskirts of Bucharest, in the filthy neighborhood of Veselia, a destiny

excerpts What's your name? asked Bajnorica. Atena, the answer sounded clear and neat, casting the light of the trustful, caring and obedient friend over the young girl. Bajnorica looked at her face closely, assessing her age around her early or even late twenties,

Evening. A gentleman is walking in front of a house: three steps to the left, three steps to the right. He examines the building, then the street, and again the building. He rubs his red eyelids. Three steps to the left, three steps to the right. A gentleman with a bamboo

excerpt Holidays came. I and Codin had agreed never to show up in the neighborhood together, so as to spare my mother, who knew nothing. But now I could go, unhindered, and sit on the benches in Anghelina's tavern and watch my friend at will; since his unexpected intervention,

It was the month of June, 1821. Tudor Vladimirescu had risen from the darkness of Oltenia's forests; he had carried from Cernetzi all the way to Bucharest the light of his prophetic claims and he had set down like the sun, somewhere between Goleshti and Targovishte,

COMPOSER, MUSICOLOGIST, WRITER, FOLKLORIST, INSTRUMENTALIST, ESTHETICIAN, PROFESSOR, BYZANTINOLOGIST, PHILOSOPHER Born in Galatzi (24 March 1885), he began his musical studies with his father, the composer and professor Constantin Cuclin, continued at the Bucharest Conservatoire

Chapter IVexcerpts The doorbell rang earnestly. I had noticed, during my long career as an art scholar, that all of my doorbells manifested a sort of unexpected zeal, an eagerness that suggested that these tiny technical devices strove to reach the condition of an animate

All kinds of things happen. I remember this biker. I was sitting in front of the chalet, watching him. I was waiting to see him getting bored. He was mounting the steep slope for the forth time around and, as soon as he reached the top, he would turn his bike into a smooth,

I had known Cucoanesh as far back as the first high school years, but we had never made friends. In university, I lost touch with him. I only learnt that he entered the PolytechnicUniversity. Meeting him, by accident, in a tobacconist's, he told me that he had graduated

 Avram, the verger of Saint Nicholas church, limping on one foot and shoed with a thick sole, hung on the rope of the church bells like an old monkey. On the side of the twisted leg, the arm was twice as long, and his hand seized the rope from above with the agility of

 When the assassination had ended well, I introduced myself to my new lawyers. Although I had taken measures in order not to be discovered, I said to myself I had to be careful. Several agents had already started to loom around. Come on, pluck up your courage and contact

At first sight, nothing could be more reasonable or understandable than the illustration of the present issue of PLURAL. As the texts spin around the sexual obsession in Romanian literature, running from Creanga`s licentious Tale of All Tales to Agopian and Aldulescu`s swank,