| And quite recently the poet Alexei Alexeyevich Bessonov, crossing a humpbacked bridge on his way to the Islands in a swift, rubber-tired droshky, and gazing through tears at a star visible through a rift in the clouds, told himself that the droshky, and the string of lamps on the bridge and the whole of sleeping Petersburg behind him, were but a dream, a chimera, a figment of his brain, sodden with drink, love-making and boredom. | И совсем еще недавно поэт Алексей Алексеевич Бессонов, проезжая ночью на лихаче, по дороге на острова, горбатый мостик, увидал сквозь разорванные облака в бездне неба звезду и, глядя на нее сквозь слезы, подумал, что лихач, и нити фонарей, и весь за спиной его спящий Петербург -лишь мечта, бред, возникший в его голове, отуманенной вином, любовью и скукой. |
| Two centuries passed like a dream: Petersburg, perched on the edge of the world, amidst swamps and wastelands, dreamed of infinite glory, boundless power. Palace coups d'etat, regicides, triumphal entries, and bloody executions, flitted by like hallucinations. Weak-minded women enjoyed an almost divine authority; the fate of nations was decided on tumbled love couches; strapping youths with earth-stained hands appeared upon the scene, and boldly ascended the steps of the throne, to share power, couch, and Byzantine luxury. |
