The theater is full; the boxes are resplendent,
The stalls and armchairs all are boiling up;
The gallery is impatiently waving,
The curtain makes a noise in rising up;
The brilliant, half-aired ballerina,
Who to the magic bow is obedient,
Istomina is staying, all surrounded
With the beautifullest nymphs; in slow turning round,
With one foot on the floor,
She's jumping high, and flies upwards,
As if she is the fur from Eol's lips;
And twisting, then untwisting body, she
Is beating one foot with the other quickly,
And flying high over the scene.