Select verses ... October 19, 1825 October 19, 1827 November 2 To Dawe, Esqr Adele (Play, Adele ...) Akathist Ekaterina Nikolayevna Karamzina Alphonse mounts a horse ... Angel Anchar Arion Baratynsky (Oh you, who ...) Demons Blessed in the golden circle of nobles ... Near the places where Venice is golden ... God is cheerful grapes ... Borodino anniversary Am I wandering along noisy streets ... Budrys and his sons Be like a full bowl ... There was a storm I am among the donors ... It was time: our holiday was young ... Into the album (Driven by the autocracy of rock ...) Into the album (Long of these cherished sheets ...) Into the album of AO Smirnova Into the album of Princess A.D. Abamalek To the album to Pavel Vyazemsky In the blue sky field ... In the Jewish hut there is a lamp ... The fire of desire burns in the blood ... In my autumn leisure ... At the beginning of my life I remember school ... In the pure field it shines with silver ... In the Karyan grove, kind to the hunters ... In the mundane steppe, sad and boundless ... In hours of amusement or idle boredom ... V.S. Filimonov, upon receiving it about the poem Bacchic song Vesuvius opened the mouth ... Spring, spring, time of love ... Wine (Ion of Chios) Grapes I visited again ... In the depths of Siberian ores ... Deep waters ... Voivode Revival Freedom Remembrance (When for mortal ...) Remembrance in Tsarskoe Selo Rise, O Greece, rise ... All as a sacrifice to your memory ... Boyar stables are red to everyone ... You advise for "Onegin", friends ... Recovery Hero Deaf deaf called to the court ... Gnedich The city is magnificent, the city is poor ... Hussar to D.V. Davydov (To you a singer ...) A vain gift, an accidental gift ... Two feelings are marvelously close to us ... Movement Delibash Delvig Demon Denis Davydov Village Ten commandment For the shores of the distant fatherland ... Don Dorida Complaints of the road Friendship Friendship (Gods have given you ...) Friends (Yesterday was a noisy parting day ...) Friends (No, I'm not a flatterer ...) Dubravi, where in silence freedom ... E. N. Ushakova (You are spoiled by nature ...) E. P. Poltoratskaya Her eyes Ek. H. Ushakova (When, it happened, in the old days ...) Ek. N. Ushakova (Away from you ...) If you happen to go ... If life deceives you ... There is a wonderful rose: it ... Cold winds are still blowing ... Another high, important song ... Complaint Desire A poor knight lived in the world ... For Zhukovsky Forgetting both the grove and freedom ... Spell Why am I fascinated by her? ... from my hands ... And here is the gorge of gloomy rocks. .. And far away we went ... And I heard that God's light ... IVSlenin II Pushchina From Alfieri * From Barry Cornwall From A. Chenier From Anacreon From Aristov "Orlando Furioso" From Afeney From Gafiza From a note to A.O. Rosset From Xenophanes of Kolophonsky From Pindemonti From a letter to Alekseev From a letter to Velikopolsky (With you to me ...) From a letter to Vyazemsky From a letter to Sobolevsky From a letter to Yakovlev Ina had my Aglaya ... K ** (You are the Mother of God, there is no doubt ...) K *** (Happy who is near you ...) K *** (Don't ask ...) K *** (No, no, I shouldn't , I dare not ...) To A. Timasheva To Baratynsky To the bust of the conqueror To the grandee To Vyazemsky To the friend of the poet To E.N. Wolf The fiddler came to the castrat once ... To Morpheus To the sea To N. Ya. Plyuskova (On the lyre modest ...) To Natalya To her (In sad idleness ...) To the translation of the Iliad To the portrait of Vyazemsky To the portrait of Zhukovsky To Chaadaev To Yazykov (I was getting ready for you ...) To Yazykov (Yazykov, who inspired you ...) Caucasus Like satire without Named ... How sweet! .. but, gods, how dangerous ... How happy I am when I can leave ... What a night! Crackling frost ... Dagger to Kalmyk Kiprensky Slanderers of Russia Book. Kozlovsky to Prince Golitsyna, sending her the ode "Liberty" to Princess Z. A. Volkonskaya to Princess S. A. Urusova A young mare ... outside the city, thoughtful, I wander ... When sometimes a memory ... When Potemkin is in the dark ... When so tender, so cordial ... When your young years ... Bells are ringing ... Kolna An inexperienced lover of strangers' edges. .. Beauty Beauty in front of the mirror to Krivtsova (Don't frighten us ...) Crystal, renewed by the poet ... Crito, a luxurious citizen ... Who knows the land where the sky shines ... Which of the gods returned to me ... Who, waves , you stopped ... Literary news One love is the joy of a cold life ... Madonna to the Boy (From Catullus) Medoc Between the mountain walls Terek rushes ... Menko Vuich writes a letter ... ... My careless ignorance ... My portrait Monastery on Kazbek Monk Mordvinovu My genealogy th Muse (In my infancy ...) N.N. when sending her the "Nevsky Almanac" On Bulgarin On Velikopolsky On Lucullus' recovery On Dondukov-Korsakov On my native Spain ... On pictures for Eugene Onegin On Kachenovsky On Nadezhdin (In the magazine ...) On Nadezhdina (Hoping for my contempt. ..) On the translation of the Iliad On the statue of the one who plays with the grandmother On the statue of the one who plays the pile On the hills of Georgia lies the night haze ... They will tell me with an unfaithful smile ... Above me in the clear azure ... Riders In vain I run to the heights of Zion ... Pleasure I have not seen, girl ... God forbid me to go crazy ... I don't know where, but not here ... Don't sing, beauty, with me ... Recently I am in freedom hours .. Nereid Clit's misfortune No, I do not value the rebellious pleasure ... Housewarming Night marshmallow streams the air ... Night Moral quatrains to Nanny O poverty! I finally affirmed ... Oh no, life is not tired of me ... Oh, how many wonderful discoveries we have ... Collapse Oda LVI (From Anacreon) Ode LVII Window of Oleg's shield He lived between us ... Again we are crowned with glory ... Autumn morning From the western seas ... From me evening Leila ... Answer Answer to anonymous Answer F.Т. (No, she is not a Circassian woman ...) An excerpt Excerpt The hermit fathers and wives are innocent ... Page or the Fifteenth Year Singer Before the saint's tomb ... Songs about Stenka Razin Song about the prophetic Oleg Pir Peter the Great Pletnev (You advise me ... ) Pletnev (Do you want ...) The daylight has gone out ... Under the blue sky of your native country ... Imitation of Arabic Imitation of Italian Approaching Izhora ... Let's go, I'm ready; wherever you go, friends ... Commander Admire you, children ... It's time, my friend, it's time! .. Portrait Message to Delvig Message to Greater Poland Poet Poet Before the Spanish noble woman ... When sending the bronze Sphinx Recognition of Proserpine's omens Prophet me jealous dreams ... Farewell Bird Parting Thinning clouds flying ridge ... Refutation of Mr. Beranger Rhyme Pedigree of my hero My rosy critic ... To the Russian gesner Shoemaker Sappho Swat Ivan, how to drink we will ... Desert sower of freedom ... The sod is sad at the table ... Fairy tales: Noel Sweet word Collection of insects Advice Burnt letter Nightingale and cuckoo Nightingale and rose Sonnet (Severe Dante ...) composed at night during insomnia One hundred years have passed as a Teuton ... I am standing sad in the cemetery ... Wanderer Scary and boring ... White-sided chittering ... Scene from Faust (I'm bored, devil ...) You are happy in lovely fools ... so old x roar, the gypsy Ilya ... Talisman Your guesses are sheer nonsense ... The cart of life To Comrades Labor Cloud You and you You illuminated your mind with enlightenment ... Prisoner Fazil Khan Fountain of Bakhchisarai Palace of French rhymes is a stern judge. .. Keep me, my talisman ... To the artist of the Tsars, a descendant of the Patron ... What's in my name for you? .. Chu, the cannons have struck! .. Cast iron of Kagul, you are sacred ... The bush rustles ... On the cliff ... Elegy (Crazy years, extinguished fun ...) Elegy (Happy, who .. .) Elegy (I saw death ...) Elegy (I thought that love ...) Epigram (Magazines cruelly offended ...) Epigram (The bow rings, the arrow trembles ...) Epigram (Gray-haired Whistle! ..) Epigram (Where the ancient ...) Epigram on Shalikov Epitaph to the baby book. N.S. Volkonsky Echo Youth! feast modestly ... Young man, sobbing bitterly ... Yuriev (Favorite of windy Lais ...) I loved you ... I matured amid sad storms ... I thought my heart had forgotten ... I am here, Inesilla ... I know the land: there on the shore ... I erected a monument not made by hands ... I remember a wonderful moment ...

No, I don't value rebellious delight
Sensual delights, madness, frenzy,
With the groaning, screams of a young bacchante,
When, twisting like a snake in my arms,
A burst of passionate caresses and ulcers of kissing
She hastens the moment of the last tremors!

Oh, how sweeter you are, my humble woman!
Oh, how painfully happy I am with you,
When, bowing to long prayers,
You surrender to me tender without intoxication,
Shyly cold, to my delight
You barely answer, you hear nothing
And then you come to life more, more -
And finally share my flame against your will!

More poems:

  1. I was happy in the old days, When I entered life so cheerfully, And golden dreams curled around me, - I was happy. I was happy: It's a sin for me to grumble at ...
  2. When you, bending over the piano, Carelessly touch the voiced keys with a gentle hand, And your gaze will fill with sadness, And quiet, quiet sounds will sink into my soul that tears, Magic, like a girl's ...
  3. When you coldly listen to the Stories of someone else's grief And distrustfully shake Your young head, When shiny outfits Madly delight you Or from childish annoyance Your soul worries, When I see, I see ...
  4. The sacred god of silence, to whom, alas! involuntarily I serve! I am unhappy and happy, That I keep your seal on my lips. Unhappy if I am silent In a conversation with the kind and with the clever ...
  5. Cholera is everywhere, quarantines are everywhere, And do not expect absolution soon. And in front of him are extensive pictures And in the scanty windows long rains. But for some reason his dreams are airy, And as if in childhood ...
  6. What, stones don't live? Can not be! Look, how together they all blush at the hour of dawn, How they keep that soft warmth at night, Which is from the sun in them since the morning ...
  7. Captivated by the image of his father's fatherland, he worthily attained the crown of Parnassus; And I would have been more crowned with glory, When I would always deceive myself like that ...
  8. My love rose on a December evening, When light steam emanates from the mouth, When winter with dry frost heals Foggy autumn frenzy. She was not swaddled with passion then. Clear and cold, From the cramped ...
  9. I want to write poetry, but what to write, I don’t know, Why should I know this? I give myself to myself. Dear pen! write useful And inspire my weak idea to the reader. The pen, the glorious weapon of the scribes, ...
  10. When the languid, evil Thinking takes me ... When, like a rotten tree, Everything is holy, What I have believed for so long ... When real life rustles so impudently, so impudently - And shudders sadly ...
  11. We all dream of big love, So that every moment, when together, is dear, - And suddenly you will get along with a woman with whom You will grow old in soul for a year, for two. Happy when such ...
  12. And no one sees me off. Only there, as the face of a saint is pale, On the platform is a foreign woman In the frame of a blinded window. Down straight hair is shed, And behind them the sun, like a halo. That...
  13. Why didn’t you rush into the river, Maryushka, Why didn’t you fall silent forever? I tears the bitter room ...
  14. The wind rushes along the echoing pavement, Dances, spins, rings, But only lovers and children Could appreciate his art. Curtains fly, branches jump, shadows flutter on the wall, And the wind, surely, is happy ...
  15. To the suffering of strangers, you are full of sorrow, And no one’s sorrow passed you by; To yourself, you alone are always relentless, Always ruthless and eternally cold! But if you could see ...
You are now reading a verse No, I do not value the rebellious pleasure, the poet Alexander Pushkin

No, I don't value rebellious delight

With the groaning, screams of a young bacchante,
When, twisting like a snake in my arms,
A burst of passionate caresses and ulcers of kissing
She hastens the moment of the last shudders!


Oh, how painfully happy I am with you,
When, bowing to long prayers,
You surrender to me tender without intoxication,
Shyly cold, to my delight
You barely answer, you hear nothing
And then you come to life more, more -
And finally share my flame against my will

Earlier, reading this poem by Pushkin, I, like many Pushkin scholars, was sure that it was dedicated to the poet's wife Natalia. The venerable researcher of the life and work of Pushkin P. Shchegolev made the conclusion from this poem that Natalia was indifferent to her husband. A. Zinoviev in his book "The Emperor's Honeymoon" went even further, stating that Pushkin and his wife had a "problem of sexual incompatibility."
This is Pushkin's problem of sexual incompatibility! Yes, he will combine any incompatibility.

Involuntarily, a doubt arose in me: is this verse dedicated to my wife? Well, Pushkin, like any other man, cannot "bow to long prayers" every time, begging his lawful wife to "surrender to him without intoxication." What kind of wife is this so cold? Judging by the way the poet idolized his Madonna, we can conclude that she was not like that and responded to her husband's delight as expected.

To whom, then, is this poem, striking in its intimate frankness, dedicated? The famous scholar-philologist L.M. Arinstein said about this work: “Pushkin wrote one of the most expressive erotic scenes in world literature. With tantalizing candor, the poet depicts a moment of "rebellious delight"
Sensual delight, madness, frenzy,
With the groaning, screams of a young bacchante ... "

To answer this question, you must first know the exact date of this work. The ten-volume edition of Pushkin's collected works indicates 1831. Pushkin and Natalya got married in February 1831, which means that everything coincides, and Pushkin could have dedicated this poem to his wife. I open the book "Pushkin and Eternity" by Ya.A. Milner-Irinin, Nauka Publishing House, 2004, I read: “The exact date of its writing has not yet been established. I am inclined to date this poem to the year 1831 in question. "
The 4th edition of the 10-volume academic book says: “During the life of Pushkin, it was not published ... Published in 1858 with the date“ 1830 ”; however, this date is doubtful: judging by the copies, the autograph bore a label: "19 January, St. Petersburg" - without indicating the year. The copy, owned by Pushkin's widow, had the date "1831".
L.M. Arinstein writes that the poem was written "probably in the autumn of 1830"

Again, nothing concrete: both 1830 and 1831. I continue to stubbornly search for the date of writing the poem. Unfortunately, the autograph of this poem has not survived, but it has come down to us in several copies, including one made by the hand of Pushkin's friend S.A. Sobolevsky. This copy was dated January 19, 1830. The same date was repeated in copies of other contemporaries of Pushkin.

The conclusion involuntarily suggests itself that this poem was not dedicated to his wife (in January 1830, Pushkin was not married to Natalia Goncharova), but to some other inexperienced humble woman who was “shyly cold” and revived under the “pressure” of the poet only later , and divided, "finally" his "involuntary flame."
But I came to a different conclusion. There is no need to look for who this poem was dedicated to, for it is not dedicated to anyone.

The main thing in this poem is not some kind of eroticism (although this is also present), but in opposition to the debauchery of true love. In the subtext of the poem, Pushkin says a categorical “no” to the “Young Bacchae”, who “wriggle in ... the arms of a serpent, with a burst of passionate caresses and an ulcer of kissing ... hurry up the moment of the last shudders,” and in the second part of the verse he says “yes” to the humble woman:
Oh, how sweeter you are, my humble woman!
Oh, how painfully happy I am with you ...

I agree with the conclusion of the writer Nina Zababurova:
"Young Bacchantes" ... opposed to "meek", and sophisticated "love art" - the charm of "inexperienced beauty".

Literature:
Ya.A. Milner-Irinin. Pushkin and eternity. Moscow, ed. "Science", 2004
L.M. Arinstein. Pushkin. An unkempt biography. Moscow, ed. house "Ant", 1999
Nina Zababurova. I loved you. The muses of the great poet and their destinies. Moscow. "AST-Press", 2011
Collected works of A.S. Pushkin.

Reviews

In my opinion, young Bacchantes were not found in the vicinity of St. Petersburg, rather it is a description of communication with Bacchantes from Sofia Astafyevna's institution, their duty was to present a stormy, Bacchic passion and they coped with it perfectly.
"Bowing to long prayers" is a poetic definition of the process itself, as a prayer, it is not about frigidity, but about the full correspondence of temperaments, which gives the poet painful happiness, it is known that in their highest manifestation, both happiness and suffering have the same reaction.
In Christianity, there is a duality in the perception of a woman - on the one hand, a woman is a scarcity of sin, and on the other, a virgin, the Virgin, Madonna,
these two female hypostases are described by the poet, preferring the immaculate woman, the possession of which allows happiness to reach the heights of suffering ...

"No, I do not value rebellious pleasure ..."

Alexander Pushkin

No, I do not value rebellious delight,

Sensual delight, madness, frenzy,

With the groaning, screams of a young bacchante,

When, twisting like a snake in my arms,

A burst of passionate caresses and ulcers of kissing

She hastens the moment of the last shudders!

Oh, how sweeter you are, my humble one!

Oh how painfully happy I am with you,

When, bowing to long prayers,

You surrender to me, tender without intoxication,

Shyly cold, to my delight

You barely answer, you hear nothing

And then you liven up more, more

And finally share my flame against your will!

When on the next Pushkin's anniversary they repeat "Pushkin is our everything" by rote, sometimes they do not even suspect how true this is. He really is "everything", he is in everything and everywhere, he is in us and outside of us, and there is no such area, sphere of human activity, where Pushkin would not realize himself entirely and completely, on the entire grandiose scale of his genius personality. Not a single person, either before or after him, has manifested itself and will not manifest itself with such boundless generosity, indefatigability and self-forgetfulness, did not open up and will never open up so widely and fully as a poet, as a citizen, and finally as a man.

Pushkin was not a teacher, he did not even pretend to this role and openly despised "the latest self-instruction manuals" in the form of the newly-minted prophets and correctors of the human race. And if now we are talking about the lessons, nevertheless, taught by Pushkin, it is only because we, as they say, in our sound mind and firm memory, are trying to learn and master them on our own - a task that is in general beyond the strength of an ordinary person of our days.

Pushkin was very ugly. In a youthful poem written in French, he called himself "a real monkey." This nickname took root in the world and annoyed the poet for a long time. In addition, he was short in stature, which, of course, did not add to his optimism about his own person. “Pushkin was a fool of himself,” said the poet’s brother Lev Sergeevich, “but his face was expressive and animated; he was small in stature, but built unusually strong and proportionate. Women liked Pushkin; he was extraordinarily fascinating with them. " This testimony is echoed by AN Wolf, a close friend of the poet, saying that “he knows women like no one else. That is why, not taking advantage of any external advantages that always have an impact on the fair sex, with his brilliant mind alone, he acquires the favor of it. " Pushkin was not handsome, but the victories he won over the most brilliant beauties of his time serve as excellent proof that the fair sex can be driven crazy not only by painted beauties.

And I, the rake, eternally idle, -

he wrote in another youthful poem, -

Ugly descendant of negroes,

Raised in wild simplicity

Love without knowing suffering

Young beauty likes me

Shameless frenzy of desires.

The poet, even in his youth, clearly realized what women need, and as a man he met their expectations as much as possible. Presumably, the "Egyptian" passions in his "performance" plunged into ecstatic shock those for whom they were calculated and directed. Women fell at his feet like ripe, and sometimes overripe, fruits from a tree. According to A.P. Kern, Pushkin “did not know how to hide his feelings, he always expressed them sincerely and was indescribably good when something excited him pleasantly. When he dared to be amiable, then nothing could compare with the brilliance, acuteness and fascination of his speech. " Well, respected (and adored by the poet) Anna Petrovna knew what she was talking about. Much here was, of course, from the game of Don Juan, much from the above-mentioned youthful inferiority complex experienced by the poet, much from the dashing youth, ordering a man to change women more often than gloves. But there was also something else, about which the same A.P. Kern eloquently told. “Perceiving goodness vividly, Pushkin was not fond of it in women; he was much more fascinated in them by wit, brilliance and outward beauty ... The reason that Pushkin was fascinated by the brilliance, rather than dignity and simplicity in the character of women, was, of course, in his low opinion of them, which was completely in the spirit of that time ", (In this regard, it is worth comparing the divine poetic lines dedicated to A.P. Kern and the characterization given to her by the poet in a private letter. “Ice and fire are not so different among themselves.”) The share of truth in the observations of the “brilliant” Anna Petrovna, certainly there is. But only a share, and even then not too significant.

The fact is that Pushkin, for all his "Africanism", was attracted precisely by dignity, quiet simplicity and artlessness in relations with women. Otherwise, he would never have managed to create the image of Tatyana Larina, or he would have come out from under his pen tortured and unviable. His ideal was the one about which he once said:

She was leisurely

Not cold, not talkative,

Without an insolent gaze for all,

No claim to success

Without these little antics

Without imitative undertakings ...

Everything is quiet, it was just in her.

This image remained "unclaimed" in the poet's heart all his life until it acquired the living features of Natalya Nikolaevna Goncharova. What Pushkin's receptive soul was unconsciously drawn to was embodied only a few years before his death, and it is worthy of surprise and admiration how easily all this "Egyptian" husk flew off him when he truly fell in love. The poet's former love for women, in general, spiritless, despite the numerous "miraculous" testimonies left for posterity, was replaced by love for one and only, for Madonna, "the purest charm of the purest model." Only then did the poet learn the true and very insignificant price of "rebellious pleasures, sensual delights, madness, frenzy" with which his life was filled; shudders ". Real love for your sweet "humble", like everything real, turned out to be "sour", like a sweet and sour apple, which is much sweeter for Russian taste than sugary "African" fruits.

Pushkin's poem "No, I do not value rebellious pleasure" refers to the late period of the poet's life and, as it seems obvious, is addressed to the poet's wife Natalya Nikolaevna. At the end of his life, Pushkin was surprised to discover in himself a craving for "painful" happiness. He, who was considered an honor to yield to the most brilliant ladies of the Venice of the North, was forced to resort to "long prayers" in order to achieve reciprocity of his own wife! This gave rise to many researchers (including V. Brusov) "pity" Pushkin: they say, what a cold wife he got, the unfortunate poet prostrated himself in the dust before "this ..." so that she "condescended" to marital affection. Although these researchers and other commentators should feel sorry for themselves. After all, "the humble Natalya Nikolaevna gave him what he did not receive from the" young bacchantes "who waste" ardent caresses "for nothing and torment their victims with" ulcers of kissing ". She gave him the opportunity to feel like a real man.

In the arsenal of a woman who is legally married, there are many ways to deny her legal spouse intimacy - and this is wonderful when the women we love refuse us! Thanks to these refusals, we get a chance to show all our masculine qualities to the fullest, which, if we succeed, then only alone with our beloved woman. With an unloved or, God forbid, a public woman, there is no need to stand on ceremony: here the "key" is mutual satisfaction (the notorious sex) or just money. We, men, being insolvent as men, not knowing how to get down to business properly, not having enough intelligence, feeling and truly masculine talent, run from our legitimate halves to the left and to the right, we feel great and remain unrequited and irresponsible for the rest of our lives. " boys ”, eternal students, lazy and incurious. Give us only “groaning” and “screaming”: they are less troublesome, and in general ... We simply cannot cope with smart women who know their worth - this is not taught either in schools or in institutes. Isn't that why nowadays the lot of the smart and those who know their own worth is proud loneliness, because there is no one to choose from. Today's men go around such women a mile away, inventing cheap excuses for themselves such as "if beautiful, then she's a fool." Love is, I beg your pardon, not sex. Love requires the complete exertion of all our bodily and spiritual forces - primarily spiritual. (In a nutshell, sex is love for the opposite sex as such, and love is attraction to a single representative or to a single representative of this very opposite sex. That is why the famous phrase that “we have sex no "may also mean that the woman who uttered it is surrounded by genuine love and does not know the mechanical manifestations of sex. In this case, she can only be envied, and not laugh at her.)

The reason why gentle spouses deny their dearly beloved spouses intimacy can be very different. The notorious "headache" can be, for example, an instinctive protest against the routine of the marriage bed, and for an intelligent man, female migraine is a signal for self-improvement. A woman may simply be young, inexperienced, innocent, “shyly cold,” she could have Puritan parents and receive a strict upbringing. The sacred duty of a man, as soon as he gets married, is to help his wife get rid of girlish complexes, for which one should have a supply of skill, patience and tact. In addition, it is necessary ... however, better than A.I. Goncharov in his "Ordinary History", you still cannot say, therefore we will use a quote. “To be happy with a woman ... you need a lot of conditions ... you need to be able to form a woman from a girl according to a deliberate plan, according to a method, if you want her to understand and fulfill her purpose ... Oh, a tricky and hard school is needed, and this school is a smart and experienced man! "

Long before the moralizing of Goncharov, Pushkin was this most intelligent and experienced. Seeking out his beloved ("long prayers"), he equipped into battle all his wit, all his intellect, all his ingenuity, finally all his talent - and how happy was the one for whom the first Russian poet knelt! Maybe she showed intransigence instinctively or consciously (women are cunning, this cannot be taken away from them), deliberately delayed the moment of “last shudders” in order to fully enjoy the prelude, in which the poet was a true virtuoso. But when he is a real man! - at last he was striving for his "agonizing happiness" ... Let us stop at this, for any guesses of this kind are already beyond the bounds of decency. Otherwise, it is impossible to designate this state as a rare concept of "conjugal harmony" ... Shortly before the wedding, the poet wrote:

My wishes came true. Creator

He sent you to me, you, my Madonna,

The purest charm, the purest specimen.

He turned out to be right, although the comparison of an earthly woman with the Mother of God smacks of blasphemy. But poets and lovers, Beaumarchais said, are forgiven all kinds of follies, and poets in love - even more so ...

Pushkin's poem "No, I don't value ..." is also a lesson in how to write on intimate topics. With what caution, sensitivity and chastity the poet unfolds in a few lines the whole philosophy of possession of a beloved woman; this is an example of how it is possible, having said literally everything, not stoop to vulgarity and obscenity, without which other contemporary Russian "classics" cannot imagine a literary work.

And the last thing. No matter how tempting it is to consider the lyrical hero and the addressee of the poem "No, I do not value ..." as a couple of Pushkins, in fairness it should be noted: not a single source speaks about this directly. And no one (even V. Bryusov) has the right to pass off their random considerations as truth.