In the garden, for the sad Acheron,
Yawning in a thick grove,
Creator, favorite Alollonom,
Even think to see the world the Earth.
That was the famous writer,
A well-known Russian humorist,
mocker, laurels povit,
Denis, ignorant and fear of the scourge.
“Allow time to retire, —
Said the lord of hell he, —
Fasting me gloomy Phlegethon,
And people want to come”.
"Go!"In response to his Pluto;
And he sees in front of him:
The boat with the flitting throng
Greʙet namorщennыj braying
Čelnok when bank; with Podorojnaya
Hero sailed in a boat empty
And now - comes to us into the light.
welcome, poet!
Dead man found himself in Russia,
He is looking for some news,
But the light in what is an intrinsic.
Everything is the same succession;
All the same people are hypocrites,
All the same songs sung,
Slanderers believe as before,
As before all things flow;
The windows are jumping millions,
Treasury steal all the king.
other habitation, others cry,
And weary mortals doctor,
Calm sleep bishops,
lord, notable villains,
Laughing in glasses pour wine,
Innocent complaint did not heed,
night game, Senate asleep,
Leaning on a red cloth;
Well all as cowards and impudent,
Ruble as much Kipridy,
And as Well stupid generals,
And so many of the old railway portage.
He sighed Denis: “opened the door, Christ!
Again I see the train but the same.
Forward the terrible Demosthenes,
You're right, Parsley my speaker:
The whole world bezdelnaya toy,
And there is no change in the toy.
But where is the brother poets.
My Parnassian minions,
Pets Graces young? —
I would like very much to see them”.
Leaving bright canopy of heaven,
With the winged cap on Bekrenev,
Messenger of the gods young
Suddenly flies to it boom.
“Let's go to, - said the poet Ermy, —
I am here for your guide,
Phoebus himself asked me about;
With you have time before the dawn
Singers Russian visit,
Other - vines award.
Other - wreath uvit flute”.
Said, soared and flew.
Abbr already clear day,
Already thickened dark shadow,
Already evening evaded the night,
Flickered in windows moonlight,
And everyone, who not only poet,
Morfeyu sweet predavalsya.
Ermy with a cheerful corpse
Flew at high loft;
There, sprinkled in the deep silence
On paper, sklyankoy and pen
I am sitting at a table in thought
On a chair dilapidated and tripod
and area, razdutym style
Our mortal sins
Koval and prose and verses. —
"Who is he?» – “"Democritus" Published!
Publisher right presmeshnoy,
Not eager laurels he piita,
Only it would only be drunk at times.
Poems read it though heavily,
A prose, Oh! painful for all;
But what? laugh at the poor thing,
Really. brother, terrible sin;
Is not it better to leave the attic,
And further direct flight
For inveterate Russian singers?” —
"Being so, Mercury, fly ».
And both passenger pustilisʹ
And fell in two minutes
Khvostov right in the office.
He had not slept; good our poet
Unizyval in case ode,
As God's martyr groaned,
drawing, I crossed out, sweating,
To become the laughing stock of the people.
Sits; pen in his teeth,
On the tape Annensky tobacco,
Ink spilled everywhere,
Sniffs himself Khvostov dull.
“And! at midnight who rolls me?
No Březové, full l, I'm in a dream!
What became poor head!
Von Visine! you're my only weapon in front of me?
Have mercy! you ... of course, he!”
– “I, I just, I Pluto
From the dark shadows homes
With an honorary member of the infernal forces
Here at the time dismissed.
tails! My old buddy!
Tell, as the time you act?
cool eh, fun eh live?”
– “Alas! the unfortunate poet, —
Frowning posted Tails, —
Long time nothing no luck.
I'll tell you without further words:
For me with enthusiasm Parnassian
Although the boa constrictor - so in the same time.
I'm good, I am pleased to swear,
Writing, I sing in any way,
I praise my genius in newspapers,
In «Aspasia» worship.
And all last I poets,
Abuse me young and old,
Read my poems do not hochut,
Wherever sunus, everywhere whistle -
My enemy last journalist,
The boys laugh at me.
Anastasevich only one,
My faithful godson, Reader and son,
His prose assures,
That an idol in my crown
Progeny laurel crown.
Nobody thinks about.
But I - put on your.
Let me again perukmaher
Will curl the poor Khvostov
His poem custom
Leftover hair too gray,
Geroyskoy voruzhasy otvagoy,
And the life I finish on paper
And I will write in hell Century
And the parable of the devils read”.
Denis on the shrug;
Courier gods laughed
AND, candles on swinging wings,
In the darkness, with Von Visine missing.
Tails not too astonished,
Quietly lit candle -
sigh, yawned, crossed,
His work set off dokanchivat,
In the morning ode fashioned,
And it lulled city.
Meanwhile, the bow giving Khvostov,
Creator, writing off Prost,
Three nights in the dark attics
In towns and cities
Frightened Russian stihodeev.
In his bosquet, Prince Shalnoy,
Health writer-Morfeev,
I sat for a book notebook,
Drawing in her flowers, kustochki,
AND, move vzdohami listochki,
Drenched them gently tear;
When the ghost is so wonderful
Eyes of love appeared,
Dress for seized on the kind,
Oh fear! he fainted.
And you Slavic-Ross inflated,
About Bezglagolnik notorious,
And you almost paled,
As if the sight of Shishkov;
From hand fell Petriada,
And the wild look numb.
And you, priests voskormlenny,
Psalms trained deacon,
Horrible old critics!
Did you see the shadow of a menacing face,
Your nevynnaya druhynya,
Already faded color singers,
Lied Petropolis goddess,
Before him with fear prostrated.
Monthly respirator,
That emits light shamelessly
Coquette old office,
Ignorant scholar-writer,
I was visited by a strict shadow;
Do not save the child Cupid:
Guardian of the honor of the Muses hard
His zhuril unmercifully
And the poor man's ears ripped;
Terrible Von Visine hand!
“pretty! no desire in me, —
He said, - lean scribes
Only time wasting; by yawning
I am ready to die again;
But where the singer Catherine?”
- "On the banks of the Neva sings". —
“So Stygian Valley
I have not seen it?” - "Alas!!» —
"Alas? tell, what does it mean?»
– “Denis! polnoschnыy laurel ottsvel,
Last spring, It passed and summer,
Fire poet cooled;
You will see all of itself;
Gathering of the singer under the gray hair
An hour to listen to the old man”.
they fly, and three flashes
Among decked Svetlitsa
We saw the singer Felitsa.
The venerable old man recognized them.
Von Visine immediately told
His is the world of the adventures.
“So you're here in the form of ghosts?… —
said Derzhavin, - I am glad;
Accept my blessings ...
scat, cat!.. sit down, deceased brother;
What calm weather!..
But that's the way to fame ode, —
Listen, brother” - and the old man,
Pokashlyav, scratching his wig,
Let sing your creation,
Articles biblical prelozhenie;
That was the anthem of anthems straight.
Chet disembodied in surprise
I listened to in silence by singing,
Poniknuv below golovoy:
“Unlock the mysteries of the sacred "door!
From the depths comes Lutsifer,
Humble, but cheloperunny.
Napoleon! Napoleon!
Paris, and the new Babylon,
And a lamb belorunny,
transcend, how wild Gogh,
I fell the spirit Satanail,
Gone demonic force!..
Blessed be the Lord our God!”…
“Wow! - I exclaimed my mocker, —
What better a such verses?
They sense he would have not penetrated
The late Mr. Bobrov;
What has happened to you, Derzhavin?
And you is the fate of Newton,
You are a god - you worm, you light - you night ...
Let's go to, Mercury, heart pain;
Come on - I could not help beshusya”.
And instantly it flew away.
"What a wonderful phenomenon!»
Von Visine said satellite.
– “Leave blank astonishment, —
Ermy replied with a grin. —
At Pindo famous Lomonosov
With annoyance once saw,
That sonorous lyre in the assembly of the Rosses
Tartar brytыy vozhremel,
J gnevom Pindar Xolmogora,
And secretly envy burned.
But Phoebus heard the voice of reproach,
His calm wanted,
And I stumbled my Derzhavin
Apocalypse prelozhity -
Denis! He will forever be famous,
But, brother, almost as long to live?”
“Time to go home, - broadcast Ermiyu
Horrible Rhymer dead, —
Hastily leave Russia:
I finally got tired to roam”.
But suddenly bliz mill knocking,
Amid the gloomy grove, thick,
On the bank of the river dinning
Shelter is a simple:
The gate narrow road;
In the window I leaned ancient maple,
And Falykonetov Cupid
Threatened with a grin at the threshold.
“Sure, here lives the singer, —
He said obraduyas dead, —
go up!” We arrived and well beheld?
In a pleasant bliss, litter
Penates young singer
With roses crowned head,
Barely covered with a blanket
With slept pretty Liloyu
And toasty Vial
In whispered sweet oblivion. —
Von Visine looking bewildered.
“familiar sight; but who is he?
I do not whether Guys incomparable,
Ile Kleist? il himself Anacreon?”
“It costs them, - Mercury said, —
Eros, graces, Amur
Married Mirta ego,
I cevniceû Feb Zlatoli
He honored his favorite;
But laziness associated uzdoyu,
He only drinks, laughs, sleeps
And Lila basked Mladen,
forgetting completely, he poet”. —
"So I wake rake,»
Said Von Visine angry
And in an instant I drew back the curtain.
Singer, Hearing a prophetic voice,
With all the disappointment in feathers awake,
Lazily stretched out his hands,
In Light hardly viewed,
Then he turned aside
And I went back to sleep soundly.
What our hero?
Povesya nose, dog pokoyu
Only grumble to himself.
I have heard, though with vexation
He scolded Russian without mercy
And now he deigned to tell:
“When the tail will work,
And your father would sleep,
Our genius long rise,
And it will not go smoothly”.
