Panorama of Moscow

Who have never been on the top of the Ivan the Great,1 who has never happened to cast a glance the whole of our ancient capital from end to end, who have never admired the majestic etoyu, almost boundless panorama, he has no idea about Moscow, because Moscow is not an ordinary big city, some one thousand; Moscow is not the silent mass of cold stones, drawn up in a symmetric manner ... no! It has its own shower, own life. As in the ancient Roman cemetery, each stone inscription stores, inscribed by time and fate, sign for the crowd incomprehensible, but the rich, abundant thoughts, feeling and the inspiration for scientist, patriot and poet!.. As the ocean, it has its own language, strong language, sonorous, Saint, prayerful!.. Barely awake day, as already with all its golden churches consonant sounds anthem bells, like quirky, fantastic overture Beetgovena,2 in which the deep roar kontrbasa, crack with SKRYPKA timpani and flute singing form one great whole; - and the crease, disembodied sounds that take visible form, that the spirits of heaven and hell wove the clouds in a diverse, immeasurable, rapidly whirling dance!..
ABOUT, what bliss to listen to this heavenly music, climbed to the top tier of Ivan the Great, leaning on the narrow mossy window, which brought you attrition, slippery, winding staircase, and think, that the whole orchestra rumbles beneath your feet, and imagine, What does all this for you alone, you are the king of this immaterial world, and devour the eyes of this huge anthill, where people are bustling, alien to you, where passions run high, you for a moment forgotten!.. What bliss again embrace the soul of all the empty way of life, all the little worries of mankind, look at the world - from a height!
To the north in front of you, in the distance, at the edge of the blue sky, Petrovsky slightly to the right of the castle,3 blackens novelistic Marina Grove, and in front of her is a layer of roofing variegated, crossed somewhere dusty greens Boulevard, arranged in an ancient city shaft; on a steep hill, dotted with low houses, among which only occasionally peeps wide white wall of a boyar house, rises Foursquare, sizaya, fantastic bulk - Sukharev bashnya.4 She proudly looks at the neighborhood, she knows, that Peter's name written on her forehead mossy! Ee mrachnaya face, its huge size, its decisive form, still keeps the imprint of another century, imprint of the formidable power, which nothing could resist.
Closer to the city center take the form of the building more slender, more European; lurking rich colonnade, wide yard, enclosed by iron railings, countless heads of churches, Spitz bell with a rusty crosses and colorful painted cornices.
even closer, over a wide area, rises Petrovsky Theater, a work of modern art, a huge building, made by all the rules of taste, with a flat roof and grand portico, on any rises alabaster Apollo, standing on one leg in alabaster chariot, still operates three alabaster horses and vexation to look to the Kremlin wall, which jealously separates it from the ancient Russian shrines!..
East picture is even richer and more varied: for the wall itself, which descends from the mountains to the right and ends with a circular corner tower, coated, like scales, green tiles; - slightly to the left of the tower are countless church domes of St. Basil, seventy pridela marvel that all foreigners, and that none of Russian did not bother to even describe in detail.
She, as a pillar of ancient Babylon, It consists of a number of ledges, koi end with a huge, toothed, rainbow-colored head, very similar (If you just compare me) on a cut crystal decanter stopper ancient. Around it are scattered on all the ledges are many second-class tiers of heads, I did not like one another; They are scattered throughout the building without symmetry, without order, like an old tree branch, reptiles on his bare roots.
Twisted heavy iron columns support a roof, dangling over the door and outer galleries, of which look out small dark box, how pupils stoglazogo monster. Thousands intricate hieroglyphic images are drawn around these windows; occasionally dim lamp shines through the glass of their, fenced grids, both shine through the peaceful night firefly Ivy, WRAPPED dilapidated tower. Each chapel is painted outside paint peculiar, as if they were not built all at one time, as if each ruler of Moscow in the course of many years would add one, in honor of his angel.
Very few Muscovites dared to bypass all the chapels of this church. Its grim appearance suggests some soul disheartened; it seems, see before them of John the Terrible, - but those, what it was in the last years of his life!
And what? - next to the magnificent, gloomy building, directly opposite its doors, boils dirty crowd, shine rows of stalls, shouting hawkers, buloshniki fuss at the pedestal of the monument, vozdvyhnutoho Minino; rattle fashion coach, babble fashionable ladies ... it's so noisy, alive, restlessly!..
The right of Basil, a steep slope, flowing fine, broad, dirty Moscow River, exhausted under a variety of severe vessels, laden with bread and firewood; their long masts, topped with striped weather vane, arise because Moscow River bridge, skrypuchie their ropes, shaken by the wind, like a spider web, barely blacken the blue sky. On the left bank of the river, Looking at her smooth water, whitens orphanage, whose broad bare walls, symmetrically placed windows and pipes, and in general the European posture sharply separated from other neighboring buildings, dressed oriental luxury or full of the spirit of the Middle Ages. Further east on the three hills, between whom the river meanders, pestreyut masses of houses of all possible sizes and colors; weary eyes can hardly reach the far horizon, which groups are drawn several monasteries, between wherewith Simonov5 remarkable especially his almost between heaven and earth hanging platform, where our ancestors observed the movements of the approaching Tatar.
To the south, under the mountain, at the very foot of the Kremlin wall, against the Secret Gate,6 the river, and her broad valley, studded with houses and churches, It extends to the very foot of the Poklonnaya Gora, where Napoleon threw the first look at the Kremlin disastrous for him, from the first time he saw his prophetic flame: This formidable torch, which lit up his triumph and his fall!
In the West, for long tower, where they live and can live alone swallows (for it, It is built after the French,7 It is not within any ceiling, no stairs, and its walls rosperty posed crosswise bars), towering arch stone bridge, dugoyu which bends from one bank to another; water, retained a small dam, noise and penoyu pulled from under him, forming between the arches of small waterfalls, which often, especially in spring, Moscow attracted the curiosity of onlookers, and sometimes take into their body bowels poor sinner. Next bridge, on the right side of the river, separated from the horizon of jagged silhouettes Aleksei Monastery;8 on the left, in the plain between the roofs of merchants' houses, shine tops 9 at Donskoy Monastery ... And there - behind it wearing a blue mist, ascending waves of icy river, begin Sparrow Hills, capped by a thick forest, that the steep peaks looking out into the river, squirming in their soles like a snake, covered with silvery scales.
When leaning daily, when the pink haze wears long part of the city and the surrounding hills, Only then you can see our ancient capital in all its splendor, because like beauty, showing only their best evening dresses, it is only in this solemn hour can produce a strong soul, indelible impression.
That compared with the Kremlin, which the, surrounded by crenellated walls, showing off the golden domes of the cathedrals, reclines on the high mountain, as a sovereign crown to the brow of the terrible lord?.. He altar Russia, it must be committed and have made many sacrifices, worthy of the fatherland ... How long have, as the fabulous phoenix, He rose from the ashes of his flaming?!
What grander than these gloomy edifice, closely drawn up in one heap, this mysterious palace Godunov, whose cold poles and boards so many years no longer hear the sounds of the human voice, Like mausoleum burial, towering in the desert in the memory of the great kings?!..
No, neither the Kremlin, nor its battlements, nor his dark transitions, no lush palaces it is impossible to describe ... must see, see ... is to feel everything, they say the heart and imagination!..
Juncker L. D. Hussars Lermantov.

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Mikhail Lermontov
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