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# That supple, passionate body The crowd trampled underfoot for me, And mocked it, and stripped it…
- URL: https://theparnassian.com/en/eto-gibkoe-strastnoe-telo-rastoptala-nogami-tolpa-mne-i-nad-nim-nadrugalas-razdela/
- Published: 2025-02-11T08:04:04.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-01T09:17:36.000Z
- Author: Alexandr Radayev
- Tags: Aristocracy, Books, Monarchies, Paris

That supple, passionate body  
The crowd trampled underfoot for me,  
And mocked it, and stripped it…  
And at the body  
I did not  
Dare to look…  
But I was hacked off from the body,  
Flung, scraps  
Of inflamed flesh, upon a stone… And the Parisian rabble  
Carried me off in the street crush,  
Someone drank liquor in a tavern,  
Having thrown me on a wet counter.  
A coiffeur lifted me from the ground,  
Combed my fair curls,  
Rouged my cheeks,  
And powdered them… And then, all beaten, wounded  
By a dirty hand,  
Curled as if for a ball, rouged,  
I soared on a pike above the crowd  
Like a drunken thyrsus…  
The bacchanal rushed on.  
The people sang in sacred madness…  
And it seemed to me I was at a ball at Versailles,  
A smooth dance whirls me and bears me along… Like flame the songs droned.  
And up the prison's narrow stairs  
To the Tower of the Temple, to the Queen's window,  
I rose as the people's herald.

*Literal translation*

**The Head of Madame de Lamballe. Maximilian Voloshin**