Diana's chest flora's cheeks. Nikolai Nekrasov “Ballet. To help Pushkin :-))

Diana's breasts, Flora's cheeks
Lovely, dear friends,
But, I confess, Terpsichore's leg
Something more charming for me;
She, prophesying with a glance
An unappreciated reward
Attracts with conventional beauty
A willful swarm of desires...
Pushkin A. S.

The hateful frost is fierce.
No, it's hard to breathe outside.
Muse! now the performance is a benefit performance,
It's time for us to go to the theater.

We entered amid shouts and splashing.
Let's sit here. I'm afraid of first places
What a joy it is to be blinded by the glitter.
General, senatorial stars.
More radiant than rosy Phoebus
These stars: noticeable immediately,
That they were not snatched from the sky -
The stars of the sky are not bright here.

If only with a bold, fearless look
We decided to take a look at that row,
What is called the "diamond row"
Maybe our sophisticated view
And would open the subject for satire
(The sun itself has specks). But -
The strings of the punishing lyre are mute,
The whirlwind of life tore them apart long ago!

Know, people of good taste,
That I myself adore ballet.
"Struck by Cupid's Arrow"
Not a mockery - heartfelt greetings!
Don't sound the alarm in vain!
I will not touch any military ranks,
Not in the service of the winged god
The civil aces sat down on their feet.
The starched dandy and the dandy
(That is, the merchant is a reveler and a spendthrift)
And a mouse stallion (so Gogol
Calls the young elders)
Recorded supplier of feuilletons,
Officers of the Guards regiments
And the impersonal bastard of salons -
I am ready to pass everyone by in silence!
Particularly passionate about ballet
Armenian, Persian and Greek,
Look how red their faces are
(Isn’t the whole person in ballet?).
But I'll leave them alone too
Not wanting to anger anyone.
I'm planning something else -
I want to offer a riddle.

In the masquerade and in the opera hall,
While playing at the green tables,
In the club, in the Duma, in the arena, at the ball,
In a word: in a society of all kinds,
In pleasure, in work and in peace,
In the prodigal son, in the venerable father, -
There is one - guess what? -
The expression on a Russian face?..
However, maybe you are too busy.
Muse! give - if you can - the answer!
There is no doubt: we are different in appearance,
That official, and that cornet,
He is obsessed with subtle decency,
He plays, he loves to eat,
But take a closer look: despite the external differences
There is deep unity in us:
Lack of money has made us all equal -
And great and small people -
And on every brow it was written
Caption: "Where can I borrow quickly?"
What, isn't it?..
The story is the same
The same thought on every face,
I even read it the other day
On the venerable one dead man.
If the old man is extremely playful,
If a young man hangs his nose -
Both, believe me, think secretly:
Where can I borrow money? that's the question!

Here's the question! Tense, anxious
Everyone wants to solve it,
But they say it’s impossible to borrow,
It is impossible to collect the debt.
They say no contracts
Debtors do not want to fulfill;
Governor General Suvorov
Keeps their side, they say...
The hero's lawyers are condemning him,
But you're right, guardian of peace
And the order of the native capital!
Maybe in the debt department
The entire population would have had their fill,
If only there was a different governor!

The officials were ruined by their arrogance,
I lived abroad as a noble;
Why did the nobility become naked?
It’s unpleasant to even start a conversation!
For flowers, for gifts for actresses,
True, we still get money,
But before another benefit
We give ruble for ruble a week.
How to be? Not a cheap school
Encouraging graces and music...
The youth of both sexes withers,
Even a family union endures:
In vain the young men prowl the balls,
In vain the young ladies dress up in fluff -
There are no old people with capital at all,
There are no old women with capital at all!
Nichols and Plinke lament,
Without prompting their goods lie
There is no sale for the most fashionable new product
(Guess what - open a loan!),
They don’t deliver fancy cardboards
Izombar, Andrie and Moshra,
And they ring at the front entrances
With an unpaid bill in the morning.
What milliners! The ill-fated washerwomen
They go for a month for every ruble!
The trotting races are deserted,
There is no life at the green table.
Who used to go crazy with excitement,
I played for a hundred nights in a row,
After lunch, he will put it on the map
Ill-fated fifteen rubles
And walks away with a sad gait
To the Duma, to the Zemstvo and even to the family
Distract liberal chatter
Your dejected soul.
God bless you, my friend! On any committee
You can talk now
About credit, about specie,
About the “results” of noble losses,
And about the “brother” in a sheepskin coat,
And about what sins
Magazines scold us in the club too
They don't give us sterlet fish soup!
There they will prove to you obviously
That your career is decided!

Yes! difficult and even embarrassing
To live, such are the times!
Buy something - impudent clerk
He will begin to feel the banknote
And then, putting it in the box,
He will look around you with a long gaze, -
It would have cracked!..

Anyway, enough!
Of course I could continue
There are facts, but touching them is painful!
And besides, God save me,
So that I verse my fake series
And stained the credit papers, -
“As if there are no nobler matters?” -
“Someone” told me in a fatherly way.
I completely agree with this opinion,
The world of ideas and stories is great:
For example, how magically beautiful
The mezzanine is a real flower garden!
There are still millions in Russia,
One has only to look at the boxes,
Where the bankers' wives settled, -
A hundred thousand rubles, no matter what!
Swan necks in pearls,
A diamond in a nut in the ears!
In these lodges there are Jewish men,
Or Greeks and Germans wearing crosses.
There are no Russian merchants (cold
Scared them, or what?). One
The tax-farmer who dragged her husband in
In fashionable light, visible on the mezzanine.
You are cheerful, but in this fun
You can read the same question.
And on your neck is a necklace -
If only you could show them off!
Let it be of perfect beauty,
You may be amazing in it, but -
The scandalous whisper has not yet died down,
As if it was in pawn:
They say to appear in it
At some kind of ceremonial ball,
To lie in front of the vile money changer
You made up your mind on the dirty floor
And when you returned from the ball,
The moneylender met you and took you off
These pearls... Aren't I tired of them?
Are you theirs again?.. Your credit has fallen,
Out of grief, the contrite husband drank,
God be with him! Parting is sickening
With this prim salon life
And with the revelry of intimate nights;
With this gold, velvet, silk,
It is with this happiness that we receive the ambassadors.
Would you be ready with a rabid wolf?
To indulge in order to shine again,
But the ways of providence have come true,
Everything was lost - both money and honor!
Descend into the realm of oblivion
And let your husband catch his breath!
It's sweeter for him to drink vodka with the butler,
“The snow is not white” to sing,
Why bother with the Turkish embassy?
And it’s stupid to moo in response...

Amusing their wives is not a concern for the rich,
They are forgiven for any whim.
But it is regrettable to the soul of a patriot,
That the officials are rushing there.
Marya Savishna! would you wear
The dress is simpler! - After all, no matter how you dress up,
You can't dress better than camellias
And richer than French actresses!
Settle accounts, madam, with the laundress
Yes, think about a penny for the farm,
And then with my daughter, with my husband, with my dog
Lunch isn't good for half a buck!

Marya Savishna did not take her eyes off
Meanwhile, with the old man with the star.
In general, the mezzanine was shining
There are many beautiful ladies and maidens.
The wonderful eyes sparkled so much,
But to whom did they shine?
Valor, youth, strength - captivated
A woman's heart in ancient days.
Our girls are more practical, smarter,
Their ideal is the golden calf,
Incarnate in the gray-haired Jew,
Stunning with a dirty hand
Piles of gold...

Intermission time
It finally passed somehow.
(We yawned the first two acts,
How to avoid falling asleep at all in the third.)
All the binoculars start moving -
The corps de ballet appears.
Let me make a digression here:
There is no corresponding liveliness
In the size in which I write,
To sing the beauty of ballet.
Here are the verses: try it while dancing,
Theatergoer, sing them to the music!

I had strange rules
Scolded the ballet.
But once the binoculars were framed
I'm a general neighbor.

I took it with a bow
And he didn’t return it for an hour,
"However, you are an astronomer!" -
The general told me.

I must admit, I'm a little
Confused (oh layman!):
"No... I... but this leg...
But these shoulders... camp..." -

I whispered to the general
And he, laughing, answered:
"In the pursuit of ideal
There is nothing bad, however.

I bought it! - and before the ballet
I bowed down.
I'm ready to be a poet
Lovely dancers!

How can you not love ballet?
Here is a peaceful citizen
Forgets summer
Forgets rank,

And they just catch your eye
Into the obliging lorgnette,
What is the "leg of Terpsichore"
Named by the poet.

That's not how an astronomer watches
Behind the new star
Like us... but why do we need
Laugh at yourself?

In ballet we are naive
We are stupid at this hour:
Almost convulsive
Our movements:

Here the maiden fluttered out,
The binoculars rose;
The leg went up to the left -
We moved to the left;

The leg went up to the right -
We're going to the right... "Look out!
Don't dislocate your joint
Buddy!" - "Fora! bis!"

Bis!.. But maidens, like the wind,
They flew away like a colorful garland!
(Back to the previous meter!)
Big pantomime scene
We are tired, African waltz
He also came out clumsy and lethargic,
But she appeared in a peasant shirt
Petipa - and the theater groaned!
In general, we are inclined towards art,
We encourage him, but there
Where there is food for the people's feelings,
The triumph is present to us;
Should the Slav be silent?
Should I really feel sorry for my fist?
How Bernardi will tighten "Lucina"
How will Petipa trepak go?..
No! where it's about the people,
There I am the first to get carried away.
It’s a pity: in our meager nature
There aren't enough flowers for wreaths!

Everything - down to the white gussets in the shirt -
It was true: there are flowers on the hat,
Russian prowess in every scope...
You're not an artist, you're a sorceress!
Haven't seen anything in forever
We are closer: a real man!
Even the Germans, Jews and Greeks,
Russophilizing, they raised a cry.
Everything merged into a deafening “bravo”
Paying tribute to the people's feeling.
Only you, my Muse! slyly
Smile... That's enough, child!
A strict thought is inappropriate here,
Your grimace is indecent...
But you are silent, boring and gloomy...
What do you think, my Muse?..

You got on the usual horse -
You've got men on your mind
For whom on the capital's stage
Petipa reaps the wreaths,
And you think: “Guria of paradise!
You are sweet, you are airy,
So dance "Virgin of the Danube"
But leave the guy alone!
In frozen bast shoes, in a fur coat,
All frosted, on my own
At this time he dances contentedly,
I don't like staying at home in winter.
Spurred on by the bitter frost,
Making a day's trek,
He dances behind the creaking train,
He dances - he even sings songs!..”

And then there are such convoys
(If only Roller would show them to us!) -
In January, when the frost is severe
And the people have already handed over their recruits,
In Rus', on deserted country roads
There are many long trains...

Straight across rivers, fields
Travelers are traveling along a narrow path:
The earth is in the white shroud of death,
The sky is gloomy, full of darkness.
From morning to evening
All alone before the eyes of the picture.
Do you see how, exposing the mounds,
The wind fills the hollows with snow;
Do you see how this snow dust
Rising in a continuous wave,
The feather grass buries itself underneath,
Helping the all-destroying winter;
Do you see how sometimes under a bush
This little bird will flutter
What doesn’t fly anywhere from us -
Loves our meager north, poor thing!
Or, clicking, a flock of blackbirds
It will fly and land on a spruce tree;
Do you hear the wild moans of wolves?
And the shrill singing of the blizzard...
Snowy - cold - haze and fog...
And across this dull plain
Step by step the caravan goes
With riders in frozen sheepskin.

The men are silent like mutes,
Even the song is not sung by anyone,
The women hid their faces in scarves,
Only a sigh sometimes passes
Or a cry: “Well! Why are you lagging behind? -
You have one less rider to carry!.."

But in vain the man snaps.
The nag barely walks - he resists;
The neighborhood is full of creaking and squealing.
Like a sad train to the heart
Through the white funeral shroud
It cuts the earth and it groans,
The white snowy sea is moaning...
It’s hard, you’re a peasant’s grief!

Oh, you baggage, unnoticeable baggage!
Where will you have to unload?..

How smoke spreads from a shot
At dawn across the dewy grasses,
This grief is moving - moving
To quiet villages, to remote villages.
Over there - to the right - the sad little huts,
One supply separated,
Someone said: “The Lord be with you, dear ones!” -
And she disappeared in the snowdrifts...

Chu! the nag was whipped by the old man...
Eh! Why are you rushing her?
Somehow, when you returned without your son,
Will you knock on your window?..

In the heart of the Russian region itself
The fatal luggage is being delivered!

Where the sun goes beyond the threshold
I'm a pain in the ass at work with an ax,
Where are the roads to a white tablecloth?
Late in the evening a ray of light shines,
There will be someone there who will find this treasure
To sort through harsh hearts,
There she will take refuge, hide -
I'll cry until the next set!

Hello dears.
We continue to enjoy and a little analyze some moments in the wonderful novel by A.S. Pushkin "Eugene Onegin". My previous post was here:

On days of fun and desires
I was crazy about balls:
Or rather, there is no room for confessions
And for delivering a letter.
O you, honorable spouses!
I will offer you my services;
Please notice my speech:
I want to warn you.
You, mamas, are also stricter
Follow your daughters:
Hold your lorgnette straight!
Not that... not that, God forbid!
That's why I'm writing this
That I haven’t sinned for a long time.

Alas, for different fun
I've ruined a lot of lives!
But if morals had not suffered,
I would still love balls.
I love mad youth
And tightness, and shine, and joy,
And I’ll give you a thoughtful outfit;
I love their legs; but it's unlikely
You will find in Russia a whole
Three pairs of slender female legs.
Oh! I couldn't forget for a long time
Two legs... Sad, cold,
I remember them all, even in my dreams
They trouble my heart.

To help Pushkin :-))

A kind of emotional striptease by the author :-) A still young man speaks of himself as someone who has passed 80. Although a certain latent envy of Onegin is felt :-) And then the unexpected comes next.... If you have already read carefully, you have noticed that Alexander Sergeevich pays very close attention to women's legs. Either this is the only opportunity to express one’s attraction in a cultural form, or Pushkin was an avid foot fetishist. Well, at least his legs are everywhere. Another thing is surprising. The famous “walker” Alexander Sergeevich claims that it is difficult to find three pairs of slender legs throughout Russia (!). What happened to genetics, huh? :-)) Without a splash of commoner blood, did the noble people completely degenerate? :-) Was the passion for dressage in the men’s saddle so popular... It’s not clear :-))

Well, the 2 legs that Pushkin remembers... Let me assume that he is talking about the ballerina Ekaterina Semyonova, which we have already talked about earlier: Although it’s not a fact, of course...

When and where, in what desert,
Madman, will you forget them?
Oh, legs, legs! where are you now?
Where do you crush spring flowers?
Nurtured in eastern bliss,
On the northern, sad snow
You left no traces:
You loved soft carpets
A luxurious touch.
How long have I forgotten for you?
And I thirst for fame and praise,
And the land of the fathers, and imprisonment?
The happiness of youth has disappeared,
Like your light trail in the meadows.

Diana's breasts, Flora's cheeks
Lovely, dear friends!
However, Terpsichore's leg
Something more charming for me.
She, prophesying with a glance
An unappreciated reward
Attracts with conventional beauty
A willful swarm of desires.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under the long tablecloth of the tables,
In the spring on the grassy meadows,
In winter on a cast iron fireplace,
There is a hall on the mirrored parquet floor,
By the sea on granite rocks.

"Diana" by Rubens

Then the topic continues and develops. The author paints a picture of a lady who is ideal in his eyes, and the emphasis is again on the leg. Moreover, Terpsichore, which, as we have already found out, is a dance museum (again allusions to ballet :-))) Pushkin writes that he does not shy away from the canons of beauty of that time - Diana’s breasts (and this is a hint of Rembrandt or even Rubens), Flora's cheeks (that is, cheeks) (and this is an allusion to the same Bonet), that is, large ladies, full of health and with a blush on their cheeks, but she loves airy girls more, soaring in dance :-)

Flora Bonet

A very big question is who Elvina is. there are 2 main positions here - either and something is connected with the erotic lyrics of early Karamzin, or with the romanticism of Elvina from Zhukovsky’s ballad “Elvina and Edvin”. It seems to me that the first position is closer to the truth. You can count differently.

I remember the sea before the storm:
How I envied the waves
Running in a stormy line
Lay down with love at her feet!
How I wished then with the waves
Touch your lovely feet with your lips!
No, never on hot days
My boiling youth
I didn't wish with such torment
Kiss the lips of the young Armids,
Or fiery roses kiss their cheeks,
Or hearts full of languor;
No, never a rush of passion
Never tormented my soul like that!

A. Bellucci "Armida and Reynaldo"

I remember another time!
In sometimes cherished dreams
I hold the happy stirrup...
And I feel the leg in my hands;
Imagination is in full swing again
Her touch again
The blood ignited in the withered heart,
Again longing, again love!..
But it is enough to glorify the arrogant
With his chatty lyre;
They are not worth any passions
No songs inspired by them:
The words and gaze of these sorceresses
Deceptive... like their legs.

No, he’s still a foot fetishist :-)))) Armida is the heroine of the knightly poem “Jerusalem Liberated” by Torquato Tasso. She was sent by her uncle Hydraot, Prince of Damascus, to the Crusader camp. Her enchanting beauty captivated several of the bravest knights so much that they followed her to Damascus. On the way they were freed by the beautiful Rinaldo. However, later Rinaldo did not escape Armida’s spell. She fell in love with him and took him to a distant island, where, among the magical gardens of Armida, he forgot about the high goal to which he had devoted himself. Two crusaders were sent to the island to free Rinaldo, and he managed to escape. In despair, Armida destroyed her gardens and hurried to the Saracens to inspire their leaders to fight Rinaldo, but they all died under the blows of his sword. In conclusion, Armida rushes into battle herself, but Rinaldo confesses his love to her and declares himself her knight.

This is the plot that was used to stage several operas by the same Rossini or Gluck. Pushkin saw them and was captivated by this image. Apparently this is how he saw young and attractive seductresses in his dreams :-)

What about my Onegin? Half asleep
He goes to bed from the ball:
And St. Petersburg is restless
Already awakened by the drum.
The merchant gets up, the peddler goes,
A cabman pulls to the stock exchange,
The okhtenka is in a hurry with the jug,
The morning snow crunches under it.
I woke up in the morning with a pleasant noise.
The shutters are open; pipe smoke
Rising like a pillar of blue,
And the baker, a neat German,
In a paper cap, more than once
He was already opening his vasisdas.

It’s normal to walk around like that...returns home no earlier than 6 am :-) Vasidas (from German was ist Das? - what is it?) is such a small window in the door or window, in this case for selling bread rolls.

But, tired of the noise of the ball
And the morning turns to midnight,
Sleeps peacefully in the blessed shade
Fun and luxury child.
Wake up at noon, and again
Until the morning his life is ready,
Monotonous and colorful.
And tomorrow is the same as yesterday.
But was my Eugene happy?
Free, in the color of the best years,
Among the brilliant victories,
Among everyday pleasures?
Was he in vain among the feasts?
Careless and healthy?

No: his feelings cooled down early;
He was tired of the noise of the world;
The beauties didn't last long
The subject of his usual thoughts;
The betrayals have become tiresome;
Friends and friendship are tired,
Because I couldn’t always
Beef-steaks and Strasbourg pie
Pouring a bottle of champagne
And pour out sharp words,
When you had a headache;
And although he was an ardent rake,
But he finally fell out of love
And scolding, and saber, and lead.

The disease whose cause
It's time to find it long ago,
Similar to the English spleen,
In short: Russian blues
I mastered it little by little;
He will shoot himself, thank God,
I didn't want to try
But he completely lost interest in life.
Like Child-Harold, gloomy, languid
He appeared in living rooms;
Neither the gossip of the world, nor Boston,
Not a sweet look, not an immodest sigh,
Nothing touched him
He didn't notice anything.

Onegin's depressed state is understandable. There are no special things to do, no hobbies either. Walking around balls is boring. All the available beauties have been tried - too lazy to deal with the unavailable ones... He sleeps little, eats the same. Again champagne and pate (Strasbourg pie). Fortunately, at least I decided to try a steak... not everyone eats roast beef :-) Child-Harold is the hero of Byron’s poem “The Wanderings of Childe Harold.” Fashionable, yes :-)))
Well, Boston is a card game similar to whist :-)

To be continued...
Have a nice time of day.

Diana's breasts, Flora's cheeks are charming, dear friends, But, I confess, Terpsichore's leg is somehow more charming for me; She, prophesying to her gaze an unappreciated reward, attracts a willful swarm of desires with the conventional beauty... Pushkin The hateful frost is fierce. No, it's hard to breathe outside. Muse! Now it’s a benefit performance, it’s time for us to visit the theater. We entered amid shouts and splashing. Let's sit here. I'm afraid of the first places, What a joy it is to be blinded by the brilliance of the General's and senator's stars. These stars are more radiant than rosy Phoebus: it is immediately noticeable that they were not snatched from the sky - The stars of the sky are not bright among us. If with a bold, intrepid look We decided to look around that row, What is called the “diamond row”, Perhaps our sophisticated gaze would open up a subject for satire (There are specks in the sun itself). But - The strings of the punishing lyre are mute, The whirlwind of life tore them long ago! Know, people of good taste, that I myself adore ballet. "Struck by Cupid's arrow" Not a mockery - heartfelt greetings! Don't sound the alarm in vain! I will not touch either the military ranks, or the civil aces who have sat on their feet in the service of the winged god. A starched dandy and a dandy (That is, a merchant is a reveler and a spendthrift) And a mouse stallion (as Gogol calls the young elders), A registered supplier of feuilletons, Officers of the guards regiments And the impersonal bastard of salons - I am ready to pass them all in silence! The Armenian, the Persian and the Greek are especially passionate about ballet. Look how red their faces are (Isn’t the whole person in ballet?). But I’ll leave them alone, not wanting to anger anyone. I'm planning something else - I want to offer a riddle. In the masquerade and in the opera hall, At the game at the green tables, In the club, in the Duma, in the arena, at the ball, In a word: in the company of all kinds, In pleasure, in work and in peace, In the prodigal son, in the venerable father, - There is one - guess what? - The expression on the Russian face?.. However, maybe you are too busy. Muse! give - if you can - the answer! There is no doubt: we are different in appearance, This one is an official, and this one is a cornet, This one is obsessed with fine decency, This one plays, this one loves to eat, But look closely: despite the external differences, There is a deep unity in us: Lack of money has made us all equal - Both great and small people - And on each forehead was written the inscription: “Where can I borrow quickly?” What, isn't it?.. The story is the same, The same thought on every face, I read it the other day even on the venerable one dead man. If the old man is extremely playful, If the young man hangs his nose - Both, believe me, are thinking secretly: Where can I borrow money? that's the question! Here's the question! Tense, anxious Everyone wants to resolve it, But it is impossible to borrow, they say, It is impossible to receive a debt. They say that the Debtors do not want to fulfill any contracts; Governor General Suvorov Keeps their side, they say... The hero's lawyers condemn him, But you are right, guardian of peace and order in the native capital! Maybe the entire population would have sat in the debt department, If only there had been a different governor! The officials were ruined by their arrogance, the nobility lived abroad; Why did the nobility become naked? It’s unpleasant to even start a speech! For flowers, for gifts for actresses, True, we still get money, but before another benefit we give a ruble for a ruble a week. How to be? Not a cheap school Encouragement of graces and muses... The youth of both sexes withers, Even the family union suffers: In vain do young men prowl the balls, In vain do young ladies dress up in fluff - There are no old men with capital at all, There are no old women with capital at all! Nichols and Plinke lament, Their goods are lying around without prompting, There is no sale for the most fashionable new product (Guess what - open a loan!), They don’t deliver elegant cardboard boxes from Izombar, Andrie and Moshra, But they call at the front door with an unpaid bill in the morning. What milliners! The ill-fated washerwomen go for a month for every ruble! The trotting races are empty, There is no life at the green table. Someone who, foolishly with excitement, used to play a hundred nights in a row, having dined, would put fifteen rubles on the ill-fated card, and walk away with a sad gait To the Duma, to the Zemstvo, and even to the family, To divert his dejected soul with liberal chatter. God bless you, my friend! In any committee You can now talk About credit, about hard cash, About the “results” of noble losses, And about the “brother” in a sheepskin coat, And about what sins the magazines scold us for and in the club They don’t give us sterlet fish soup! There they will clearly prove to you that your career is decided! Yes! It’s difficult and even offensive to live - such times have come! If you buy something, the impudent clerk will begin to feel the note And then, putting it in the box, He will look around you with a long gaze, - It would crack!.. However, that’s enough! Of course, I could continue, The facts are there, but touching them is painful! And besides, God save me, So that I smear my poem with forgery of series And credit papers, - “As if there are no nobler matters?” - “Someone” told me in a fatherly way. I completely agree with this opinion. The world of ideas and plots is great: For example, how magically beautiful the Mezzanine is - a real flower garden! There are still millions in Russia, One has only to look at the boxes, Where the bankers' wives are seated, - A hundred thousand rubles, no matter the chest! There are swan necks in pearls, Diamonds in the nuts in the ears! In these boxes there are Jewish men, Or Greeks, and Germans in crosses. There are no Russian merchants (the cold scared them, or what?). One Farmer, who dragged her husband into the fashionable world, is visible on the mezzanine. You are cheerful, but in this joy you can read the same question. And there’s a necklace on your neck - I wish you could flaunt it! Even if it is of ideal beauty, Even if you are delightful in it, but - The scandalous whisper has not yet died down, As if it was in pawn: They say that in order to appear in it At some ceremonial ball, Before the vile money changer, you decided to lie on the dirty floor, And when You were returning from the ball, the Moneylender met you - and took off these pearls. .. Isn’t that how you got them again?.. Your credit fell, The contrite husband drank to drink out of grief, God be with him! It’s sickening to part with this prim salon life And with the revelry of intimate nights; With this gold, velvet, silk, With this happiness to receive ambassadors. You would be ready to make love with a mad wolf in order to shine again, But the ways of providence were fulfilled, Everything perished - both money and honor! Descend into the realm of oblivion and let your spouse catch his breath! It’s sweeter for him to drink vodka with the butler, to sing “The snow is not white,” than to mess with the Turkish embassy And in response to him it’s stupid to moo... Amusing their wives is not a concern for the rich, Any whim is forgivable to them. But it is regrettable to the soul of a patriot, That officials are eager to go there. Marya Savishna! you would put on a simpler dress! - After all, no matter how you dress up, you won’t dress better than camellias And richer than French actresses! Pay off, madam, with the washerwoman, and put at least a penny into the household, Otherwise, with your daughter, with your husband, with your dog, lunch is not good for half a rouble! Meanwhile, Marya Savishna did not take her eyes off the old man with the star. In general, in the mezzanine there were many beautiful ladies and girls shining. The wonderful eyes sparkled, but to whom did they sparkle? Valor, youth, strength - captivated the heart of a woman in ancient days. Our maidens are more practical, smarter, Their ideal is a golden calf, embodied in a gray-haired Jew, shaking piles of gold with his dirty hand... Intermission time has finally passed somehow. (We yawned in the first two acts, as if we would not fall asleep at all in the third.) All the binoculars begin to move - The corps de ballet appears. Here I will allow myself a digression: There is no corresponding liveliness in the size in which I write, in order to sing the charm of ballet. Here are the verses: try, while dancing, Theatergoer, to sing them to the music! I had strange rules, I scolded ballet. But once the binoculars were placed on me by the neighbor general. I took it with a bow and didn’t return it for an hour. “However, you are an astronomer!” the general told me. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed (oh layman!): “No... I... but this leg... But these shoulders... waist...” I whispered to the general, And he, laughing, answered: “In the pursuit of the ideal, however, there is no Bad thing. It’s not enough to read Buckle to you! This Buckle is not worth good binoculars... Buy some binoculars!..” I bought it! - and before the ballet I bowed down. I'm ready to be the poet of the lovely dancers! How can you not love ballet? Here the peaceful citizen Forgets the summer, Forgets his rank, And only his eyes catch the obliging lorgnette, Which the poet called “Terpsichore’s leg.” The astronomer doesn't watch the new star like we do... but why should we laugh at ourselves? In ballet we are naive, We are stupid at this hour: Our movements are almost convulsive: Here the maiden fluttered out, The binoculars rose; The leg soared to the left - We moved to the left; The leg soared to the right - We are going to the right. .. "Be careful! Don't dislocate your joint, Buddy!" - "Handicap! bis!" Bis!.. But the maidens, like the wind, flew away like a colorful garland! (We return to the previous meter!) We were tired of the big pantomime scene, the African waltz also came out clumsy and sluggish, But Petipa appeared in a peasant’s shirt - and the theater groaned! In general, we are inclined towards art, We encourage it, but where there is food for the people's feelings, the triumph is real for us; Is it really possible for a Slav to be silent, Is it really possible to spare a fist, How Bernardi will tighten “Luchina”, How will Petipa trepak go?.. No! where it’s about the people, there I’m the first to get carried away. It’s a pity: in our meager nature there aren’t enough flowers for wreaths! Everything - down to the white gussets in the shirt - It was true: there are flowers on the hat, Russian prowess in every swing... You are not an artist - you are a sorceress! Haven't seen anything forever We're closer to the gangway: a real man! Even the Germans, Jews and Greeks, Russophilizing, raised a cry. Everything merged into a deafening “bravo”, paying tribute to the people’s feeling. Only you, my Muse! You smile slyly... That's enough, child! A strict thought is inappropriate here, Your grimace is indecent... But you are silent, boring and gloomy... What do you think, my Muse? wreaths, And you think: “Guria of paradise! You are sweet, you are airy light, So dance the “Virgin of the Danube”, But leave the man alone! dances contentedly, Not liking sitting at home in the winter. Spurred on by the severe frost, Making the day's march, he dances behind the creaking convoy, he dances - he even sings songs!.." And then there are such convoys (If only Roller would show them to us!) - B January, when the frosts are strong And the people have already handed over recruits, In Rus', on deserted country roads There are many long trains... Straight through rivers and fields Travelers travel along a narrow path: The earth is in the white shroud of death, The sky is gloomy, full of darkness. From morning to evening, all the pictures are alone before your eyes. You see how, exposing the hillocks, the wind covers the hollows with snow; Do you see how this snow dust, rushing in a continuous wave, buries the feather grass under itself, helping the all-destroying winter; You see how sometimes this little bird flutters under a bush, That it doesn’t fly anywhere from us - It loves our meager north, poor thing! Or, clicking, a flock of blackbirds will fly by and land on a spruce tree; You hear the wild moans of wolves And the shrill singing of a blizzard... Snowy - cold - haze and fog... And along this dull plain, Step by step, a caravan walks with riders in frozen sheepskin. Like mutes, the men are silent, Even the song is not sung by anyone, The women hid their faces in scarves, Only a sigh sometimes passes through, Or a cry: “Well! Why are you lagging behind? - You have one less rider!.." But in vain the man snaps. The nag barely walks - he resists; The surrounding area is full of creaks and squeals. As if a train sad to the heart Through the white funeral shroud Cuts the earth - and it groans, The white snowy sea groans. .. It's heavy, you - a peasant's grief! Oh, you're a load, an unnoticeable load! Where will you have to unload you? sad huts, One cart separated, Someone said: “The Lord be with you, dear ones!” - And she disappeared in the snowdrifts... Wow! the old man whipped the nag... Eh! why are you rushing her! without a son, Will you knock on your window?.. In the heart of the very Russian region, the fatal luggage is delivered! , There she will take refuge, hide - Until another set she will cry! (1865 - early 1866)

Diana's breasts, Flora's cheeks
Lovely, dear friends!
However, Terpsichore's leg
Something more charming for me.
She, prophesying with a glance
An invaluable reward
Attracts with conventional beauty
A willful swarm of desires.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under the long tablecloth of the tables,
In the spring on the grassy meadows,
In winter on a cast iron fireplace,
There is a hall on the mirrored parquet floor,
By the sea on granite rocks.

INTERESTING FROM NABOKOV:

...conventional beauty... - The only possible meaning of the epithet “conventional” here is associated with the idea of ​​a conventional sign, with an emphasis on the idea of ​​a sign, a sign, a sign, a symbol of beauty, a secret sign of this narrow leg.

...a willful swarm. – Common Gallicism.

In the last verses of the stanza ... we find a very rare sequence of several (namely, four) verses with a scad on the second foot, which act like a brake, slowing down, accumulating energy for the jerk of verses with a scad on the first, as well as the first and third foot in the next stanza.

...Elvina... - I think that this is Macpherson’s own daughter Malvina

BRODSKY:
“Elvina is one of the conventional poetic names that were often found in the works of poets of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.
LOTMAN:
Elvina is a conventionally poetic name associated in the Karamzin tradition with erotic lyrics.
MY INSINUATIONS:

At first glance, Pushkin's message about his erotic-anotomy predilections looks inappropriate - what else are these cries of a fetishist? Why didn’t you just finish, as people write, a sketch about legs, shoes, stockings and the music of steps?

Yes, because all this is not true - this is the poet’s special predilection for this part of the female body. Artifice.

He was struck, once really struck by the sight of a woman’s legs in the foam of the waves, and he skillfully conveyed his shock to us with the help of an imaginary, long, inescapable passion.
And we saw in one moment an entire eternity - prepared by this stanza, in the next, XXXIII stanza - we saw it.

All for this. How about writing a routine digression about legs that don’t interest him? He really needs it! He didn't even think about doing this.

MORE OPINIONS ABOUT THE STROPHE:
Writes petrazmus : Let’s continue our search for evidence of the “eastern spirit” in the current stanza.

Diana's breasts, Flora's cheeks
Lovely, dear friends!
However, Terpsichore's leg
Something more charming for me.
She, prophesying with a glance
An unappreciated reward
Attracts with conventional beauty
A willful swarm of desires.
I love her, my friend Elvina,
Under the long tablecloth of the tables,
In the spring on the grassy meadows,
In winter on a cast iron fireplace,
There is a hall on the mirrored parquet floor,
By the sea on granite rocks.

“Diana’s breasts” - associations with Dutch paintings - Rubens, Rembrandt,
“Flora’s cheeks” are clearly French – Watteau, Boucher.
What is this for?

Moreover, Pushkin (or rather, the romantic hero of these stanzas) is not interested in European values ​​and criteria of beauty. He is interested in the leg of Terpsichore, the goddess of dance. But it was the East at that time, and later too, that assessed a woman by her ability to dance. Moreover, dancing is not for everyone, on stage, but for one... There is a European exception - Spain, where women’s dance is also held in high esteem, but these are the Moors.
The poet doesn’t seem to say why this attracts him (“something more charming”) He seems to be surprised himself. But this restraint disappears in the following lines. His imagination and sensuality paints magnificent pictures in different interiors and situations. And this “willful swarm of desires” is generated by the “conventional beauty” of the oriental beauty’s legs.
The reward promised to the gaze in the form of a “leg” cannot be appreciated by the European. Or rather, he will not dare to evaluate it, because it is not in his culture.
Oriental robes (transparent shalwar fabric) will allow, unlike European dresses, to easily fantasize this conventional beauty.
Nabokov interprets the definition of “conventional” as a sign, a cipher (indicative beauty), and for some reason refuses the simplest - beauty conditioned by fantasy, generated by the imagination, invented.
It’s also interesting in this stanza who Elvina is?
It is believed that this is a lyrical heroine of an erotic nature.
Maybe look differently?
Zhukovsky (need we remind you of Pushkin’s attitude towards him?) has a ballad “Elvina and Edvin”. So why not accept this Elvina as an interlocutor? In the ballad, after all, there was also an undivided, contemplative passion, as in all the stanzas of the digression. From this point of view, Pushkin shares his thoughts with a person capable of understanding him, who has experienced the unattainability of the object of his adoration. He found a kindred spirit. The romanticism of Elvina Zhukovsky is beyond doubt - after all, Vasily Andreevich is a classic of the genre. And this is another proof of the general romanticism of the passage under discussion, filled with heroes and heroines not from this world, but only from the mind...